A Celebration to New Times

[Prudence]

Coronet, Corellia​

Aren Krass stepped forward, taking in the sights. The large, nearly sterile white ballroom was capped by tall, arcing rounded walls that seemed almost organic, and was built to carry sound perfectly across the large room. To either side of the room were mini-bars stocked with an assortment of beverages from across the Republic.

The lights were dimmed, giving the walls a scenic grey/orange color, and cast the rest of the room in a moody shadow with sufficient enough light to see, but not too much as to ruin the mood. The room was packed with people of all sexes, species, and affiliations. There were tables towards the back of the room with fine dining ware set upon them. Dividing the dining area in half were two long rows of tables, running parallel to each other, set up with all sorts of fancy foods, from elaborately baked fowl, to gourmet prepared nerf steaks.

The event was a Gala put on by Aren Krass and his family's powerful manufacturing corporation, Krass Manufacturing. It was set up to 'support and raise credits' for injured and sick Manufacturing employees working on the planet. With a rise in manufacturing demand, more injuries and on job sicknesses had occurred from poor working conditions. Corellia's current legislation regarding workers hardly covered the workers for their bills and expenses. Thus, Krass was putting on this Gala. It served two fold for him, it both raised his popularity and opinion in the public, and it would benefit the manufacturing sector and boost morale, thus increasing credits to him.

He continued on into the crowd, looking for Arritef, and waiting a few more moments before he interrupted the orchestral band that was playing to welcome everyone.​

 

[Proleptic]

Arritef Selanus walked slowly and deliberately through the throng, trying not to make unwanted contact with anyone. As collected as he seemed, Arritef was actually as uncomfortable as can be imagined. He simply didn't understand social interaction yet, despite his greatest efforts. He cast a quick glance towards his mentor — Aren Krass — and started his way towards him.

Arritef wasn't made for parties. He was comfortable observing crowds from a distance, not being involved. He quickened his pace and continued his security check. So far all possible danger areas were secure, and there didn't seem to be any nefarious plots laying in wait. Sending a sharp gaze to the last point in question, he turned to Krass and gave a relaxed nod while he sauntered over.

He reached his mentor's side and took up his position at his side. He was prepared for anything, though it shouldn't matter. This was a peaceful event, and should be treated as such by all participating parties. Even his former employers wouldn't act at a place like this. It would be both foolish and unprofessional.

Arritef started as he heard a loud, boisterous laugh from some politician to his left. He frowned slightly and turned back, attempting to ignore the interference. "I don't understand parties..." He thought, as he continued his scan of the area. "One day, perhaps."

 

[BLADE]

Coronet, Corellia
Estimated SPACE RAT population: 1.78 trillion
Estimated SPACE RAT graduation rate: 34%

Naym wore a tuxedo. Or a yacht jacket. Or a blazer. He... wasn't entirely sure. His pockets were lined with cheese. His brow lined with sweat. The bolts of exotic Arkanian fabrics lining the walls made him twitchy--

What better place for them to nest?

His buttocks clenched and unclenched as he recalled his weapon. But really, he wouldn't use it here. Not yet. Not now. Now even if the saw one of the tiny-toed menaces. He was after bigger game. Legendary quarry. The one who had eluded him that never-ending night on Coruscant. The one Who Spoke of Reeds on Whiskers. Him.

And of course, the food wasn't bad either. The Chandrilan Duck was butterflied and basted with rich bantha butter and spices. The Nabooian Fool was laden with rich clotted cream and berries.

Rats loved berries. And cream. And spices. And bantha butter. And duck. Why, Naym had once seen one eat its tail and then puke it out and then sautee the puke with some leafy greens and serve it al fresco with the tail. He'd seen things. His eyes roamed the room, looking to see more. All the personages of the sector were there; he really didn't quite know what for. A Job he'd pulled for Munn Consolidated Paper had gotten him tickets. But it was never about the reward. No... it was about the hunt.

And then he saw... it.

