Carnivale de Veleno

[Rugs]

“Y’know, Alderaan’s a lovely place this time of year.” Cold air misted in front of Locke’s face as he spoke. His olive cheeks, or what non-bearded parts showed, were ever so slightly red against the prickly chill in the evening air as he strode along, with two wards in tow. “Then again, guess you could say that for any part of the year for this place.”

The Palazzo di Luce loomed above them, all dressed up in banners like a debutante for a ball. The smooth white stone-and-metal building shimmered from the hundreds of lights in the massive gardens sprawling around it; the inclusion of its own brilliant display nearly seemed to lend it a glow, living well up to its thousands-year-old name.

“So, legend holds that a vicious battle happened here once,” Locke said, pulling a hand from his coat pocket to sweep at the area around them. He supposed, of course, that the cultured hedges and lovingly-trimmed trees hadn’t been present for that battle. Or perhaps they had. Stranger things had happened. “Long ago, even before the birth of the Republic. ‘Course, it’s hard to find any concrete histories that have survived the eons, but it’s interesting to think about.”

These days, the Palace was long past its prime as a battle fortification, and with Alderaan’s relatively peaceful history, even those had been rare. Now it usually hosted some government functions and tourists and — on nights like tonight — incredibly grand events.

Dignitaries, celebrities, politicians and other generally-wealthy people from across Republic space were all about to cram into the palace like Correllian salt fish in a vacuum-sealed tube for an evening of food, dance, probably too much wine, and giving money to Republic.

No, no, Locke, charities, the Investigator corrected himself. Just a few hand-picked charities to help refugees from the war in the Outer Rim. Even corrected, he still couldn’t shake the little cynical half-smile that touched his face from time to time ever since their arrival. But the cause was good enough, so he decided to keep his comments to his head for once, mostly.

Security was an obvious concern with so many important people squashed into one building — even if said building was enormous and sprawled across a hilltop above a glimmering city. So Locke and Jazen, and Alaari Sen, a Padawan who was testing the waters of being out on her own, were assigned security. No one knew of any imminent threat, especially not in the heart of the Republic. But still, caution was key.

Locke was just happy to be out — it was his first assignment since the fiasco of a trip to Muunilinst and his subsequent capture by Darth Novus. He’d spent the weeks since his release not only regaining his strength and catching up with the outside world, but pulling Jazen’s ass out of the fire by assuming all responsibility for the spaceport bombing.

Needless to say, it felt like Republic Day to be out and getting his hands dirty again.

They’d been on world for a few days, as Locke worked through security details with the Palace staff. For the event itself, they’d act as attendees, which meant Jedi garb was left behind in favor of more appropriate apparel.

Still outside, Locke wore a black long coat, simple in look, but comfortable and designed by a famous Alderaanian tailor. A burgundy scarf hung loosely around his neck. Beneath that, he wore a black suit with a black and grey double-layered vest and a matching tie over a white shirt. Black slacks and comfortable black dress shoes completed his attire. His hair was trimmed and neatly slicked back, and his beard was neat and controlled.

He only carried one of his lightsabers, hidden on his person, and he’d forgone his usual heavy blaster for a hold-out pistol tucked neatly away within his coat pocket.

Just an easy night, he thought. Survive a few hours with the rich and famous and call it day. His pace slowed as they approached the Palace entrance and the crowd compacted. The event itself would begin in exactly one hour, with a welcoming ceremony and some entertainment, followed by dinner. Auctions and other activities would keep pocketbooks open all night.

Routine job, he reminded himself, holding up a hand for both Padawans to stop as they joined the line of guests waiting to enter.

Why then, couldn’t he shake that nagging little voice in the back of his head…?

[Stephen]

(I was asked to pinch hit an npc for Neology)

The GNR Catering Company had officially employed Tano (Evart Blunkman) for over 5 months. He had called in three times, all Mondays. He had gone on two lovely dinner dates with a cook named Skye Keplan and was quietly being groomed as the next event manager. Tano was quite proud of Evart. He likened it to building a massive boat, only to sink it on it's maiden voyage to make a marine habitat. He'd be sad to see Evart go, but it'd be nice to go home again. Laric was understanding, but this job was about as far as understanding would go.

Evart smoothed his dress vest against his chest as Skye fiddled with his bowtie. “How's my hair” he whispered. She glanced up a moment from his tie, frowning, “It's fine.” She said quickly “and why are you whispering?” He smiled sheepishly, “Nerves.” he said quickly. Skye licked her thumb and flattened his eyebrows, “You'll be fine, don't let this huge place get to you.” She kissed him on the cheek and shined. He met her eyes for a moment and said “Thanks Skye”. She beamed a moment longer then ran off to the kitchen. Not much of a goodbye.

