** Late Afternoon Eos City Metro Convention Center (ECMCC) Eos City Arx **
It was an auspicious day. The Hat himself was celebrating getting another year older. And while he wasn’t fond of the idea of growing in years, if he was going to do it, he’d do it his way. With tasteful style and extravagant pinash.
He walked through the grand ballroom of the ECMCC with his datapad in hand, checking that every detail was just perfect for his party. Fully stocked bars? Check. Plenty of tables to gamble away money? Check. Whatever that strangely addicting game was where you throw bags of sand at a hole in a piece of wood? Check! He took another look around the room, it was empty except for the event staff bustling about, putting the finishing touches on the room before the party kicked off. TuQ had spared no expense and everyone wanted to keep busy, or at least look as if they were keeping busy.
Glancing at his datapad, TuQ checked the time. As if on cue the band began to play, filing the room with a soft, swinging tempo. Perfect timing, everything was going according to plan. A young woman dressed all in black approached the Plagueian and touched the commlink in her ear for a brief moment.
“Everything is ready, sir.”
TuQ simply nodded in response before heading towards the main entrance to greet his guests.
The doors to the convention center slid open and a confident stride carried Alex swiftly through them. It had been a little while since his last formal party, and he had decided that it was as good a time as ever to put the tailoring suite aboard The Herald of Entropy to work and show off some flash. Atop his head, tilted to a jaunty angle, was a wide-brimmed cavalier hat of an amaranth hue festooned with a long black feather curling off the back and dipping just slightly beneath his shoulder-line. Over his left shoulder was a velvet half-cape of the same color trimmed with a white-silver fur, accenting the slate blue silk doublet with silver button and brocade work - mostly just trim and lining on the front but with a beautifully woven Mythosaur skull glinting across the back. The sleeves of the doublet were cinched at his wrists with the matte black and silver-lined bracers of his armor, worn over black leather gloves. A pair of silk jodhpurs, likewise slate blue, disappeared into knee-high black leather boots adorned with silver heel and toe caps.
Behind the Mandalorian entered his valet, Steven. The KX droid had likewise dressed up for the occasion, bearing a long tailcoat - exceptionally so due to the height of the droid - in a matching amaranth velvet to the half-cape worn by his principal. The droid’s expressionless face scanned the crowd from beneath an amaranth bowler hat with silver hatband and a small black feather along the left side.
“It appears, Master Alex, that we may be the first to arrive.”
“Excellent! I never bought in to the whole ‘fashionably late’ load of nonsense! Any amount of time you may spend not at the party is time you could well be spending at the party! And, after all, it is not as if I need make a late entrance to draw attention. I am quite adept at doing so on my own devices.” As Alex moved further into the lobby of the building he caught sight of motion from one of the adjoining hallways. “Ah, I daresay I believe our host approaches. Or at the least some manner of attendant or staff of the event. Make yourself presentable, Steven!”
The droid’s head tilted slightly as his ocular sensors narrowed - whether in disdain or confusion was impossible to tell - but regardless he stood to his full height and tugged at the lapels of his coat to straighten it despite it having already hung on his frame with impeccable straightness.
Varick straightened his hat and coat as strode towards the main entrance. He had to look his finest for his guests, he had heard rumours that some of those expected to be in attendance would take their fashion choices quite seriously. So, in turn he opted to don his finest clothing for the evening, which being in his line of work wasn’t much but he hoped it would be enough to if not impress, at least stand out. It was his party after all. He chose a wide brimmed black hat made of a soft velvety material that seemed to shimmer in the light, it was adorned with a sequinned gold band that was subtle, but just a bit extra. His suit was made of the same velvety material with matte black lapels and accents such as the buttons and seams done to match the golden accent on his hat. He wore his jacket unbuttoned to reveal a charcoal vest over a white formal shirt with the top two buttons left undone.
As TuQ arrived at the main entrance he was struck by the man and his droid standing across the lobby. He nervously adjusted the cufflinks on his shirt adorned with the Plagueian logo and approached. One guest and he already felt under dressed for the occasion. A smile spread across his face, or at least it would have had he not been wearing his anti-ox mask, but it was a necessary evil needed for him to survive. As he approached, he spread his arms wide in a friendly greeting.
“Ah, welcome, welcome. Thank you for coming! I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before, I am TuQ’uan Varick di Plagia, the Dread Lord’s Wrath, Proconsul of Clan Plagueis, and today, I am your humble host.” He bowed towards his guests, as he straightened himself he took in the full grandioseness of the man’s outfit. “And you sir, have a very fine hat!”
“Alk, wrrhha.”
No, growled a voice to the mott firmly, who was, once again, trying to eat his own hat.
And he had just gotten the gentleman to stop trying to eat Sevarin’s suit, too.
Alk tossed his head, trying again to get to the dangling petal from his floral crown despite the laws of physics and the anatomical limits of his body structure. If only he had a tail like Rue’s. Or fingers. Unfortunately, he did not.
Rue sighed softly, then repeated the Wookiee command with more force.
“Alk, no. Leave it.”
The Mott huffed at him, but finally stopped and left off, instead raising his trotters proudly as he paraded into the chamber, head held high and horn polished to its best to match his suit and sash. He was, after all, a diplomat.
The hybrid had to struggle to pick up his skirts to stay on the Mott’s heels. Nonetheless, he didn’t mind. The dress – a gown, Sulla called it – was beautiful.
And it was all because of Sev.
Rue had cried when his friend had invited him to this party, having never been invited to a party before, only escorted Alk. It was a first and a Good Thing, and spending time with his friend he rarely got to see was even more a treasure. He’d fussed for ages with Elly over what to wear and about hats and what constituted them and meeting a sentient one hosting this event. In the end, Sevarin had surprised him with the outfit, one that matched his own, and Rue had struggled to find a way to contribute until he thought to adorn them both in flowers, the only thing he really had to give.
“It is not much, but…” he’d offered the garlands of lathyrus he’d cultivated with downcast eyes, too scared to glance up and meet the beautiful opaline pools that awaited, “they will suit you, I hope. Lathyrus, or sweetpea. These blooms…were very much important to this one, me. They symbolize good wishes and gladness for a lovely but ephemeral time.”
And Sev had taken them and told him it was perfect.
-
Thankfully, Elly had offered to let him keep the dress at her home with his other clothes that could not fit in his pack. A gown did not go in a bundle in a tree, apparently. That was a rule, she said.
And it was so pretty, and it twirled when he spun, and the skirts were swishy and textured, and he loved it. But running in it was a bit more difficult.
Thankfully, he was good at adapting to only one hand. His tail lifted the other side of the hem as he hurried after Alk, coming in just after the Mott. He glanced over his shoulder in search of their Enchani-Kessurian sponsor, suddenly terrified they would be punished– no, not punished, there isn’t punishment out Here – questioned without him.
“Sev?” the hybrid called, wondering if the ‘weapon and coat check’ was yet finished.
<@264959101384130560>
As his Rue lagged behind with the other one, Alk presented himself for the gathered crowd– er, duo. And one was already an old chap! The Mott trotted up to Alex and gave a customary hand-slobbering of greeting, finding all sorts of new textures of ‘leaves’ to chew on him.
<@102435651189743616> <@379840612788076544>
“Ah indeed, we have not had opportunity to make acquaintance yet,” Alex swept his hat from his head and across his chest with one deft motion as he bowed toward the organizer and host. “Marquis Alex Draconis, Quaestor of House Qel-Droma, and owner of Hod Haran’s Folly - the finest luxury, entertainment, and gambling destination in the sector.” Standing straight once again the Mandalorian secured his hat back in place, resuming its angle with a gentle tug from both hands.
“I ever so appreciate the invitation. It has been a while since I have had a chance to attend an event such as this. While I am normally much more of a man of action, it is occasionally nice to put on the finery and enjoy an evening’s diversion.” Running one hand around the brim of his cavalier’s hat, a slight smirk spread across Alex’s face. “As for this? An attempt at a fashion I have yet to employ. Always looking to try new things and see what works out.”
As he spoke, a slight tingle spread across the back of his mind. Before he could focus on it to attempt to determine the cause he felt a familiar wet sensation spread across his hand.
“My dear Gentlemott Alk! A pleasure to come across you again! I am quite afraid these garments are not suitable for consumption, but I believe we may have something for you. Steven?” As Alex kneeled down to pet the creature, the KX droid reached into the interior of his tailcoat and produced from within a small fabric construction which was passed down to Alex.