A single grain. Black. Roughly a quarter inch long. He tossed his speeder keys to the valet boy along with some creds.

"You take care of her," he growled, "I have volatile rodent compounds in there, so drive safe."

He dove for the grain, nearly toppling over a fustian-looking Rodian in a spartan white tuxedo jacket.

"May I help you... sir?" He asked in a voice decanted with plummy condescencion.

"I don't know," his voice grated like a cheese grater that had been in use by a rat family since they had emigrated from the Old Rat Country and settled after many travails in a New World which welcomed them but also held challenges and maybe the kids would lose sight of the old ways which would break Mama Rat's heart.

"Can you?" His voice was so deep that Kashyyk Burrowing Rats could not have dug a deeper octave. The nebbish waiter involuntarily shivered as he held up the obvious SPACE RAT dropping.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Rage laced his voice; dander and spacehantavirus and all sorts of possibilities occurred to him. He saw in his mind's eye himself tackling the Senator and getting them out of there. RAT STATUS: PUCE.

"Rice."

He blinked.

"Alderaanian Wild Rice, sir. This hall was rented. For a wedding. Yesterday."

He stared at the waiter and noticed from the corner of his eye a picture of a handsome Mon Calamari couple in wedding gear.

"UNDER THE SEA: WEDDING OF THE CENTURY."

He frowned and with a voice darker than Mandalorian Hades itself uttered.

"Fine. But I've got my eye on you tapas jockey."

His buttocks clenched and he waded through the sea of guests, keeping an eye open for the enemy.

 

[Outlander]

Bria Tsuani leaned against the wall on the far right of the ballroom. Why did I come here? The only real answer she could give herself was that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. She had been dead wrong. She was so out of her depths surrounded by the social elite. Even her clothes felt uncomfortable, although that might have been the ceramic plating she had used to protect her vitals and manage to get through the front door. It was awfully primitive compared to actual armor, which she wished she was in, but it would help against a projectile or explosion, just barely. She just didn't feel right with nothing on protection wise.

She sighed, pushing off from the wall and moving to one of the small mini-bars and retrieving a small exotic looking container. it wasn't as strong as her... other vices, but it would help dull the pain of socialites.

 

[Prudence]

Aren caught Arritef in his vision and began walking towards the man. Arritef, literally half Aren's age, was only slightly more muscular than the older man. The physical demeanor of the younger man did little to express how lethal the man actually was. Aren had found him years earlier, almost learning firsthand how deadly the man could be. Ever since then the two had been partners, almost friends. Aren was teaching Arritef how to fit in and actually act human. Dressing the man in fine tunics and robes, he looked as if he belonged here, minus the pained expression on his face.

Aren himself was wearing black suit pants, and a button up white shirt and a blue striped tie. Over it he had a matte charcoal grey vest and suit, matching the trousers he wore. Over all of it he had a long trench coat that extended well down his legs. He put an arm around Arritef and squeezed the man's shoulder.

"You're doing fine son. They don't know you don't belong unless you tell them." Arritef was almost like a son to him, while also serving as his head of security. His eye was caught by the stiff, obviously uncomfortable woman that had entered the gala. She moved stiffly in her upper regions, likely due to being constrained by some form of armor. Aren himself was wearing a blast resistant vest under his shirt, a slim model meant to be concealed in fancy attire.

There was also a man arguing over rice with one of the waters. Was the alcohol flowing that freely already?

"Did you notice the woman?" He said.

 

[Proleptic]

Arritef felt more at ease after the comforting words of Aren. He saw him as a father, and took anything he said as the nearest thing there was to fact, barring any specific evidence to the contrary. "I did notice her." He replied, glancing at the woman in question. She was currently putting away Corellian spirits like water, and avoiding all interaction. "She is wearing quite a lot of armor for the occasion." He observed, quirking his eyebrow at the woman's admittedly well-disguised plating. While Arritef didn't wear any heavy armor, as it would constrict his movement and limit his combat style, he could understand the sentiment, and couldn't deny the benefits.