He slipped his white gloves on and headed out to the floor. A massive array of tables formed a hollow rectangle of seating, draped with bright white linen. Evart moved the silverware cart silently with the other five banquet servers along the tan marble floors. He stopped at each tiny white placard and laid an array of plates and cutlery neatly. He lightly dabbed each item with a sponge sewn into thumb of his right glove, reaching into his pocket periodically to rewet it. Concentrated sand panther venom was an odd choice, but overall not a bad one. It was odorless and tasteless, and it would be highly unlikely anyone on Alderaan would have the antitoxin to a native Correlian cat. He passed by Arjha Tikaris's seating, and set it with his left hand only. He finished his section, twenty two seats out of two hundred and fifty, scattered evenly through the crowd.

“I'm going to check on flower delivery” he told Percy, the event manager. Percy nodded silently at Evart and he walked out a side exit. He calmly walked the stone spiral staircase down to the ground floor and into the restroom. He pulled his white gloves off, turning them entirely inside out and depositing them within the plastic bag in his pocket and sealing it. Tano quickly checked his hands for stray cuts or scratches, but he was clean. He pulled a drivers hat out of his other pocket and walked from the restroom and out into the parking lot. “I have to move the speeder in slot 15b across the street.” He said to the valet, jingling the keys as he walked briskly by. Tano sat in the speeder a moment, watching guests arrive before turning the ignition and driving off.

[Jazen]

"I don't think Alderaan has a season that people don't call it "lovely", Master. At least, none that they can all agree on." Little huffs of cold, white air formed in front of him as he spoke, a signal to the weather that dominated this time of year.

As the trio approached the sprawling palace before them, Jazen reached up and tugged at the collar of the fine suit that now covered him from neck to toe. Honestly, the whole thing had been tailor made to fit, allowing for a little breathing room in all corners and yet Jazen still felt like someone had locked him in a solid steel trap of which there was no escape. It was all in his head, of course...but damned if it was hard to not think that way. Grumbling, he forced himself away from the collar and turned his mind to the task that lay before him.

It had been an eventful series of months after Locke's capture. Jazen had escaped back to the Republic, finishing the mission that he and Locke had set out on. After delivering the man to the Republic authorities to let them handle his debrief, Jazen had rushed to the Council to tell them of Locke's capture.

Needless to say, the others wanted to assist their fellow knight. But there were...issues. Issues that started with the fact that he was captured by the Sith...and made more difficult by the fact that a certain Padawan had blown up a spaceport that, despite his best efforts, had killed innocents. That part had struck Jazen by surprise...and angry guilt. The whole event made it harder to enact any effort to save his Master.


Eventually, Levin had taken it upon himself to save his fellow Jedi and friend. What followed was a long effort in bringing Locke back to health, debriefing him to ensure he was still on the side of the light...and questioning him about his padawans actions. Jazen had been ready to take responsibility for his actions, as he rightfully should have. Locke had other plans. In a move that surprised even Jazen, Locke took full responsibility for the plan, saying it was his idea. And that Jazen had done everything he could to spar life in the process.

It took a little bit more time after that but Locke was finally cleared, along with Jazen, to return to their duty. And first on the list? Attending a charity party on Alderaan, where hundreds of dignitaries, celebrities, politicians and assorted wealthy parties were gathering to enjoy a night of festivities, during which they'd donate money to the Republic case. It was a very important event and Locke, Jazen and the third of their trio, Alaari Sen, were there to assist in security. The past few days had been spent touching up security and the little details...much like a very similar mission.

Being a big wig event, all of them were dressed properly for the occasion. Which meant Jazen was in black suit in head to toe, dress shoes, a neat little burgundy tie to match his Master's scarf, while a dark grey vest covered his chest. Yes, it made him look similar to his Master but most the guards at the party were dressed that way. Only the guards didn't have lightsabers hidden within their fancy jackets, ready to be pulled out at a moment's notice. Discreet, these Jedi were. To be honest, Jazen would have preferred to have been thrown into a pit full of Sith then dealing with a bunch of high end fluffs.

It was just about the same thing.

As they started into the line that lead into the building, Jazen's fingers tugged at his collar again. Seriously, how did someone breathe in these things? "Agh. This suit just makes me feel all...wrong. How do people wear these? You can barely move in them. Barely adjust. And don't get me started on these shoes; they don't seem the type to be counted on for grip. What if we have to deal with something?" Yes, Jazen wasn't the party kind of guy...not that it showed at all. Not one bit. Even if the smile he was going to have to wear for part of the night looked rather fake.