“By your leave, friend Alk,” Alex said as he gently secured the bag around Alk’s neck. A while ago he had found a design for a feed bag which would allow the mott to access its contents without being wholly affixed over his snout. The contents of the bag, meanwhile, had been a collaborative effort between Alex and the botanists who maintained and studied the botanical gardens at the Folly to find a pleasing mix of leafy greens and edible flowers that would be pleasing to the palate while also providing a solid nutritional structure. “I do hope you find it to your taste.”
<@379840612788076544>
Alk was a gentlemott as he patiently allowed Alex to place the bag on him as one might a sash, plenty accustomed to such dressing now that his Rue had been doing it for a year. He sniffled at the greens, then, deeming them tasty enough, munched a few. He made a snuffling bleating sound.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard tale of Hod Haran’s Folly, though sadly I have not yet had the honour of visiting. Though, I do believe I have you to thank for the dulcet tones of tonight’s entertainment. If my memory serves me, my party planner mentioned hearing them play at Hod’s once.” TuQ took a closer look at Alex’s headwear, noting the extravagant feather. “I must say, you wear that new look rather well, what kind of feather is that?”
The Kel Dor turned his attention on the latest arrival. Alk was impeccably behaved, enjoying the snack provided by Alex.
“And who do we have here?”
<@244244163002892288>
It was such a strange feeling. He was so used to being the one sponsored, not sponsoring someone else– but yet here he was, watching Rue skitter off excitedly after his quadruped friend. A soft smile filled his features. He could see why Addyn did this, why he was always giving Severin a chance. He owed it all to the Chiss; this opportunity, the fact he was standing there looking like a karking Corellian model… he’d have to thank his patron when he got home. Send him a holo or something.
“Sir.”
And insistent voice broke his happy haze, pulling him back down from the clouds. Silver eyes fell upon the person responsible for checking in weapons and spare bits and bobs. Right. Weapon check. A few moments later and Sev had pulled a grand total of five knives, two blasters, and silver brass knuckles from various parts of his outfit. It was habit to stay armed at all times– especially so he was ready when he was called upon by Addyn.
The coatcheck gave him an affirmative nod when signalled he was finally good to make his way to Rue. He bowed softly in thanks, then half-walked-half-jogged to the other Kessurian hybrid’s side. Severin himself was dressed to the nines. He wore a five piece suit in a soft, green fabric. His suit jacket had and incredibly long hem that had sheets of similar colored tulle flowing from it to match Rue’s dress. Each part of the suit was intricately decorated with floral designs in white, tan, and cream– and many branches decorated in flowers sprouted from the coat in various areas. The entire ensamble looked like something that would have been worn to a fashion show.
The Kessurian-echani forwent wearing a hat for this even, only so that he could carefully braid the same flowers from his coat into his hair with cream and green beads in several locations. He donned a surprising amount of silver jewelry on his pointed ears and on his fingers.
“Sorry that took so long, ” He mumbled softly to Rue, “I’ve been to so many of these things and I always seem to forget they don’t want you bring weaponry. Well! Shall we?”
An arm was offered to his friend, a bright smile on his face showing off pearly white and pointy canines.
The prismatic of the pair smiled back, sharp teeth similarly on display, his long tail swaying close as its tip flicked happily. His sole hand gently and carefully wrapped around Sevarin’s, moving with the unsureness of someone mimicking an action they had only seen done.
“Yes,” the iridescent hybrid chirped to his opalescent companion. And then, more quietly, glancing around and then at where they touched, a check, “Is this correct?”
The albino male nodded, giving Rue this reassurance he was seeking.
“Perfect.”
With that Sev lead Rue into the party proper, into the crowds. Sev’s eyes carefully absorbed each face they passed, as if searching for danger.
This was a Brotherhood sponsored party, after all.
“What do you think so far? Not too overwhelming, I hope.”
Oblivious to Sev’s searching, Rue gave another delighted chirrup as be held close to the other man.
“It is a lot,” he admitted. “But not too much yet. I will tell you, I promise.” Saffron eyes turned to search, not looking for danger but gawking more openly at all the activities and displays. “I do not know what those are,” his tail flicked at the tables with bright lights and noises and then the ones with people holding cards. “I do not see any balls,” he sounded confused. “Is this not the ball room, you said?”
As he said this, he realized he’d lost Alk, and looked around for the gentlemott, spotting the little one with a large hat attached to a Kel Dor and a familiar face.
“Oh! But him I know.”
<@102435651189743616> <@379840612788076544>
Revs walked through the sliding doors into the ballroom. The rumors of this being such a nice occasion he had dropped the leather jacket with jeans look, and decided to go with a nice well tailored suit with black leather dress boots, and tie. He had pulled off the old strap of cloth that he used to cover his eyes and replaced them with an expensive pair of sunglasses.
The Miraluka handed his coat to the coat check and thanked them as he adjusted his cufflinks and the rings on his fingers. He looked around at the party and instantly took in the gambling tables and the bar and new where he would be spending most of his time. Then decided to take a walk to find any familiar faces first.
Alex gave the requisite scritches behind the ears to the young mott before standing and turning to once again address the host of the event.
“This elegant gentlemott is Alk, a noted dignitary and minor celebrity around these parts,” the sly smile he sported made it impossible to tell how much of that was him joking. “And if he is present then it is only presumable that his people are somewhere nearby as well.”
Green eyes scanned the room, as more people had begun to trickle in, looking to see if there was anyone he recognized. Right at the doors he did notice Revs just now entering - would have to make a point to say hello when the opportunity presented - but that was not one of the ones he specifically sought right now. Finally after a short scan he caught sight of a familiar form, decked in a gown and festooned with flowers. Accompanying Rue was somebody Alex had not had a chance to meet yet, though he was certainly aware of the person - the Blind Man had files on all sorts of people, and Alex had made it a point to study as many of them as he reasonably could. Raising one hand in a vigorous wave as he made eye contact, a soft laugh left from deep in his chest.
“Friend Rue! Delightful to see you! Please, come meet our host, and you simply must introduce me to your companion as well!” <@379840612788076544> <@264959101384130560>
A thin hooded figure entered the ballroom, steadying himself on solid ground after arriving in the nearby spaceport not long prior. His white-pale hands reached up to lower his hood as he entered the room, revealing his fading blue eyes and cautious expression. Passersby saw him reach into his robe’s left sleeve to take out a dark grey knit cap with a subtle white design around its edge; he placed it on his head uncomfortably.
J’Kast, a Sith scholar of Clan Scholae Palatinae, walked into the area at a medium, plodding pace but with intention—eyes scanning the room and searching for the host. “It is customary to greet the host at one of these things, right?” He thought to himself.
He finally found Proconsul TuQ’uan Varick finishing a conversation with other arriving guests and stood to their side until they parted. With a clearing of his throat, J’Kast introduced himself to the host: “I believe I should thank you for the invitation to this event, Proconsul,” he said. “I am J’Kast, a decadeslong member of Clan Scholae Palatinae, but I have only recently returned from independent travel and am glad to finally make your acquaintance.” His voice was quiet but low in timbre. It would have been difficult to hear him if not for the precise diction he used, which seemed to make his words cut through the background noise more effectively.
“I have long admired Clan Plagueis and often feel we are kindred spirits in a way,” he continued. “This will be a welcome opportunity to celebrate and get to know you and others who I have not yet gotten to study with.”
J’Kast looked around uncharacteristically furtively as he spoke, clearly out of his element at this kind of event. He folded his hands in front of his chest, took one step backward and nodded before nervously attempting to wrap up, “I won’t keep you from greeting your other guests, and I will accustom myself with the activities available here. You clearly have experience putting together an event like this.”
“Well, I am glad to have you here Alk,” TuQ addressed the gentlemott directly as he scratched behind his ears. “And I am looking forward to meeting who it is you brought with you.”
TuQ let out a soft chuckle as he stood up. Noticing the latest arrival, he turned and extended his hand towards the man.
“A pleasure to meet you, J’kast. Please enjoy the festivities! I look forward to chatting with you some more!”
<@131481261867794432> <@102435651189743616>
Despite being hailed as ‘friend’, Rue notably stiffened at Alex calling him over, clutching Sev’s arm a little tighter. Still he used his tail to wave vigorously back as they approached.