"You might think she expected some sort of attack." He said, getting slightly paranoid. He had checked all avenues for aggression, and he had found nothing, but he always had to be ready. "What do you think her......" Arritef paused, considering his next words. "......game is?" Arritef let that settle, hoping he had properly conveyed his desired question. He still didn't understand all the complexities of human speech. Sayings such as that were something that, while he doesn't understand them, he tries to incorporate into his speech patterns.

 

[Xtremenerd]

Jet Arvin walked around, scoping out the ballroom, he wore a tuxedo, an old one he had owned since he was 22. He had one of his blaster pistols under his jacket. which he kept holstered, but was ready to draw if he found any, rivals shall we say. He had just finished a smuggling run for a client, and had received his pay a little over 2 hours ago. He was glad his client lived here, as he enjoyed visiting his homeworld. Plus paying the cheap fuel that was offered for his ship. He decided to show up to this "fundraiser" to hopefully have a good time, steal a few credits, or maybe get a new client. He walked up to one of the small bars that were all around the place, He ordered a blue drink, he had no idea where or who it came from, but it sure tasted good, he ordered another glass of it, and drank it while still looking around to spot any potential victims or clients.

 

[Officiant]

"Another party, another ballroom, another dancefloor." Senator Viechelin Farrs didn't mean to sound trite or banal, she just didn't live for parties in the same way her colleagues did. She lived even less for this mock show of "charity". Arren Krass was a friend however, and Viechelin was loyal to her friends. Plus, if there was something Senator Farrs really didn't live for or enjoy, it was bringing the mood down.

Spying Arren across the ballroom behind one of the tables, Viechelin strode up to the Senator and his associate, catching just the end of their conversation with their legendary sense of hearing.

"What do you think her......" Arritef paused, considering his next words. "......game is?"

"I do hope you aren't referring to me gentlemen." Viechelin quipped as she closed the distance between Arren and his aide, sashaying in her blue and black velvet dress all the way.

 

[BLADE]

He'd never liked public restrooms. For one, SPACE RATS loved to nest there (they were fond of wafting on the blow-dry dispensers WHEEEEEE SNUFFLE CHEW). Also he'd never understood the signs. What in Vod's name did Block with Dress and Three Tentacles mean? It was why he had learned through Mandalorian discipline to never have to tinkle. The last time he'd urinated had been approximately Ten Months, Eleven Days, and Twelve Parsecs ago...

That might also be the reason for Felucia's toxic urea clouds.

Regardless, he felt the need to wash his hands after having examined every crevice of the baseboards (fusion powered hmmmm) for droppings.

This party was clean. Almost too clean.

He squinted as he walked into the bathroom and saw the waiter there again. He was washing his hands and muttering something in his native tongue.

Naym still did not trust the cerealsplaining Rodian. There was just something... off about him, but Mama Genrader had taught him enough about politesse (and the finer art of layering foreground colors) that he simply nodded at the Rodian.

Drip. Drip. He reached for the dispenser and lathered soap all over his hands, his shoulder tense and his optical hud (implanted right in the old eyeball) set to scan for the most dangerous game of all: RAT.

The Rodian was taking his sweet time at the blowdry dispenser.

And then... Naym caught sight of it.

A dark oblong with a single squiggly line leading from it. The tattoo flashed from just below the hollow of the Rodian's wrist. Two sharp incisors announced its end.

Naym's eyes widened. His buttocks unclenched. Something slid out. He dove for the blowdry dispenser on his end of the bathroom vanities.

With a mighty wrench he yanked the white box from its wall hook and hurled it at the Rodian's head.

"CHEESEEATER!" He roared.

The Rodian had just been reaching for something in his waiter-jacket, quite conscious of having been spotted when with a tremendous PLUNK! the dispenser hit him first.

He staggered, swaying like a rickety windmill infested by SPACE RATS and then hit the opposing wall, sliding and leaving a slight trail of blood. His eyes blinked and focused for a moment. And then... he smiled.