[Neology]

Novus peered out the tinted window of her rented speeder, watching city streets give way to carefully manicured gardens. The Palazzo di Luce, at the very heart of all this green, glittered like a jewel against the evening sky. She had heard of the place, though had never visited it personally – Master Delwhi, erstwhile Watchman of Alderaan, had had few dealings with House Alde in the years that she had been his padawan. Too bad, really. Familiarity with the grounds would have brought her some peace of mind.

The luxury speeder pulled into the shallow 'u' of the palace's front drive and set down smoothly. The driver, rented with the vehicle, met her eyes in the mirror.

”Ma'am. Shall I wait?”

“Oh, no. Thank you, but these things go on forever.” She waved her credstick for the scanner, authorizing a large gratuity. Gathering up her purse, Novus popped the door and stepped out into the chilly night air, inviting no further conversation.

She made her way to the line, where the wealthy and influential were already beginning to file in. At the door, she smiled in turn at the hostess, a matronly woman from House Alde, and leaned in to kiss the air on either side of her head.

”Thank you so much for coming, dear … ?” The older woman blinked and trailed off, recognition absent from her watery blue eyes. A mild embarrassment, one that Novus was quite content to rescue her from.

“Arjha Tikaris, from Galatech United. I can't tell you how strongly we feel about this cause. All those poor people in the Rim, living on the very edge of civilization!” Novus had taken care to dress the part of Arjha, dying her hair a rich chocolate tone and hiding her blue eyes behind green contact lenses. Decorative spectacles in gilt frames set against the bridge of her nose, a resting point for the eye that softened the contour of her face. Her presence in the Force was tightly concealed, no more than the spark of life that every sentient being possessed.

”Of course, of course. We're so glad you could make it, Ms. Tikaris.”

It was that easy. Arjha Tikaris smiled and let herself be ushered through the front doors, allowing an attendant to sweep away with her coat (dyed wool with fur trim, the tawny pelt of a Correllian sand panther.). Beneath, she wore a floor length dress of gold Aeien silk, detailed at the shoulders and spine with layers of gold filigreed scales, a pattern based on the long extinct Arkanian dragon - Arjha's hobby and obsession.

She moved with the flow of the crowd, quietly on the lookout for the familiar faces she knew would be there. Richter and Vance, the latter let off leash to find his own way in, and the Jedi security team.

Trading atrocities, indeed.

[Fromikeable]

”... and so anyway, by this point, the Twi’lek chick is on the couch kissing my brains out, and the Togruta’s still mixing our drinks. So I manage to pry off of the Twi’lek long enough to finally look at my holopad, and it’s my mom calling! So now I’m like ‘Ohmygosh what do I do!’ ‘cause I’ve got these two smokin’ hot chicks in my apartment ready to get at it and my parents are calling! Know what I mean?”

”Mhm.”

”And so I manage to tell the Togruta chick that it’s my mom calling, and she laughs real hard and drinks her drink before getting the Twi’lek girl off of me. And the Twi’lek chick’s hammered, so she doesn't get it, and she starts pouting that real cute way Twi’leks pout, and the Togruta starts making out with her while I scramble for the holopad. And by this point, I’m missing the call, and I’m like ‘Oh crap don’t let me miss the call!’, y’know?”

”Mhm.”

”And so I dive for the holopad and it slips off the couch, so now I’m diving behind the couch while both of those chicks are over at the counter in my kitchen being super damn hot, and by the time I manage to grab the holopad? I missed the call! Can you believe that?”

A barely concealed sigh. ”Mmmmmmmmmmmmmhm.”

”And so by this point, I look up and their head tails are, like, HOT. Like h-o-t, hot hot hot, man! And so…”

Force above and beyond, if Vance paid any more attention to this story, he’d start slamming his head against the bar. Andy was a nice enough guy, but this was the third time in three days that he’d been told this story, and frankly it not only got less interesting, but more and more shallow.

But it beat having Percy, the event manager for the waiting staff, go on any more of his protocol rants. Vance didn't know much about being a waiter, granted, but Percy treated it as if it was a science rivaling thermodynamics. Vance was sure that there were a million unique ways to arrange silverware or to pour just the right amount of champagne into a glass to make it fizz right, but generally whenever someone started breaking out the tape-measurer and scale to make sure it was exactly three sixteenths of a liter, Vance found the amount of detail just a little too startling.

So there he was, dressed in black pants, fine black shoes (which he’d learned to shine that morning, actually), a pressed white shirt with black buttons, and a striking black bow tie. His face sported a small mustache (the intentional result of not shaving for a duo of weeks), and his presence was sucked in as close as he could hold it without concentrated effort, only being given away under extreme scrutiny (in other words, better than he’d thought he could do, but not as well as he’d hoped). He’d even transformed his hair; what was usually a massive afro of curls had been battled with oil, combs, and a fair few showers into a wavy slick-back that looked half corny and unnatural, half dashing and sleek.