“Blessed Night, Sir Captain Quaestor Draconis,” Rue greeted, ducking his head, smiling at least at Alk. His tones quaked a little with nerves at meeting the ‘host’, the Hat on top of the Kel Dor’s head, surely, and also another stranger nearby, whose deep robes under a cap and thin figure and aura put him ill-at-ease, reminded of the Masters. “This one is designated experi–” he cut himself off. “I. I am Rue. That is Alk, and this,” he looked up then, saffron eyes fixing on the albino, his expression softening from its nerves to that of someone basking in warm sunlight, “this is Sevarin.”
<@264959101384130560> <@379840612788076544> <@131481261867794432>
Is clearly wearing a military style outfit almost as if in uniform but not wearing an official uniform. Crisp pants tucked into knee high leather boots. He appears lost as if he kind of meandered into the building. “Sithmas, never celebrated this before. And who is this who invited me ……” He’d say out loud once looking up until he See’s the doors.*
Private Quarters The Fallen Spear Arx System
“I’m surprised, honestly.” Leena crossed her arms in front of her chest, the fingers from one hand reaching up to touch her left lekku as it draped across her shoulder. Forge moved quietly in the background, checking the man’s clothes and retrieving bits of kit from his cabinets and cubbies. Hekate shifted from one leg to another, seeming to be uncomfortable in the situation. It wasn’t his presence, it wasn’t the room. Perhaps it was with Forge doting on him.
He paused, turning to look at Leena, warcoat draped over one arm, the detailed stitching of his formal robes catching the light just barely. The thoughts scrambled from his mind to hers, more efficient than words as his mouth stayed silent.
“I know, I know. Everyone sends invitations out to…” She let the sentence hang. The unsaid part could have been so much. Grand Masters? Lord of the Star Chamber? Or even him personally? All were just as likely here. She shifted her weight slightly, watching him swing the garment wide, slipping his arms into it in a smooth and flowing motion, the edge of the leather missing Forge by millimeters. To his credit, the droid didnt even flinch. She might have considered that the closeness didnt even register in the droid’s perception if she hadn’t been intimately aware of hie sensor suite. Leena brought her focus back. “But you don’t have to go to any of them.”
Muz adjusted his collar, and blinked, pale lids slowly covering eyes burned black all those many years ago. He lifted the sword from the stand in front of him, spinning it quickly before sliding the diamond blade into the scabbard at his side. It had been too long since he had carried the artifact weapon. Formal events weren’t terribly uncommon, the stack of invites that Forge received seems to be as talll as he was any given month. But the ones he chose to attend?
He let half of a smile creep up the corner of his face.
It was good to keep them guessing.
Meanwhile at the entrance to the party
J’Kast nodded a quiet thank you to the host as they turned to greet other arrivals, then he adjusted the itchy cap on his head. His patience with the headgear was wearing as thin as the threadbare elastic strip holding it against his forehead.
<@244244163002892288> He glanced at the shimmering figure before him who just spoke and noticed the text scribed in scars on their chest, only partially hidden by clothing. “How fascinating,” he murmured under his breath initially. J’Kast placed a finger to his lips and looked more closely, certainly becoming uncomfortably obvious in the attention he was paying to the branding. He caught himself after a moment and shook his head, “Forgive me,” he said sincerely, “Is that not ancient Sith text you bear on your skin?”
The Sith scholar held out his hands slightly, turning up his palms to show he meant no harm. “I mean not to offend or embarrass you, of course. These things are just interesting to me in a…” he searched for the right word for a moment before continuing, “*scholastic * sense. Please don’t let me keep you from enjoying the party’s festivities.”
The pointed attention had had the hybrid tensing, but when the Sith spoke, identifying the text, he immediately went rigid, shoulders collapsing inwards and spine hunching to make him smaller. Sev would find Rue was quite suddenly plastered to his side, the hand curled over his arm a death grip that dug stoney nails into his sleeve hard enough to damage the delicate embroidery. The tail that had been waving wound its way around Sev’s closest leg, a constricting vice.
Rue’s head bowed, his waterfall of shimmering braids and the single clip-on earring he wore swaying, flower crown at a perilous tilt. His gaze was nailed to the floor. He spoke in a shaking whisper.
“Yes, Master, Sir,” the man answered promptly. “This one bears the ur-Kïaat script. It is as the Master suggests. Master is most keen, of course.”
<@264959101384130560>
Seeing his friend begin to shrink and wither into what was becoming an all-too-familiar pattern of behavior, Alex shifted forward a bit and spoke just slightly louder than a casual, conversational volume.
“While I am certain you meant no offense and I do applaud your scholarly interest - I am a Professor of the esteemed Wayfinder Society myself - I must ask that we divert from the subject. For a multitude of reasons, of which I will present the two most important: first, it is a touchy subject as I am sure you can see. While the language may be ancient, the scars - both physical and emotional - are not. Secondly, there is no faster way to turn a party into a colossal bummer than to start yammering about ancient languages like a bunch of huge nerds! There is plenty to partake of here that will not bring the mood down,” a sweeping gesture of his arm sent the half-cape aflutter like an amaranth wing. “We have food, we have entertainment and if my eyes do not deceive me I believe I see a classic Mandalorian training game.” His eyes alighted upon the boards set up at an angle with holes carved in them, weighted bean bags sitting near. “A fairly loose translation would have it in Basic as ‘do not miss with a grenade, you miserable shit-for-brains’ but that is both quite a mouthful of words and a bit vulgar to constantly say. I find it much more elegant to refer to it in the original Mando’a of koh’ern h’ool.” <@131481261867794432> <@264959101384130560>
J'Kast nodded slowly at the entreaty not to press and attempted a comforting smile to the scarred individual bowing before him – it was not an excellent try at the unfamilar gesture, so it is just as well that their eyes were averted and did not observe the attempt.
“Of course. Food and caf - no matter the time of day - will always be welcome additions to my experience.” He cringed at the vulgarity of the translation and chuckled. “Of course – this grenade throwing game will no doubt keep the crowd here entertained and distracted in good measure. And there appears to be games and festivities abound. Wise to get to those and avoid blocking the entryway here.”
As if summoned from the aether by magic words, a very tall wolfish man with a very tiny hat balanced delicately atop his head between a pair of lupine ears and short horns appeared from nearby, asking, “Did someone say language nerds? Hello, yes, it is me.”
<@102435651189743616> <@379840612788076544> <@131481261867794432>
J'Kast stopped in his steps toward the party as this new wolfish figure approached. A look simultaneously of intrigue and confusion betrayed his emotions before he extended a hand to him. “I’m J'Kast, of Clan Scholae Palatinae. We were just about to explore the interesting activities available here at the party after our friend suggested we were bringing down the mood by being nerds.”
He continued walking into the ballroom and gestured in hopes that the others would follow before continuing, “I would argue we could perhaps do both. Don’t you agree?”
Aphotis knew TuQ’uan had an appreciation for hats, so she assumed a crown would fit the bill just as well. She had one ready, one that would finish off her planned outfit brilliantly. This time she was not going anywhere without her black-visored facemask, in fact, she let her alchemical skin cover her from head to toe as well.
One layer would not suffice as she sought to regain her comfort from the last time she visited the Shame Corner. Not only did she cover herself in her usual full bodysuit, she also let a long restrictive hobble skirt flow over the second skin to form a third sheet. With some effort, she bound herself in a waist-cinching corset, also formed from the same sensitive organic latex. The more she restricted herself, the more confidence seeped through her veins. But she was not done yet.
Already down to the last reserves of her symbiotic skin, she stretched the remains even further by adding a hood to the arsenal. Her raven hair was perfectly concealed behind the veil and protected from getting stuck to the fabric by copious use of essential oils. A single-shouldered cape draped down from the cowl, adding a fashionable flare and dramatising every movement she would make.
She could really feel how much weight all of the layers added once she inhaled the first breath of filtered air with a loud hiss. The pressure would have given her goosebumps if she still had pores, instead her tail flicked from side to side in pure delight. It was so snug it felt like a continuous hug, from someone that she could actually stand to be touched by, anyway. There was a real chance that anyone else would get claustrophobic or would be unable to walk. For Tir’eivra, however, the symbiotic fabric moved with her, stretching where needed to maintain full mobility. .
Finally, she held her crown above her head covering. She heard a metallic click as she felt the band latch around her skull. With a gentle tap into the Force she turned her datapad alarm off, it had been ringing for a while, having been so focused on her apparel that she had completely ignored it.