(A little mood music)

Naym was too busy drawing out his VIBRORATBASHER to follow up on his attack, but he kept his eyes trained on his enemy as he stood up and with a baleful smile revealed two sharp incisors.

"My master said you would be here flatteeth."

Quick as a really quick SPACE RAT he drew a short vibrosword and charged.

Naym squared himself and turned aside, his elbows out and his guard up and high. His feet shifted just inside for a moment and then with a quick juke he met the charging Rodian's guard, getting past it and making a stab. The Rodian sauntered away, but shifted just enough that Naym still got him with a satisfying CRACK! of an elbow to the cheek.

His opponent staggered again and then smiled and spat out one of his incisors.

This time he walked as if on tufted feet, sinuous and HOT WATER ON!

It jetted out of the faucet and with a angling of his blade, it skittered and jetted right at Naym's face. He closed one eye shut (the one not laden with biomechanical tech thank you) and endured the scalding pain.

"Urgh!"

He kept his footing and then leaned forward, his feet skittering forward in a run, before sliding on the puddle of water and turning his momentum into a low kick. Their momentum was so terrific that both he and his opponent went in a sprawling of fist and steel and rat teeth into the stalls.

One collapsed then another.

Counter. Double counter. Reversal.

The Rodian threw him off and then... things in the room began to move of their own volition.

He'd heard these stories too. Of laser wizards and robed witches out past the rims.

He was not afraid.

The Rodian Cheese Eater laughed.

"Make your peace Flat Teeth."

"Make your pieces, Cheese Eater. Which is what you'll be you see, because it's a pun which--"

The rest of his words were drowned out as the grand building began to shake. Was it an earthquake? A consequence of huge tectonic roundelays, plates as big as continents dancing with each other?

Or was it an army of a billion furry feet?

The latter. And they were on the march.

"MY MASTER COMES!"

 

[Prudence]

Arritef felt more at ease after the comforting words of Aren. He saw him as a father, and took anything he said as the nearest thing there was to fact, barring any specific evidence to the contrary. "I did notice her." He replied, glancing at the woman in question. She was currently putting away Corellian spirits like water, and avoiding all interaction. "She is wearing quite a lot of armor for the occasion." He observed, quirking his eyebrow at the woman's admittedly well-disguised plating. While Arritef didn't wear any heavy armor, as it would constrict his movement and limit his combat style, he could understand the sentiment, and couldn't deny the benefits.

"You might think she expected some sort of attack." He said, getting slightly paranoid. He had checked all avenues for aggression, and he had found nothing, but he always had to be ready. "What do you think her......" Arritef paused, considering his next words. "......game is?" Arritef let that settle, hoping he had properly conveyed his desired question. He still didn't understand all the complexities of human speech. Sayings such as that were something that, while he doesn't understand them, he tries to incorporate into his speech patterns.

Aren nodded "Yes she is. I assume she's not a politician, as I've never seen her around the planetary government, or the senate. I'll have to check up on her after the party. As far as her game, she doesn't seem to be intent on anything. I would assume she's just being paranoid."

"Another party, another ballroom, another dancefloor." Senator Viechelin Farrs didn't mean to sound trite or banal, she just didn't live for parties in the same way her colleagues did. She lived even less for this mock show of "charity". Arren Krass was a friend however, and Viechelin was loyal to her friends. Plus, if there was something Senator Farrs really didn't live for or enjoy, it was bringing the mood down.

Spying Arren across the ballroom behind one of the tables, Viechelin strode up to the Senator and his associate, catching just the end of their conversation with their legendary sense of hearing.

"What do you think her......" Arritef paused, considering his next words. "......game is?"

"I do hope you aren't referring to me gentlemen." Viechelin quipped as she closed the distance between Arren and his aide, sashaying in her blue and black velvet dress all the way.

Aren heard Viechelin approach and turned to address her. "Senator Farrs!" He said with a bit of enthusiasm, moving in for a friendly side hug, "I'm glad you were able to attend." He shot a knowing smile to Arritef "Of course we wouldn't be talking about a lady such as yourself." He poured his Corellian charm into each word, drawing his emphasized words out in his rich accent.