He just wouldn't count how many times he’d had to re-slick it tonight. Among the many things he’d learned obtaining this waiter cover was that his hair did not like to be straightened.

But it had been worth it to be there, polishing glasses at a rather elegant-looking bar, lines of the Republic’s elite and wealthy beginning to file into a massive dining hall that probably cost more to rent for a night than a million lifetimes’ worth of labor for the average citizen. Vance had nearly lost the opportunity a few times; he’d nearly blown his cover when he’d said that he was experienced, when he’d gone through basic “training”, and even when he’d been asked how many glasses a bottle of wine could usually fill (the answer was one if at a Hutt event, two if at a political event, and more for most other occasions). He got the feeling that it was less of a lack on his part and more of an insane standard of the company, but nevertheless they’d stuck him at the bar with the simple task of carrying around glasses of fizzing liquor to the many patrons bound to be wandering about. He hadn't argued; his performance certainly hadn't been stellar, and this position allowed him to search for Novus without suspicion.

Not that he knew what they were actually doing there that night (well, not exactly). Once he’d gleamed that she’d needed poison for the event, he’d uncharacteristically not asked a single question; the less he knew, the less likely that he’d have some conflict about it. As it was, he still felt rather guilty that he was an accessory to murder tonight, among his other foul-ups. He still tried not to think about Locke.

As Andy uncorked a few bottles and continued yammering about how seductive it was see a Togruta and a Twi’lek touch montrails, the ex-padawan straightened his bowtie, took up his platter of drinks, and began to wander into the forming crowd, walking slowly so that the drinks could simply be plucked off at the patrons’ whims. He silently thanked the Force that he was on the taller side; it made things easier as he scanned the faces that streamed in about him.

Finally he saw Novus; that dastardly face, looking absolutely calm and as if it was just another in a sea of wealth. He almost didn't recognize her with her dyed hair. The brown, while certainly lovely and fashionable, gave him that odd sense of disturbia that only reared its head when a long-standing constant (such as her practically bleached norm) was disturbed.

Making his way over to her as inconspicuously as possible, he cleared his throat and bowed barely an inch, as if being a server sucking up to a pretty and powerful higher-up.

“A drink, madame?"

[Danee]

"Mhm, I really like what the seasons does to this planet, it certainly feels alive compared to some worlds." Alaari commented as well, looking up towards the main building as well, turning her head towards Locke as he spoke about a battle that once had happened here, she would have to look up as many records she could about this place sometime. Alderaan was an interesting planet, it was one of the planets that she adored, and when she had caught wind of some security being needed at an event on the planet, she had spoken to her Master about going out on a Mission alone to see what it was like to try something by herself, besides, it was a Ball, not a Fighting arena, what could go wrong with a ball?

The Togruta sighed softly, as she glanced around outside the palace, she didn't mind the chilly air, nor the somewhat tight fitting clothes but she still preferred Alderaan during the warmer seasons, the ground itself was too cold for her to walk barefoot, as she had preferred, so, she had to use shoes like everyone else. Once again the air misted in front of her as she sighed softly, so far it was all calm, then again she didn't expect fighting or anything like that, perhaps someone getting too drunk and starting a small brawl, but anything more? Nah.

Alaari crossed her arms, the cold was slowly starting to get to her. Had she been in her regular robes she wouldn't have minded it, but now, wearing a dress which stopped just below her knees and a dark red leather jacket around her torso she shivered slightly as they got closer to the entrance, seeing Locke raise his hand for the two to stop, she did as 'asked' and joined the line next to Locke and Jasen. As the line progressed she heard Jasen complain about the tightness of his suit, she turned her head slightly towards him and looked down at him.

"Mostly, suits aren't made for maneuvering a lot, except for Dancing, even then the main blazer is often removed to make it easier to move." She replied and followed the line, slowly getting closer to the entrance, she couldn't wait until they were inside, the cold was slowly getting to her, making her shiver lightly once in a while.

"Besides, the material used to sow the sows together is easy enough to break with sudden movement, which should give you more space to move, but will ruin the suit, so don't do it unless necessary." She spoke and looked up at the facade of the building before looking back down towards Jasen.

[Rugs]

“Oh now, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Locke said to the Togruta’s observation on the men’s formalwear. A grin split his face, a bit of Locke Nemsee breaking through the otherwise affably-aloof façade he wore as one Aaruvyn Iovine. “Clothing is hardly an exact science. And besides, we’ve flung a galaxy across the stars.” His broad, one-handed sweep at the skies above them transitioned neatly into a flourish of his guest pass for the attendant at the door as they reached the gate. Locke winked back at the students as the attendant checked his name on the list. “Is it so hard to believe we could make something both fashionable and functional?”