’Fashionably late’
“Oh well…”
The four of them moved forward from the limousine, the short trip from the spaceport uneventful. Charged with a sense of purpose, Forge forged ahead, staying a few steps ahead of his master. The Chamberlain would want to intercept first, after all. He carried the obligatory gift from the Lord of the Krath, a medium sized box wrapped with intricate folds of black paper and tied shut with an ornate dark purple ribbon bearing black runes and frothed into a broad bow at the top. The droid was particularly proud of that bow, having shown it to them all no less than four times.
If Hekate could have rolled their eyes, they would have. Optical sensors flit between the silver key that clattered against the Chamberlain’s carapace then over at Leena and Muz as they moved toward the hall. Leena looked less uncomfortable than Muz for the moment as they moved, Leena gait untroubled and steady, her movements the same as usual. His, however…there was something odd that Hekate couldn’t quite pick up. There were errant minor movements of his shoulders and neck, an arm drawing back behind his warcoat for a moment to adjust the scabbard at his hip. Hekate wondered if it was the formal robes. They were precisely tailored for him, but they were not his usual garb, and Hekate supposed that a thousand iterations and breaking them in was what made the difference. A few paces later, they were gone as soon as Hekate had noticed them. Perhaps the tailor just needed a little more …direction. Hekate’s optical sensors brightened involuntarily for a moment.
“No.” Leena hissed at them.
“What?” Hekate’s tripled voice rattled through their vocoder, accusatorily discordant.
“Whatever you just thought of…” Leena waggled a finger, her lekku slipping down off of her shoulder, joining the other as it pointed at her own back. “Just. No.”
Muz’s eyebrow rose at their interaction, but he did not shift his view. Ahead was the entrance to the Grand Ballroom, and all that entailed.
TuQ bowed to his gathering guests, accentuating it with a tip of his hat, and politely excused himself. While he would love to stick around and chat some more, he figured it would be best if he spent a bit more time wandering the party and mingling with those he hadn’t thanked for coming just yet. Plus, he had a few things he needed to check on.
As he made his way across the floor of the grand ballroom, now beginning to bustle with activity, he hummed along to the music playing behind the cacophony of voices and laughter echoing throughout the room. TuQ raised his crimson hand and waved to a gathered group of party goers, some faces familiar, others weren’t. It warmed the mercenary’s heart to see so many gathered here from all across the brotherhood, which was weird because so many people in his life had told him he had no heart. Hah! Once again he had proved them wrong!
The hybrid school the extended hand with his own single one, grinning with a closed mouthed smile at the group. “Pleased to meet you. I daresay we can indeed do both! Not much is more fun than nerdery and games, no?” He glanced to Alex. “And hello again, Captain Draconis. Quaestor now, rather.” To the other, he offered a Mandalorian salute, the kind the Erinos gave the Arconans.
<@102435651189743616>
Karran walked into the party with a sizeable box tucked under his arm. It was covered in a simple wrapping, no elaborate designs, but a fine fabric. Waiting within to be revealed was a similarly unadorned, but well crafted wooden box, large enough to hold a hat similar in dimension to the one Tuq was typically wearing. However, despite its simple exterior this box also had mechanisms to maintain ideal temperature and humidity, so as to protect whatever was stored within from its environment.
Karran’s clothes were fresh and crisp. Not elaborate, but well-made. They did little to conceal his modesty above the waist, but prioritized comfort above all else. The pants were loose-fitting and flowing. The leather boots were well-worn, but meticulously cared-for.
While it was true that Karran and Tuq had only interacted on very few occasions, one of them being a fight, the latter was simply more reason for the Sith to respect his host.
The Zabrak scanned the crowd with his good eye, looking for familiar faces (friendly or otherwise).
“Jax!” Alex vigorously returned the salute, accompanied by a boisterous peal of laughter. “Good to see you! And really, enough with the titles. I have long since given up on getting Rue to stop it, but for everyone else I am simply Alex. A leader shows true by the actions he takes, not the titles he bears.”
Alex rolled his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “And speaking of actions, who is ready to get their ass whooped at some bean bag tossing?”
“So….who were we here for?” Leena took a flute of something bubbly off of a passing server’s tray. She watched as the ballroom bustled, teeming with aspirants and debutants. Muz shifted his attention back to the Twi'lek, his attention having drifted to the mention uf Ur-Kittat that floated on the wonds of conversation. She couldn’t be sure that his eyes were focusing on her, she never could. But it was an approximation, she supposed.
“TuQ'uan Varick DiPlagia.” The images floated from his mind to hers, a seemingly generic Kel'dor face, a blaster pistol, the Clan Plagueis logo, a birthday confection, a life day robe, followed by a rapidly changing series of hats.
Leena shifted her weight to her other hip, raising the flute to her lips with a faint smile. “You don’t actually know him, do you?” She took a sip, letting the effervescent liquid dance across her taste buds. How something could be both sweet and bitter at once never ceased to confound her.
Muz lifted an eyebrow slightly but said nothing, his head scanning the rest of the crowd. Forge stepped to his side, his hands almost wringing in front of his chest. The droid really would have preferred being able to announce their arrival, but Muz had declined. This did not seem to be that sort of party. Pity, that. He had bothered with the fancy robes. Turning to look at the droid, he gave a single, slow nod.
Forge nodded in response, his optical sensors burning brightly as he turned and started moving quickly through the crowd. Hekate leaned their head close to Leena, their voice rattling as they took a small ….well, it seemed like a tiny little cake with an oddly shaped berry on top from a nearby table. “Where’s he off to?”
Leena shrugged, then reached up to pull her lekku over her shoulder to rest along her arm. “To find our host, I assume.” She looked at Muz as his attentions wandered off, no doubt looking for someone they knew.
Shan, a young Chiss, wove her way through the bustling room, proffering a tray of various hors d’oeuvres to guests as she passed by. She stoped a moment at each group she passed by, letting the delicious scents waft off the food she carried, tempting the party goers to indulge in the decadent finger foods. Warm and gooey cheeses topped with dehydrated meiloorun fruit all on top of a traditional Tatooinian flat bread, flash fried zucci strips with a sweet dipping sauce, an extravagant and over the top take on trimpian. Just thinking about all the food she carried around made Shan’s mouth start to water. But the couldn’t eat yet, this was for the guests.
Her back straight and the tray perfectly balanced in one hand, the other folded into the small of her back, Shan continued weaving through the crowds. Shan approached a group discussing what sounded like the intricacies of languages, though she did her best not to listen too closely for fear of intruding. She raised a fist to her mouth and softly cleared her throat.
“Can I interest anyone in a snack?”
<@131481261867794432> <@244244163002892288> <@102435651189743616>
While Severin guided Rue off to the gardens so he could recover in their shared natural environment of ✨ plants ✨, Jax laughed with Alex and J'Kast.
“Yes, of course, whatever you prefer, Alex. I was merely alluding to your promotion,” he said warmly, then to the robed man, “Forgive me, I did not catch your name. I am Irian'Jaxerias Settgré,” his married name was given emphasis, complete with a delighted wag of hips and stamp of foot, an uncontrollable smile on his face, “of Clan Erinos. This is Alex. And you are…? Besides about to be ‘ass kicked’ that is.”
When the server arrived, Jax nodded down at her too.
“Why thank you, ma'am.”
He took one snack in his large claws and nibbled it.
<@102435651189743616> <@131481261867794432> <@379840612788076544> <@264959101384130560>
“And I’m J'Kast…” he said with a slight bow at the neck. “I’m unfamiliar with the… bean bag game here. I will have to see it operate.”
He took a flatbread from the tray next to the group without looking where he reached, keeping his eyes fixed forward on the conversation.
“Fascinating,” he continued. “And I am a perpetual scholar housed in Clan Scholae Palatinae. It is fine to be here with you and the others here for the celebration.” Beginning to eat and struggle with the stringiness of the melted cheese, “I am recovering from the nausea I always seem to endure after spaceflight, and I am hoping this will help.”
“Spaceflight can be hard on one’s stomach,” Jax sympathized, still all smiles. “But it is well to meet a fellow scholar! You will have to tell me of your studies. But first, perhaps we can decide the rules of the game? Alex? I know how we play among the Erinos, but…”
<@102435651189743616>
“Well, traditional training method is a bit harsh and would not be much fun,” Alex started picking up the beanbags as he spoke, “but there is the more casual version which was encouraged to be played as an off-hours game. Still worked to improve training, so it was always looked upon kindly.”