"How was your flight?" he said, changing the subject. "I hope it wasn't too long."

 

[Xtremenerd]

Jet noticed several new officials including the senator arrive, he made a mental note to observe them for the evening.
The woman in armor was disturbing to him, he made a note to watch his back, as maybe she knew something he didnt, maybe he would get some info out if her later...

 

[Officiant]

Aren heard Viechelin approach and turned to address her. "Senator Farrs!" He said with a bit of enthusiasm, moving in for a friendly side hug, "I'm glad you were able to attend." He shot a knowing smile to Arritef "Of course we wouldn't be talking about a lady such as yourself." He poured his Corellian charm into each word, drawing his emphasized words out in his rich accent.

"How was your flight?" he said, changing the subject. "I hope it wasn't too long."

"No in matter of fact, one of the other passengers mentioned how one of Corellia's legion of dashing and heroic pilots had found a way to smooth out Thyferra's spot on the Rimma Trade Route. It shaved almost an hour and a half off the flight from home. You must tell me how Corellia turns out such a superb caliber of men." Viechelin said, turning up the smile and charm as she joked with Arren, her own somewhat heavy but regal Thyferran accent also on display.

"I don't get off the Capital often enough other than to go back home so your parties are always a welcome distraction." Viechelin mused, staring out at the wondrous Coronet City skyline outside. The city was a titan of industry in her own right and had birthed some of the Republic's greatest heroes. Viechelin liked to think Arren was among the count. But then again, he probably did as well.

 

[Outlander]

What's this then?

Bria downed the contents of her drink, immediately feeling somewhat dulled by the intoxicating effect; but that was normal, and somewhat comforting.

What had caught her eye, though, was one of the socialites, somewhat obscured in the crowd. But she recognized her. Bria wracked her brain for exactly where.

Thyferra Senator works to cure Benoth Plague

That was where. An article from not too long ago on her philanthropic actions. She seemed to have a certain drive towards charity and galactic betterment.

And that seemed particularly rare in Senators.

Bria moved off from the wall and towards the Senator, dodging through the crowd.

"Senator Farrs?"

 

[Painus]

Two-hundred and twenty-one years.

Reem stood - rather, towered - over the various guests around him; nobles, merchants, accomplished generals. Members of every species, sex, and faction were at this gala, it seemed. These counts and countesses, dukes and duchesses, gentlemen and gentlewomen, all esteemed members of the exclusive upper echelon of the posh and prestigious, congregated around him. The throng of people shifted endlessly, an undulating tide of "How do you do?"s, "Pleased to meet you,"s, and the clearly-popular, "Ah! Darling!"s fluttering about, creating a cacophonous orchestra of cheerful greetings. A symphony of salutations, as it were.

Not once in his two hundred years of life had Reem attended a dinner of this proportion. Decades of isolation on his unforgiving homeworld, coupled with the decades of isolation on the many temple worlds of the Jedi, never left the imposing Feeorin Jedi many opportunities to dance about in the chaotic masquerade of noble galas.

He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Around him, members of high society wore only the finest in finery. Gem-studded tiaras, gold-trimmed robes, fifty-thousand-credit tuxedos, shoes that had cost more than it probably did to organize the event. Through this crowd of short - relatively speaking, anyways - beings, the nearly-eight foot tall Feeorin wore the simple garments of his Order. Ivory white robes, with the occasional layer of bark-brown cloth, reinforced with a burgundy brigandine of Phrik to provide the Knight the protection that is required of a peacekeeper. His head-tails, all six of them, were adorned with simple gold bands that rested plainly against the base where his scalp and head-tails met. His bulky stature, as many Feeorin possess, made itself prevalent, even through his robes, for he wasn't exactly the most bantam being present.