Locke counted himself an expert in a few areas, and one of them was dressing right for an occasion. He was well aware of the potential need for mobility while they were at the party. His tailor, by extension, was also quite aware. He and Jazen were ready if the need arose — even if the Padawan would be griping all night about having to wear something nice, for once.

The burdens we must bear, kid, he thought with a crooked little half smile as he neatly tucked his pass into his pocket and turned with the swishing of coat and scarf to enter the palace.

Getting inside was a dull affair, made only slightly less so by the string of time-wasting pleasantries the social situation demanded must take place. After all, Aaruvyn was a moderately-wealthy (for this crowd) stockbroker who took a particular interest in furthering the Republic’s cause along the Outer Rim. Shore up the frontier, the doctrine went, to keep the Sith tide from washing them all away at home.

But who was the boy that tagged along with him, and what of the Togruta companion that followed? What more could the Republic do, with the Outer Rim slipping world by world into the Sith’s outstretched hands? Locke answered the same four or five questions more times than he cared to admit and, by the time they reached the dining area, he’d half-emptied the glass of champagne — a sweet moscato from one of Alderaan’s fine lowland vineyards — that’d been shoved at some point into his hand.

“I’ve fought in battles less tiring than that,” he grumbled to the students as they reached their assigned table. The guests were seated six apiece at a sea of round tables in the Palace’s gargantuan feast hall. A few scampered here and there through the tables, checking their spots or stopping to drop off a few of their personal affects. “And it’s only just beginning.”

“Now, for both of you, I’m going to say something you’re not likely to hear for a while—enjoy yourselves. But,” he held up a finger, “ keep your eyes open. We’re here for security, first and foremost. But you’re not going to blend if you’re not having a good time. That doesn’t mean go crazy, though.” He promptly downed the rest of champagne and set the glass neatly down on the table. “I’m going to check with my security chief. You two are free to roam. Just be sure to be back here before the dinner begins. You know how to reach me if something comes up.”

Locke started to turn, then paused to glance back over his shoulder. “Oh, and it may surprise you at this type of party, but please don’t run off to screw someone in a coat closet when the chance inevitably comes, alright? Just trust me on that one.”

[Jazen]

Jazen took one look at Locke' s face and knew what was coming. If he wasn't trying to look a part, he would have scrunched up his nose in anticipation. Alaari had set off Locke's lecture voice and while normally Jazen didn't mind listening to the older Jedi preach, that only applied to things that were interesting. Jazen braced, ready to hear him break into a lesson about the uses of formal wear...and instead got a few short sentences that went with a dramatic series of gestures.

Jazen counted the stars in the sky in thanks.

"Possibly sir. I wouldn't know. I would prefer functional overall but I suppose I'll take what I can get. And I do admit..." he said, glancing to Alaari with a smile and a wink..."That outfit suits your personality perfectly." Joking and Locke no doubt would hear the underlying jab but Jazen didn't much care really. He was merely getting his in before Locke grilled him all night for gripping about the clothes they wore. Shaking his head, Jazen shrugged and produced his pass in a more average manner for the man before following his Master inside.

He immediately regretted it. No sooner had they passed the main doors were they sucked into the world of the upper class. There was a slow moving procession to actually get into the main hall, made even more slow by the patrons need to stop and idle for gossip and pleasantries. There were literally sections of the passage where people blocked the entire hall to chatter about the latest fashions or who might have been sleeping with whom or stats on the market. Interesting for them, no doubt, but it was all nails in his ears as far as Jazen was concerned. He listened anyway though; no telling when something useful might slip.

All the while, he played the role he'd been assigned to play. Jazen smiled at everyone, shaking hands politely when someone approached, sticking close to Locke amongst these vultures. Locke's cover was that of a moderately wealthy stockbroker named Aaruyvn, a role he pulled off with ease. Jazen went with something a bit more simple; he was Aaruvyn's brother, a corporal in the Republic Navy .He was there as one of Aaruvyns' guests and protecter of his brother, to help with the security. He brought a little military prestige to the event. Jazen spent the next little while deflecting questions about the war, merely saying "things were in hand" or "its classified ma'am but your support is welcome."

By the time they reached their table, Jazen was ready to throttle half the people in the room and and nuke the other half from orbit. These people were necessary, sure...but damned if so many of them were blind and stupid, thinking war a game, a distant threat they could ignore. "Agreed. I'd much rather be dropped into a pit full of Sith." He shook his head and glanced around the room before looking to his allies. "At least they're up front about what they're gonna do to you. Half the people here are playing a game and their intentions are hard to figure out."

"No promises on having fun sir. But I'll try my best not to start something I "might" find fun to follow your orders." He smiled and nodded, turning his eyes back to the event. His head snapped back at Locke's final words before he disappeared, not giving Jazen enough time to reply before he vanished into the horde of politicans. Turning to Alaari, he lifted and curious eyebrow and mouthed "what?" before sighing and looking around.