He divided the bags up based on their color and started casually juggling a trio of them in one hand as he continued. “Three tosses each. Toss is handled from about 25 or 30 feet out; sinking a bag direct through the hole is worth three points, managing to land it on the board and stay there is one point - after all, close is good enough with a grenade. If you nail the floor, even if it bounces onto the board, no score. Never want to count on a lucky bounce when explosives are involved.” His grin widened a bit as he reversed the direction of his juggle.
“Known too many a soldier who came up short a limb or a life when they did not pay attention to a rock before taking a throw.” <@131481261867794432>
Jax chuffed at Alex’s comments, a hard snort that conveyed intimate experience. After all, he was missing an entire arm at the shoulder, and had a cybernetic foot and calf up to just below the knee.
“Solid directions,” he agreed, and extended his hand to take one of the colors offered to him. “You served, Alex?”
“When I was growing up,” a bit of a faraway look passed across Alex’s features as he handed over the beanbags, “there was no ‘service.’ It was life. If you were part of the Clans, you were part of the War. Maybe not fighting on the frontlines, mind you, since there is plenty of work in logistics, and planning, and all sorts of other non-combat things that need to be taken care of in a war. But that was not the case for me. Many lifetimes ago, I was a Rally Master under Mandalore the Ultimate.”
A hand brushed against the Zabrak’s free arm, heralding the presence of a familiar faux-Zelosian. She halted beside him, taking a moment to adjust the deep neckline of her metallic crimson jumpsuit and using him to balance while fixing a strap on her white leather boots. Forest green curls spilled over her forehead when she straightened up afterwards with a huff. The wild bush was gathered up with a white and gold striped silk scarf, a quick way to style up the locks in a rush or to protect the curls that he had witnessed the hours that went in keeping them lush and healthy.
“Thanks, last meetin’ ran long, thought they’d never stop talkin’.” Diyrian turned and flashed him a half-grin beneath her golden face tattoos. Her aquamarine eyes gave him a once-over. “Lookin’ handsome as always, Horns.”
She winked, then looked around the grand ballroom for other familiar faces or the visage of the fabled hat wearing Kel Dor. Diy wasn’t overly familiar with TuQ and wouldn’t say they’ve truly met aside from passing in business on Arx more recently. Folks weren’t exaggerating about his hat being the most notable feature of his. Other than, y'know, the breathing mask to help tolerate the local atmospheres. The Kiffar fished into deceptively hidden and deep pocket that are a gal’s heaven, and fished out two simple and cleanly designed small boxes.
“So, have ya seen our host and B-day fella?” She noted the large present tucked under his arm that she may have missed earlier. “Ah, guess not.”
The Sith turned to face the lovely company that had joined him. It took only a quick look to see that she far out-shone him in dress.
“Sadly I only see half as much as most. One would think that someone known for wearing such an identifiable hat would be easier to spot.”
He leaned in to speak in a more discrete tone, bending slightly at the waist.
“Although, someone could have one fewer eye than me and still see that you make me look like a peasant standing next to an Alderaanian noble.”
His blind eye winked at the woman.
“Here, Rue,” the opaline Echani-Kessurian murmured, gently leading his friend and plus one out into the gardens. There were some lovely enough benches and fountains too, but Sev knew a few things about the rainbow hybrid by now, including that he seemed to prefer the ground. Very literally touching grass, as it were, so he guided Rue down in front of a bench, carefully spreading the hybrid’s skirts with an experienced touch to prevent them from crumpling. “Is this okay?”
Rue took a long moment, his saffron eyes flickering up and around briefly from where they’d stayed nailed down, the tension in his frame easing just slightly as he took in the flowers and plants. “Yes.”
“How are you feeling?” He didn’t know what exactly sort of memories the questions about the Ancient Sith on Rue’s chest had brought, but he could only imagine from what he knew of the other’s behavior and comments. “We’re safe, you know. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Rue’s golden gaze went to Sev, bare and totally trusting.
“This one– I know. I trust Sev.” He coughed, voice small. The suited champion rubbed a gentle circle between the concave of boney shoulder blades, feeling every veretral spine under freckled, scale-petal skin.
“I’ll go find us some tea, how about that? Will you be alright a moment with Alk?” The gentlemott was happily mönching grass. Rue nodded meekly, his tail brushing Sev like a pair of clinging arms reluctant to let go. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Severin headed back inside, a sinner-saint of snowdrops and pink orchids. As he did, Rue watched him go, and saw past him a much different figure: not a benediction of blossoms, but a damnation in glorious decay.
His fingers knotted in the grass, stone nails digging into dirt. Rue felt it when her attention found him looking from across the ballroom and through the doors. A cold claw down his spine.
Alk snuffled happily. The hybrid swallowed, waiting.
<@264959101384130560> <@188018248241905664>
The large doors opened as the pair of Togruta siblings finally arrived to the party. The taller male Togruta was dressed in a stylish dark cerulean blue suit. The top was impressive looking, with metallic silver and gold filigree lacework all along the collar and front, down the sleeves and a bit on the side as well. Giving the illusion as though it were two pieces, a shirt and over jacket, however it was one piece as the deeply cut collared jacket neck line transitioned into a shirt, stopping about mid torso, showing off the trimmed chest and some of his markings that were common for his species. The solid dark blue pants that he wore paired well with the black boots trimmed with a bit of silver along the tops and down the sides. The entire ensemble harmonized well with his light orangish skin, while the suit itself matched the dark cerulean markings of his Montrals and Lekku.
The shorter petite female beside him was dressed in a flowing metallic champagne dress that reached almost to the floor. As she walked it was clear the two almost hip high slits in the dresses pleated skirt revealed the black flame-like markings, on her crimson skin, tracing all the way down her legs to her golden boot/sandal-like heels, which were accented with silver along the edges. Around her waist where the bodice and skirt met, was a sharp V-shaped belt of filigree silver. The plunging neckline of the pleated bodice was tastefully revealing but simple, with thin straps over her shoulders and across her back, showing off most of her crimson skin and rest of the flame-like markings running down her arms from her shoulders, and a major portion of the scars on her torso. Her grey Montrals were accented by a headdress of silver filigree, and three large Akul teeth. Lastly, for those who looked past her attire, would notice a small strange dragon-like creature. Sitting across her shoulders, most of it’s body and folded wings hidden underneath her larger back head tail, with it’s tail wrapping around her left Lekku.
Tahiri looked around the room, trying to not have an annoyed look on her face, as she searched for TuQ. They were already late by an hour or so, and being late was one of her biggest peeves. It was thanks to her brother, who had waited till the very last minute to get his suit finished, and even then kept changing his mind on how it should have looked.
“Looks like he’s already gone to mingle more. Hopefully we can find him,” Tahiri whispered, mostly to herself, the Tailring on her shoulders huffing a little. Although it wasn’t soft enough for her brother to not catch it.
“I’m sure we’ll find him shortly. I’m mean how hard could a hat that big be hard to find,” Ro-Tahn’s emerald eyes flashed as a mischievously cocky grin spread across his face. “Oops, I forgot, it’s probably a lot harder for you to find anyone who is even a Thimiar taller than you.”
If anyone was quick enough to see, all Tahiri had to do was toss her brother a look, which made even his cocky grin turn sheepish, as they continued into the great ballroom. She waved at a few familiar faces amongst the groups of people as they passed by in their search for the man of the hour, knowing that they would probably get sidetracked before meeting up with the Kel Dor.
The matrix of firing neurons and ebb-and-flow signatures within the Force sent ripples through the ink-like ocean that was Aphotis. Engulfed by the layers of hypersensitive alchemical skin, she could feel the slightest glance as if one were to bore into the essence of her soul. Most received a glimpse from her, returned in kind—like her shimmering suit reflecting emitted light—others were acknowledged by a single hiss from her mask and a minimal inclination of her head.
She left behind a gift, decorated by a sizeable black lace bow atop the pile of other presents—an offering of their one-time cooperation. There would be more with increasing intrinsic value if collaboration with TuQ’uan Varick proved fruitful. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the weighty cape careening back over her shoulder with satisfying pops and snaps as the slippery material wished to cling to itself, were it not for the oils. The tall Sith strode towards a familiar sensation that she had been made conscious of during her last visit to the Shame Corner.