He, of course, was allowed to retain possession of his lightsaber, the mighty weapon dangling freely inside his robes, attached by means of belt. He kept it concealed for this event, against his better judgment. He was sent here as an envoy, though with other Jedi he was not aware. Reem was sent to make the presence of the Jedi Order known amongst those seeking to aid the destitute. It was, for lack of better words, a chance to show the public the Jedi will be anywhere and everywhere that assistance need be rendered. Should he not be the only member of his Order present, he imagined his fellows would make their way to their brother. Through the crowd moved others who did not strike him as immediately-belonging. A woman, clearly burdened by some unknown object on her person, weaved through the congregation. Reem assumed she was wearing armor beneath her vestments. It was not unheard of to be careful, after all.

Waiters, servants hired to ensure the fine, affluent party goers enjoyed a lavish meal, hustled and bustled around, weaving through the crowd with an unnatural grace. In their hands were trays carrying all manner of foods, from the hearty braised nerf steak topped with finely-sliced luilris mushrooms and some unusual sauce, to the more refined Naboo Doo fish stew with bread and rouille. Reem caught one such servant staring at him, though it did not last much longer once the mighty Feeorin cast a cursory glance at the boy.

After a terse scan of the room, Reem spotted solace: an empty section of the dining hall, a clear spot from which Reem may station himself and look for others of the Order. The spot wasn't entirely unclaimed, however, as it appeared a small gathering of nobles met; a man and his boy, presumably speaking to some unknown benefactor in a dress that was actually quite lovely, were the Feeorin even remotely interested in such things, about trivial, wealthy-people things. He invaded the area regardless, taking mind to avoid the upscale citizens holding conversation nearby, finding tranquility amongst the quaint potted plants and marvelous view of the "Jewel of Corellia" that was Coronet. Others gawked as he moved, of course. They were not used to someone of his stature and affiliation amongst them. It was to be expected, he was warned, and paid little mind to it. Reem hated parties. He hated waiting, sitting idly by when he could be out with his brethren, hunting, searching for their ancient foe.

Nonetheless, his stoic expression remained as he stared at the view, hands clasped behind his back.

 

[Officiant]

"Senator Farrs?"

Viechelin looked to the sound of the feminine voice that had appeared next to her. Turning Viechelin was greeted to the sight of a short blonde woman with piercing green eyes. She didn't know why or how, but there was something about the woman, as if she was standing with a halo of light around her, clear as day.

"Yes?" Viechelin asked, the woman had piqued her interest, something not always easy to do at functions like these. There was either a cadre of interesting people or just the usual suspects.

 

[Proleptic]

Arritef watched on silently as Aren exchanged playful banter with his fellow politician. Arritef had met Viechelin a handful of times before, and had taken what he supposed one would call.......a liking towards her. She was respectful and kind to most people he had seen her interact with, and he appreciated such kindness. While he was fond of her, he was also quite wary. He knew that she had the potential to be just as cutthroat as any other politician. Krass had made sure he understood the world of politics through and through. Despite Arritef's ongoing ignorance in many things, he knew just about everything there is to know about the political world.

Arritef breathed deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to do. "It is........a pleasure to see you again, M'lady." The pale Hapan said to Viechelin, bowing at the waist slightly. He was exercising one of the appropriate greetings Aren had taught him years prior. He attempted to smile slightly, but his patented "winning" smile was emotionless, and therefore came across as creepy and conniving, rather then non-hostile and welcoming.

As a Hapan, Arritef had the trademark good looks that have been kept in the race through years of selective breeding. His facial structure was narrow, with sharp cheekbones and a fair yet defined jawline. His brow was set in a way that made him appear perpetually calm, unless he marred his visage with emotional expression. His nose was sharp and slightly upturned, giving him a slightly elfish appearance. His eyes were almond shaped and slanted upwards, their dull grey hue equally as piercing as any blade. His complexion was unmarked, and his face was perfectly smooth, though he could grow facial hair if he wished.