"My cheek bones are gonna kill me by tonight's end. At least I can play the soldier boy for a bit and relax my cheeks." Jazen turned to Alaari, debating what to do. "Well, we got work to do. I say we spilit up and keep our eyes out in two locations. No telling what..." he blinked, rubbed his eyes,the looked again. He swore for a minute he saw Vance...and another person who looked familiar. But they were gone, vanished into the crowd. "what we might find. Man, we've barely been here an hour and I'm already going mad. Anyway. See you at dinner."

And so he set off into the crowd, diving headfirst into a wave of sharks. And you never knew when they might bite.

[Neology]

“Thank you.” She selected a glass without a second glance at the server, hiding her pleasure at her student's success behind a polite smile. A sip, a nod, and she moved back into the crowd. Ms. Tikaris, while not so wealthy as some of these guests, would likely share their attitude toward service staff: while in that uniform, they were more furniture than person. She would not mingle. A shame, truly. Servants had the best gossip. What could she have learned that her agents had missed, or had deemed unimportant? There were always missing pieces and never enough time. Much to her private frustration.

Tonight, the missing piece was security. Her sources indicated Jedi involvement, but which Jedi and how many remained a mystery. Were they mixed in with the crowd? Posted with House Alde's guards? She'd seen no sign of brown robes among so much finery but that was hardly conclusive. Unfortunately, hiding her presence did much to dampen her senses. High stakes hide and seek – wonderful. A good training exercise for Vance though, if he was paying attention.

The flow of foot traffic led chiefly to the banquet hall. Novus took a left, following the outside wall. Between each window, treasures of House Alde had been carried out, replaced by the items on offer tonight. Prizes in their own right, all of them. She paused to admire the details of a gilded harp, favorite possession of some ancient Panteer princess, then flicked her gaze to the window.

Soon, the shuttle bearing Lady Cassé and her pet lizard would be landing on the other side of the city. Let loose with little instruction other than to cause as much destruction as they could, they provided a important element of her plan. Emergency services would be tied up for much of the evening.

The auction, scheduled for after the evening's meal, would never happen. These items would be the last thing on anyone's mind … No. She would purchase the harp later, at a steep discount. A suitable gift for Rase's collection.

A distant chime alerted guests that seating had begun. Speeches first, hmm. No need to hurry. She moved on to consider the next object, a large painting of a fortress at sunset in striking colors, dark violet and bronze.

[Fromikeable]

Novus didn’t look at him, and by all accounts, that was fine by him. Seeing her in person, full into her rouse, lithe as a Corellian alley cat, he couldn't help but feel another pang of guilt. What were they doing there tonight? He know what he was doing; that much had been plainly instructed and understood. But their ultimate objective…

Well, he hadn't asked for a reason. Unfortunately, that came with the side effect of only fuller grief.

Forget it. Moving away from her just as casually as he’d approached, the ex-padawan slowly moved through the crowd, distracting himself with, of all things, what he’d learned in his “training” for the event. Move like a ghost among the guests. Maintain a look of neutrality, not unhappy, but rather not thrilled. Speak to no one if spoken to, make no eye-contact unless it is initiated first.

In other words, avoid the sharks and let them assault the tray with as little personal interaction as possible.

Making a circuit throughout the room, Vance quickly found his tray empty, its alcoholic contents quickly consumed by people putting on bigger acts than Coruscanti musical actors. Checking his watch, he took a slight breath as he popped out of the crowd for a moment, easily visible to the tables. Another 15 minutes before the first course was served. Plenty of time to mingle and greet and whisper and canoodle and do all things regarding social function…

Plenty of time to walk around with sedatives in my pocket. A gloved hand slipped into his vest pocket as he simply viewed the crowd for a moment, scanning faces, checking on his own presence to make sure it was tight, and ultimately hoping to find no one he recognized. His hand found his personal objective for the night; a small metal tube concealing two quickly dissolving tablets of a yellow pasty color. Novus had been rather specific; no skin contact, no inhaling any powder, not even touching them with his gloves.

No traces. No leads. No room for error. But no pressure.

Staring blankly at a table where two young people, one human with white hair, the other a Togruta, both of them clad in specially tailored clothing. It looked a bit impractical to him, but… eh, what did he know.

It then occurred to him that his tray was empty, and that Percy would skin him alive if he saw, and that Andy was probably only half-way through his story (more likely than not just getting into the debate over which was hotter; boobs or montrails). Glancing toward the bar reluctantly, he set out for it for a fresh round of champagne, his hand fidgeting with the tube before resuming a proper waiting position.

Honestly, the worst part of this evening was going to be the waiting. Or at least, that was what he hoped.