A golden aura brimming with fire. Beseeching to be further explored… yet not nearly begging her enough. Not one set in stone, clay to be molded, just like the many downtrodden shadows of her past.
Rue’s nails sank further and further into the soil the with every snapping, popping, clacking staccato step the Mistress took. Soon his clenched hand was full of loam and grassroots, and he held fast to that capillary-thin lifeline, grounding himself in the damp and the dark.
Not so unlike the fungi himself.
Perhaps if he had truly been alone here, as he’d initially been at the Shame Corner before Sir Captain Quaestor Draconis had come to his side, he would have already been bowing into the dirt. But he had Alk to protect, and Severin was in just the other room, and had promised he’d let nothing happen to Rue, and he had to protect Sev too. Sev was so good. Wonderful. Rue would not let him experience the Masters or their like.
Somehow, he knew deep down that Mistress Aphotis was worse, in her own way; more powerful than the Masters had been, though surely less…organized.
So it was that though his spine screamed to bend and snap and break at her approach, he held himself shaking upright, trembling just as Sev had left him, his beautiful gown arranged just so. He had a sudden desperate desire to cross his arms over his chest, and did with his half one, wishing to hide the brand that the other guest had spotted. Doubtless Aphotis knew the tongue of ur-Kïaat, if Sith she was true.
(Alk, meanwhile, was busily greeting each plant, as a diplomott should. And also eating them.)
Jax was reminded of the last he had briefly seen Alexander, at the Shame Corner, when the man had had to be off before he could ask about a comment that he was millennia old.
“What was that like? And what was he like? Mandalore?” the hybrid asked, genuinely curious. Logic ruled, of course, that as Alex admitted he was only Human, there was either Carbonite involved – as hibernation with such was prolific long before Mandalore’s time warring with the Old Republic in pre-hyperdrive eras – or Alex was delusional. Even Human Force-Users like him could not, to most scientific and magical standards alike, be so ancient. But people were illogical, and life was too, and their stories could be surprising and rich if one merely kept an open mind. Alex could just be something they didn’t understand yet!
As he asked, lupine eyes noted more entrants to the party, these some he recognized. Bril’s godmother, and one of Foxen’s opponents in the stadium. She was likely to be invited to his brother’s cookouts one day. His ears perked.
“Ah, TAHIRI!” Jax called, waving his one arm in friendly excitement. He smiled, nodding at the hackey sack game. “And Ro-Tahn! Come, come! Join us!”
<@102435651189743616> <@375384499770359819> <@131481261867794432>
Her amused chuff graced his initial joke with a playful eye roll. She was used to such remarks by now, and they still haven’t fallen stale yet. Her grin lightened into an endeared smile that still pressed her cheeks into dimples at his following comment.
“Flatterin’ me, Karran?” Diy hummed, leaning forward and up on her toes till she was closer to his eye level with the lean he did. A hand reached up and – patted his cheek, thumb brushing his jaw line before falling away. “Well, it’s workin’ and welcome.”
She popped back onto her feet fully with a bounce and shot him a promising grin. “I appreciate your dress, it’s part of your charm. I’ll shoot anyone in the foot who suggests otherwise.”
The Sith returned from his stooped posture, standing a little straighter and his chin lifted a fraction more than previous. The stance was that of someone who had just received caring words from a cherished partner.
“I suppose we could always wander, mingle, and entertain ourselves until we chance across our host.”
“Mandalore was…interesting, is perhaps the best way I can put it. I never had much chance to interact with him directly - after all, I was one of many of his Rally Masters and I was far from important enough to merit personal attention from the leader of the Clans - but,” a faraway look overtook Alex as he clearly began treading through old memories buried deep away, “he cared. Maybe not necessarily about each and every individual Mando’ade but at the very least about our people as a concept.”
The beanbag Alex was holding pulsed slightly as he absent-mindedly squeezed and released it. A slow smile spread across his face as he reminisced.
“Many will tell you that the War was driven by aggression, or brutality, or that the Mandalore was tricked or influenced into it by the Sith. And of course, some of that may be true. But in my long eons I have dealt with many kinds - Jedi, Sith, Force users of all shapes and stripes, things even beyond the reckoning of the Force itself - and I can tell you that I have never met one who could so fully overwhelm a person’s own desires so thoroughly as to make them do things they did not on some level want to do themselves. Especially not a person of such intense determination as he possessed. I cannot speak with absolute certainty - I was not a close confidant of the man - but I can say that having seen the course and purpose of the War and the Neo-Crusaders with my own eyes…I do believe Mandalore the Ultimate saw the way the galaxy was headed and was trying everything he could to make sure there was some place in it for us. Whether or not he succeeded, I suppose, is a matter of personal opinion but we still stand, we still fight, and the whole galaxy still knows who we are so the goal cannot have been missed too badly.”
Rue was a shadow so bright it competed with his corporeal form, almost creating a double vision of himself to the tall Sith. Both towering shoes came to an abrupt standstill with microscopic precision alongside each other with a vociferous clack—the hobble dress tightened itself around her ankles. Eyes—hidden by the black visor—studied Rue’s graceful gown as it flowed in the dark corner.
“Why do you attempt to make yourself so small, when your aura is as vivid as that of a star?” Every word seemed drawn out and melodious, as if it was meant to draw out and speak to fear alone. Her last syllable merged with the hiss of her mask.
Aphotis crossed her arms in beguiled mimicry of Rue, letting the symbiotic mantle on her single shoulder flutter by will.
Turning towards the sound of her name being called, she in turn waved, a huge bright smile on her face as she quickly recognized Jax. Almost bouncing a little in step, she adjusted her and Ro’s course to see what Jax was up to.
“Hi Jax! It’s good to see you again. I still have to apologize for how brief our conversations were at the arena. It was by far to loud to talk properly,” Looking around excitedly for other familiar faces. “Is perhaps Minnow and Bril, or even Flyndt and Foxen here at the party too?”
Ro had grabbed three different appetizers from the trays that the attendants were bringing around to the guests. Shoving a couple in his mouth and barely chewing before he swallowed, nearly choking a little as Tahiri greeted the Zygerrian-Shistavanen hybrid that they had met at the big tournament. He was curious, as to the fact that he was the brother to the hulking dude his tiny older sister had fought against in the second round, but hadn’t the chance to ask since Tahiri had joined him after that match up. Though he knew and understood not all families were defined by blood alone.
“Hey, how’s it flyin’?” smiling and giving a quick nod before popping the third appetizer in his mouth.
The hybrid flinched again at the hiss of her mask and the last word. Her statement nailed his gaze back down to the ground now that he had her attention, and he bit through his lip and cheek, deliberate, to draw penitent blood. Swallowing the mouthful of metalic red prevented ruination to his garments.
His tongue and fangs were flecked in crimson when he inevitably answered the demand, a whisper to the hurricane of her.
“This one is nothing, Mistress Aphotis, surely no star,” he demured with an absoluteness that was rather the opposite. The insistence was rote and almost desperate in its ferocity. “But to answer Mistress, this one is meant to be silent and unseen excepting during experiments and such engagements. It is so.” He paused briefly. “Or…such were the rules, where it– where I…was. Previously.”
Jax listened intently to Alex’s story, rather itching to have a notepad in his hand rather than a beanbag he could twist and toss about his palm. Perhaps the Quaestor would be interested in a biographical interview sometime? Regardless, for the moment the hybrid listened, and gave a thoughtful, proud hum to the sentiment of their people still standing.
“Indeed, I believe you are correct that what truly we hold in our hearts is what shall most come to pass of our actions, the very least our thoughts, even under the strongest of yokes. How much you have seen. I envy you even as I grieve for you, my friend. You hold the weight of ages well.”
Just was said as Tahiri approached, bouncing in step. He had to crane his neck down sharply enough to hurt to look at her and took a pace back just to help both of them, returning her smile.
“It is alright, Tahiri. While I also would have loved to speak more, it was not the time for it– our families needed a reprieve. No, the others are all home tonight, I think, but I know you made at least an impression on Foxen.” He chuckled. “It is impressive.”
Then to the other Togruta: “Fair winds, flyin’ casual, as they say, I think? Good to see you again as well, Ro-Tahn. This is Alex Draconis and–” it seemed their other fellow had wandered off. “Well, Alex. One of Arcona’s Quaestors. Alex, this is Tahiri and Ro-Tahn. We were just going to play a game, if you would like to join us?” <@375384499770359819>
“Sounds like a karlin’ good idea,” Diy beamed. She shifted the gift boxes containing expensive leather polish and hat charms of blasters and spaceships into one hand. Slipping her arm into the crook of his, she looked around before flashing a half-grin. “How bout we find wherever the gift stash is, then challenge these folks to a duel? I saw some sabacc and carnival games around.”