The beauty of his face was wasted by his failure to express emotions. Most emotions came across as insincere, and were merely imitations of the emotions he had observed in others. This leaves his beautiful face at odds with the person inside, giving a slightly frightening result. He held his smile and gaze upon Viechelin, waiting for her response. He felt quite sure he had done better on this performance than past ones, and actually began to smile legitimately with the thought of success, taking away slightly from the creepiness of his countenance.

 

[Outlander]

Viechelin looked to the sound of the feminine voice that had appeared next to her. Turning Viechelin was greeted to the sight of a short blonde woman with piercing green eyes. She didn't know why or how, but there was something about the woman, as if she was standing with a halo of light around her, clear as day.

"Yes?" Viechelin asked, the woman had piqued her interest, something not always easy to do at functions like these. There was either a cadre of interesting people or just the usual suspects.

"Senator, my name is Bria." She started off, reaching her real hand out to shake, although she somewhat retracted it after a moment. She want entirely sure of the etiquet in these situations.

"You might say we're both aiming towards similar goals. Although my means tend to be more...direct. I was hoping we could, say, swap notes?"

Bria wasn't entirely sure what she was hoping to accomplish with her introduction. Although, allies where hard to come by, and another contact wouldn't hurt.

 

[Officiant]

Arritef breathed deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to do. "It is........a pleasure to see you again, M'lady." The pale Hapan said to Viechelin, bowing at the waist slightly. He was exercising one of the appropriate greetings Aren had taught him years prior. He attempted to smile slightly, but his patented "winning" smile was emotionless, and therefore came across as creepy and conniving, rather then non-hostile and welcoming.

Viechelin smiled, subdued but warm and genuine. "It is wonderful to see you again as well Arritef." While they had met often enough for Viechelin to enjoy his presence, she admittedly knew little about the Hapan man who persistently reminded her of a porcelain china doll. Pale, delicate, to be handled with care for no other reason than the way it looked, yes Arritef did remind her of a doll, or a child. He was perhaps the only person she had randomly met who could bring out such maternal feelings in her. Perhaps that was why she liked him so much, more than anything else.

"I do hope your travels treat you well." Viechelin soothed, knowingly and yet not. It wasn't like she ordered a background check on everyone she met at a party but it took someone remarkable to prompt her not to track down every bit of information about them she could get her hands on. She didn't know what Arritef did and barely knew where he came from but it would suffice for her, it was doubtful it was anything that truly needed to be repeated. It was not a value statement, but one of appreciation for the need some felt to leave things behind them.

"Senator, my name is Bria." She started off, reaching her real hand out to shake, although she somewhat retracted it after a moment. She want entirely sure of the etiquet in these situations.

"You might say we're both aiming towards similar goals. Although my means tend to be more...direct. I was hoping we could, say, swap notes?"

Bria wasn't entirely sure what she was hoping to accomplish with her introduction. Although, allies where hard to come by, and another contact wouldn't hurt.

Yes, it was apparently one of the "cadre of interesting people" parties after all. "That is a rathering intriguing proposition" The wasn't blunt but she wasn't tactful either. Viechelin's mind often ran amok sizing people up on first meetings, looking at them from various angles. Still, there was only really one way to know what someone wanted, which was to ask, openly or otherwise. "Which goals might those be?" Viechelin asked, gesturing towards the grand vaulted windows of the ballroom and their incredible view.

 

[Outlander]

"Peace and the betterment of those less fortunate." Bria nodded down to her arm, pushing the metalic appendage out of it's sleeve and showing it discretely to the woman. "I'm a warrior. I've learned what it's like being on the wrong end of a detonator. And now that I have, I want to make sure some poor engineer in the Expansion Region doesn't have to."

 

[Officiant]

Viechelin gaze a fleeting but intense stare at the woman's prosthesis. It was easy enough to forget the limitations of Bacta given its importance and lucrative nature. One of those limitations was its inability to regrow limbs. It wasn't hard to feel that this woman's struggle was real, both her personal, internal one and the crusade she seemed to be on. "What is the nature of this engineer's plight?" Viechelin neglected to ask who this Engineer was, it was nigh immaterial to her. If the situation was desperate enough, she would help regardless.