Obtaining a fresh round of drinks (and enduring another minute or so of Andy, who’d barely registered that he’d left), Vance began his second circuit, this time through the tables. Were he not so focused on the little things, so honed in on the mundane in an effort to keep his act up and his nose down, he might have noticed a select few patrons at numerous tables beginning to sweat profusely, their faces turning unnatural colors. Surely the finger foods they’d found on their plates (as everyone had) had simply been a bit undercooked. Perhaps one or two of them was allergic.

Then there was a rather hoarse cough. Oh dear. Someone must’ve had the flu.

[Danee]

Alaari walked alongside Locke towards the entrance slowly as he spoke about Clothes, she didn't mind her own outfit, but, she had much preferred to wear her own robes instead of the dress she was wearing, she wasn't a huge fan of dresses, but, she also understood the need to blend in when you're there as protection and has to be unnoticed among the crowd. As Locke raised his hand and moved it through the air she rolled her eyes and then glanced down towards Jazen who seemed to have a similar reaction towards what Locke did.

As they slowly got closer to the entrance she heard Jazen speak up again, glancing down she noticed him winking at her along with comment on her outfit, raising her brow she looked back up towards the large doors and followed the line slowly, taking out her own pass and handing it to the doorman before taking it back and putting it inside her jacket.

Once they were inside she let out a sigh of relief as the warm air wrapped itself around her, slowly removing the feeling of cold around her as they entered the large building. Velrika Tynee, a diplomat's daughter, was who Alaari was this evening, and was there to make sure that her father's interests weren't squandered. As she followed her two 'companions' into the ball she smiled and nodded in reply to greetings as they slowly made their way towards their table. She didn't know anything about the roles of the two she had accompanied inside or their backgrounds, because tonight, she didn't know them.

When they eventually got to their table she looked around the room, so fara she liked this place and didn't mind the various rich people who'd stab each other in the back as long as the money was good enough. As Locke caught her attention again she turned her head towards him and nodded as he said that the only way that they'd blend in was if they were enjoying themselves, she nodded and as he started to turn then left a warning to not screw someone in a closet she just shook her head and rolled her eyes once again.

Looking down at Jazen she saw him mouth something, seemingly a question about what Locke had said, she shrugged and looked around once again, nodding as the younger padawan began to talk about them splitting up when he suddenly stopped talking for a moment, turning her head to him she blinked. "Alright, see you then." she replied to him as he disappeared into the crowd of rich people and alcohol.

For the first time of the evening she felt, lost, not knowing where to go she set off in one direction and kept her eyes open for anything out of the ordinary along with her ears peeled for the same. She couldn't pick up any other force sensitive people in the area, as she had to hide her own presence from anyone who wasn't Jedi. But, she kept walking and as she looked around she could see the various paintings on the walls, she looked up at one then moved on towards the next one, stopping in front of a painting with a fortress in the sunset. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" She asked the woman looking at the painting as well when the first speech started, however, that didn't intrigue her as much so, instead she kept her eyes up towards the painting for now.

[Rugs]

The party, as it turned out, was about as dull an affair as Locke anticipated. This was good news, as far as the Jedi was concerned; boring nights for security workers generally meant a safe, enjoyable time for partigoers. Which wasn’t to say the night hadn’t already been without its share of surprising happenings…

“So lemme get this straight,” Locke said again, with one arm folded across his chest and his hand of the other swirling a glass of water thoughtfully as he spoke, “you’re tellin’ me one of the dukes of Alderaan got caught with his britches down and a serving girl… attached to him in a bathroom?” He glanced at a vibrant blue chronometer on the wall. “Forty minutes into this thing?”

Sirius Cother chuckled — a dry, rasping sort of sound — as he flipped the array of projected feeds before him from camera to camera. “You know I can’t confirm anything like that officially, Locke,” he said, some subtle hint of laughter still touching his voice, “but rumor has it that may be the case.” The security chief spared a moment from his camera feeds to glance up at Locke, mouth turned up in a slight smirk and mischief dancing in his dark eyes. “Officially — to hear the Duke’s people tell it — he just had a little bit too much to drink and needed some assistance in the bathroom.”

Locke snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes at the same time. “I dunno what’s worse, to tell the truth: getting caught with his hydrospanner up the girl’s exhaust port, so early in the night, or having to lie about not being able to hold his liquor.” He sipped on his water to allow a heavy pause without laughing, before adding, “So early in the night.”

“You know how this bunch is, Locke,” Sirius said. “Suffer the minor embarrassment for a night. It’ll go away. But if the truth got out? He’d never live it down.”

“The weight of being wealthy,” Locke cooed, voice heavy with feigned sympathy. “If only life could be simple and easy.” He snorted again as he watched the camera feeds flicker by. “He’s lucky a guard caught him and not one of his peers, or word would’ve spread from here to Aldera by now.”