“And how did it have to be, during these experiments?” There was curiosity in her voice.
No matter how degraded, no matter how belittled, it was clear that Rue had purpose in the eyes of his masters. Not everyone had purpose and he was not discarded, or he would not be here in front of Aphotis.
“It had purpose, it has survived, that makes it far more durable and intended than the majority of conscious tools and possibly it’s peers too. Let that pride sink in, let it bolster and harden it’s resolve. Let it be the self.”
Rue was ripping up fistfuls of the grass and soil now in agitation, like kneading at the ground. His tail tip lashed, despite how it was curled tight around his leg and skirt also.
“It had to be good,” he answered, simple at first before rattling off more, lilting voice flattening to a soft monotone: “Be silent unless asked questions, be still unless commanded to ambulate or otherwise perform a given task or range of motion, be thorough in reporting sensation and status to given stimuli or listing of subjectively experienced symptoms, be strong when they took the blood or the samples or performed the tests over and over and over. If Mistress wishes for a recounting, she must be more specific. This one, the it, knows its purpose. It had a purpose. To be good for the Masters. To be good for God. It was a failure and also a success. It survived, yes. It survived so much, for so long. More than the others. All the litluns.” That flat tone cr-a-cke-d and shattered, “All my children have died. They are still dying. I do not want to be the survivor. I wanted them to live.”
He hissed and spat on the ground.
“This one has no pride for this. For it to have pride is a sin. Pride is of the Masters and God. They made it. Anything it does or is that is good is their success, and anything it does wrong is its failure, deserving only of punishment and shame.”
“What were they testing on you and your ‘litluns’? When testing, as is common, one discards the subject once the experiment is over. This did not occur, with all the genetic variables present, why did the ‘masters’ persist in trialing on your ‘litluns’. Too many questions,” there was no deception in the way she pronounced ‘litlun’, almost as if it had already become a standardized synonym for children.
The physical reactions she could read from Rue sparked inspirational thoughts. Her own tail lashed as Rue’s did and her masked head tilted in morbid curiosity.
“What actions would constitute ‘good’, Rue? Do you require penance? A chance to commune with a litlun, no doubt their souls live on in you, perhaps even unsolicited…”
“Their–” he choked off, the idea of the very souls of said little ones trapped with him too horrifying to even contemplate, even in his lifetimes of horrors. His eyes unfocused briefly, before a stillness came back over him, fingers going slack and tone turning calm and obedient once more.
“Mistress is correct, we are experiments. Each one was systemically discarded after or near expiration via use of an incinerator. Stable or particularly desirable strains were kept for further study or experiments. This one was such a subject. Its genetic coding is highly resilient, and it is able to access the powers of the Goddess and God, like the majority of the Masters and Mistress. These two traits were particularly important, even if other characteristics it possessed were undesirable.”
He paused only to inhale before continuing the soft-spoken report.
“The Master – the first Master, and all those after – originally sought to provide the perfect physical host subject for Lord God, should He ever require another, as His soul and power are Eternal but too much for any mortal form to bear true. He used his own DNA and that of selected subjects. Many generations of experimentation occurred. Trials are ongoing. This one’s designation is SP-FKRD-29-0034991. Fierrero, Kessurian, Ryn, and Dowutin. Twenty-ninth subject of its batch. Thirty four thousand nine hundred and first subject overall. The last litlun it knew before its sinful departure was…” he stumbled a moment, recollecting, “…it was not allowed as much time with the litluns in the last decade…punishment for her escape…they were…it thinks, somewhere past one hundred and eighty thousand. Mistress was very competent at increasing production after Master passed…”
He trailed off. Then a blink, and a bow of his head.
“Does this answer Mistress?”
Aphotis could only slowly incline her head at Rue. The sheer staggering numbers made her pause as the quiet surroundings felt louder than ever. The hiss of her own exhalation brought momentary comfort.
“I appreciate you sharing this with me.”
Her analytical mind was trying to find logic to this insanity, but she reminded herself that some ratiocination did not account for the Force, merely the brute inevitable results did. Her tail twitched at the thought, but she realised it would be foolish to not account for it.
She herself had hunted down prey, part of the satisfaction was due to the effort she exerted in finding the right subject for her spliced tail. The tail was part of her, it had to be compatible, as was evident of its own muscle memory and emotional impact. The final Ryn offered themselves up to her willingly, albeit after a major struggle—which proved their physical quality. She had convinced them they would live on in a grander scheme, before drawing their last breath. Their genetics were not only compatible with her own signature in the Force, but there was also spiritual agreement and respect. .
A dim blue shimmered behind the black visor. She realised why Rue’s aura pulled her in now.
She bit her lip. He was akin to a wound in the Force. Yet the dark side answered that query. It warned her with pangs of adrenaline that sent her heart into overdrive, she could feel the veins in her wrist throbbing. He held the death of one hundred and eighty thousand in his soul. An inexhaustible font of inspiration, pain, regret, suffering and most of all, power. The sweet, savory flavor of fear trickled over her tongue—synesthesia of her corporeal form weaving together with the hunger of the Force.
It was ironic, the Masters sought a host, not by creation, but by tedious trial and error. Instead, they created a potential weapon.
“Fascinating,” her voice became an echoing whisper.
“Rue, what if I told you that I knew a thing or two about adapting vessels? I believe you possess keys to many doors. The death-beat drum surrounding you is one of them.”
Standing in the wings of the stage, TuQ scrolled through the datapad an assistant had placed in his hands. He nodded along as the head of the event staff gave him updates on the party. She listed everything from stock levels to schedule updates, the updated attendance list and even who was partaking in which activities. Sure, it was his party and he should be enjoying the events, but work never stopped and he had to make sure that the party not only lived up to his standards, but met, no, exceeded the high level of quality the party goers surely expected from a man such as TuQ’uan Varick. He glanced up from the datapad in hand, peeking around the curtains to get a full view of the venue, seeing plenty of laughing faces enjoying the food and drink, and more than a few donning some elegant hardware. Some of the faces he recognized, most he did not. But that’s what was to be expected when a man of his renown sent out an invitation to celebrate.
The music swelled as the band played the last notes of their song. Their singer leaned into the microphone to address the audience.
“We’re going to take a short break now, but don’t worry, we’ll be back in a few minutes to keep this party going!”
“I guess that’s my queue,” TuQ mumbled to himself as he took to the stage. As the band filed past him, he made sure to thank them, clasping each member on the shoulder and shaking their hands. The Kel Dor approached the microphone, a spotlight marking where he was instructed to stand. “I’ll try to keep this brief so that you can all get back to enjoying the festivities. I see that many out there decided to embrace the dress code!”
He pinched the brim of his hat gently between two fingers and nodded in a salute.
“Thank you all for joining me here tonight, and helping to celebrate another year of my journey through the galaxy. I am honoured to have each and every one of you here with me. When I look out at those gathered here, I see a group of friends. Some old, some new, and some I haven’t made yet. And while I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting everyone who came out this evening, I will do my damndest to rectify that!
This is supposed to be a night of fun. A night of celebration. And a memorable night that we shall not soon forget! So join me in raising a glass and making a toast. To me. To you. To the relationships we’ve forged and those yet to come!”
The sound of clinking glasses filled the room as a massive tiered cake was rolled onto the stage. The top ties of the cake was in the shape of a hat, covered in candles and two humongous sparkles. TuQ laughed and removed his own hat, using it as a fan to blow out the candles.
“Enjoy the rest of the evening, desert will be served momentarily!”
Aphotis’s tail snapped like the crack of a whip. She realized a more comprehensible display was necessary. With a click of her heel she took one step closer to Rue.
“I do in fact require healing, at least very soon.”
She fanned out her claws and held out her right arm, the one not covered by the latex cape, in front of the hybrid. A trio of nails sank into her upper arm, piercing the alchemical skin and going deeper.
A loud hiss came from her mask, coupled with faint laughter that sounded like forcefully exhaling from her nose. She dragged the vibronails over the length of her arm, creating three long gashes, drawing blood. She held her arm still the entire time with but a mere shiver as she raised her crimson claws.
“Mend this, please, my second skin’s regeneration has been frozen for the time being,” she managed to prevent her voice from sounding too strained.
Rue straightened immediately, though he notably didn’t flinch or seem surprised by Aphotis maiming herself. He only watched with an expression of repressed distress, holding very still.
Then, the moment her request left her lips, he surged forward with permission granted. Skirts flared and fluttered around him, fine and fat layers of fabric tripping his long, scrambling legs. He hit the ground face-first, not able to easily catch himself on one hand, but was right back up as if nothing had happened, a dirty scrape smeared on his cheek and lip cut on his fangs. He knelt again right before Aphotis and lifted his hand to her arm with the reverence of supplication at an altar. His face held nothing but gratitude and kindness, gaze soft and bright and bruised.
As the Sith watched, she would see the tiny cut in his flesh sealing over already, even as his gentle touch barely skimmed her pulse-point, feeling for the beat and balancing there, a breath held, needing just the contact.
“Thank you, Mistress,” he murmured, and Aphotis would feel the radiating heat from him, a slow warming, the rising dawn and the sun’s rays alighting on every leaf and branch, blossoming warmth that sank slowly into the earth, running like water to every root, past rocks, around bones, cradling close even graven ghosts. Death, decay, growth, life, all were one in the same, soil and ashes, songs and stories.
And Aphotis – her wounds, or perhaps her skin, something, were hungry. Rue gave and gave to that void, slowly slumping further, eyes going lidded and teeth grinding as he grit his jaw, clearly fighting to stay upright. Still he kept going, determined, even as his lavender skin rapidly paled and sunk into the graying of dried-out petals that could crumble at a touch. A few of his flower-shaped scales began to tremble and peel, shedding from puckering skin and dropping down to the grass.
Still he kept going, willing the gashes to close.
With her entire body and that of her symbiotic skin, she refused the mending energies that Rue freely gave away. Aphotis instead focused on the signature of his pain and suffering, taking it all in as her hunger kept drawing and pulling in more of it.
In a way, she had hoped that the flowery-scaled hybrid would have stopped himself from giving and giving, but she had expected the unbalanced and self-destructive response.
Without pain, no lessons.
Confront fear, reap the rewards.
Dive deep into passion, will it to be the fire that lets you achieve your goals.
Embrace the void as emptiness gives you clarity, let it harden your resolve.
The Sith felt his darkness, the spirits of the litluns, the guilt, the trepidation and she ceased the transfer of life when she got even the slightest ray of hope. The concentrated pain made the self-inflicted wound seem so far away.
Her second skin closed up within seconds as she stepped away from the collapsing hybrid. She had gotten what she wanted from him. Perhaps he could take wisdom from this, even enjoy the sudden stillness.
The tall woman breathed heavily, peering down at him without a shred of pity. Her tail lashed out like a wildly salivating tongue.
“The next time you feel that you are missing a vital part of your soul, come seek me out, Rue.” When she spoke his name, her voice became less of a sound, and more akin to the touch of her lips, a kiss tinged with frost-fire.
The click-clacking of her heels seemed much less pronounced as she left the establishment.
….next time…missing….seek..our…
Rue barely heard the words, trying to retain them, to listen to the commands of a Mistress – no, to Aphotis’ words – though he did. He was aware of the lush touch of grass on his face, and the sweet smell of it crushed under her retreating heels, chlorophyll hemorrhaging, sugary blood. He blinked slowly, eyelids sticking, and saw a flicker of yellow in the green. For a moment, he thought it a flower, a ghost; but it was only one of his ruptured scales.
His eyes closed. He could hear them crying, the babies, his litluns. He could always hear them crying.
“I’m sorry,” he tried to whisper, but his throat wouldn’t work. That was normal, after punishment. It would pass or it would not.
He was vaguely aware of Alk’s fussing snorts, the stamp of his hooves upset, nudging him. Another litlun crying.
Always…
Always…
<@264959101384130560>
“Yes, that they did. I glad our match went as well as did honestly. Ah I see. Well, I do try to make the best impression I can with anyone I meet,” she chuckled herself, while tilting her head to left as she looked up at both the tall men in front of her, trying not to disturb her tiny pet. “Especially when they are friends’ family members or even friends of friends.”
Turning to Alex, she bowed her head respectively, “Well met fellow Quaestor, I believe Zuji had mentioned you in one of her communications. I hope the position is treating you well.”
Ro watched the exchange, while deftly grabbing a couple of drinks from the tray of a passing attendant. He sipped his drink for a moment, and then nodded to Jax when he was addressed, “Aye, good to see you again as well, Jax.”
Nodding to Alex, while offering the other drink to Tahiri, “Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m willing to play a bit. Anyone want to make this interesting?” A coy smile spread across his face as he took another sip.
<@102435651189743616>
Reiden paused for a moment while he stood outside the entrance to the party. A soft, almost exasperated, sigh escaped his lips. He hated arriving late to a party, especially this late. He couldn’t help but wonder if the party was starting to wind down by now.
He had heard of the party, and, of course, the guest of honor. The Plagueian was well known to him by reputation, both for his work within the clan and for the Brotherhood, although the two had never met before. The fact that the party was being held on Arx meant it was relatively close to where he was for the day. Unfortunately, he had gotten held up reviewing reports for the Inquisitorius, hence his lateness. But, as any good party guest, he made sure to arrive with a gift.
He shrugged to himself. There was nothing he could do about how things turned out, but he was here now at least. TuQ'uan’s love of hats was nearly legendary, so he felt confident that the hay care kit he had wrapped up would be a good gift. Now he just needed to find a spot to put it. Taking another breath, he stepped inside.
Jax’s brows waggled, ears perking with intrigue. “Oh ho. Interesting how, my friends? I warn you, I am very good at tossing grenades. I aim to demolish any competition.”
And then he smiled, like the pun dog he was.
<@102435651189743616>
“Not to put too fine a point on it, but I do not believe a wager of some sort would do much to enhance my excitement,” Alex continued casually juggling his set of bean bags in one hand whilst willfully ignoring the pun, “but neither would I decline to take part in it were an interesting one suggested.”
<@375384499770359819>
“It’s a wonder how you survived any of your wagers,” Tahiri sighed as she took the proffered drink from her brother.
Shaking her head, a small squeak and then a rumbling warble sounded as a tiny draconic dragon head reared up in her peripheral view. Cocking it’s head, it shift position slightly, rustling its wings a little, watching the Human juggling the bags. “AH ah. No, Mireth, those are not something to eat, or play with.”
Ro chuckled, raising an eyebrow at both of their comments, totally ignoring his sister’s, except to flash her a cocky sideways grin. “Well then, how does this intrigue you both? I just got a decent score and will put up a quarter of those credits as a winner takes all pot. Best total of three rounds, between the three of us?”
<@244244163002892288> <@102435651189743616>
“Deal,” Jax whuffed cheerfully, not so interested in the money either way but enjoying the friendly competition. His lupine eyes tracked the little moving animal with interest, and he smiled. “Let’s have at it, then.”
Turning abruptly, Jax aimed the bags he held, and one after another, took his shots with all the practiced toss of a lifetime demolitions expert. Several went directly into the holes of his target (and it was probably impressive but the narrator can’t remember the details and doesn’t know what a hackey sack board looks like).
A good score, the Mandalorian cheered, “Oya!”
<@102435651189743616>
As the night began to wind down and the guests slowly made their exits, TuQ posted up by the main entrance, sure to thank everyone who came for being a part of his special day and make empty promises of doing this again real soon. They both knew they wouldn’t actually do this again any time soon, but he had heard that it was the polite thing to say. It truly meant a lot to him that so many people showed up to celebrate, to party, and even bring some gifts. As the last of the crowd finally exited the ballroom, he wandered over to take a seat at the bar. He gingerly placed his hat on the counter top and rested his forearms on the edge, the soft white glow of the backlit glass surface illuminated his face.
Glass clinked as a drink was set down before the Proconsul. Whyren’s on the rocks with a custom made straw designed to fit into his anti-ox mask. TuQ loosened the collar of his shirt and raised the glass to take a drink as the bartender wordlessly moved along, continuing to clean up his station after the night’s activities. The smooth taste of the liquor that he had been looking forward to all night splashed across the back of his throat. He let out a soft sigh as he held the glass out and slowly swirled the amber liquid a few times.
Maybe he would have to do this again soon.