Sirius nodded, absorbed again in monitoring the feeds. He had mahogany skin, with short, neatly kept black hair that greyed in streaks at his temples. He was a security veteran, and had “retired” to Alderaan after a long venerated career overseeing security for the Galactic Senate. Locke had worked with Sirius for years and had been thrilled to learn he’d be overseeing the gala’s security; he was a steady, down-to-earth fellow, and they worked well together.

“Anyway, I’m probably gonna head on back down to mingle in a moment,” Locke said with another glance at the clock. “Can’t disappear for too long or people might start thinking poor Aaruvyn is off being entirely inappropriate with a serving girl.”

Sirius chuckled again. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Not at all,” Locke answered as he set his glass down on a small side table near the door. “How long are you gonna monitor the feeds up here? Surprised you haven’t let the boy take over again.”

“Not too much longer,” Sirius said, rolling his shoulders. “Give ‘im a break, let him see the sights and sounds for a bit before he’s cooped up here all night. First time he’s done one of this big deals.”

“Fair enough.” Locke paused as he walked to the way out, looking at one of the feeds. A woman stood in the makeshift gallery, observing a the fine works that’d been set out for the night. Nothing about it was out of the ordinary, and yet…

“Something up?” Sirius asked, apparently noticing the Jedi’s pause.

Locke remained silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No, no. Not at all. Just thought I saw someone that looked familiar. But hell if I can tell. Wouldn’t surprise me if there’s a few someones I’ve escorted or whatever here, given the crowd.” He shrugged, plucked his coat from a hook on the wall and threw it on in a fluid motion as the door opened. “You know how to reach me if anything goes sideways.”

“Always,” Sirius said as the door slid shut behind Locke.

---

Events in the rest of the palace went on largely as expected. Locke floated from here to there, avoiding any major conversation as he observed the goings-on. His route, perhaps subconsciously, took him to the hall where the prized belongings of House Alde had been set on display. The woman was still there, and he paused, glancing sidelong at her even has he acted as if to inspect the rusted pieces of an ancient set of armor, said to have been worn in the battle fought on those very grounds.

It’s nothing, he told himself. His long coat swished around him as he turned to view another artifact, spotting Alaari as he did. Just another guest. But why couldn’t he shake that nagging feeling at the back of his skull?

“Oh, Lord Iovine!” Locke almost cringed at the shrill, excited voice from behind him. “I have been eager to meet you!”

Locke put on his best, most affable smile and turned on his heel to see some brown-haired woman he’d never met in his life fast approaching. She was older than him. Middle-aged, if he had to guess. Pretty enough, deep brown eyes and laugh lines only partially hidden by her make up.

“I am Lyra Tuspin,” the woman said, half taking, half accosting his hand for a shake as she approached him, “and I own Alde Supplies, and we have been looking to expand our holdings. I know that’s not your specific area of expertise, but I’m told you have a sharp business sense for the Mid Rim and hoped for your thoughts on some ideas.”

The first thing Locke noted about her was that she was very loud, either by design or personality. The second was that he needed some way to get away from her.

“Well, Ms. Tuspin it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, playing along as the gears turned in his head to escape. “Always a pleasure to know my reputation precedes me, but I must confess, I am no lord…”

A bell sounded from the banquet hall. Two chimes. Second bell. A final warning before the third chimes heralded the arrival of appetizers as introductions began for the main event.

Lyra gasped, apparently unaware that time had slipped so far. “I do apologize, Mr. Iovine, but I must hurry back to my seat. But don’t you worry,” she said, smiling. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.”

Locke cringed inwardly at the look she gave him before she hurried off to her seat.

[Jazen]

If it was possible to fall asleep standing yet remain perfectly alert to everyone around, Jazen felt he was probably going to be doing it at some point. A Jedi had to remain alert at all times, ready to act at a moment's notice, especially since he was running security. But by the suns of Tatoonie was this whole affair a complete bore. Jazen was half tempted to accidentally bump someone into another, just to create something other then the droning buzz of gossip everywhere. And not necessarily good gossip either; mostly it was minor stuff about who was seeing who, the latest hair fashion or god forbid, two women were arguing with fire about shoes. Shoes!

Despite the fact that he wanted to merely fade into the shadows and wait till this whole dull affair was over, Jazen had a job to do. The party might have been boring as watching paint dry, but from the perspective of both Jedi and guard, boring was good. It meant things were running smoothly, that all was in order. One couldn't ask for a simplier, albeit boring job.

Although most of the rabble being spoken by the guests was useless babble, Jazen did pick up a few things here and there. One lady was whispering to a man about an incident in the bathroom, rumors that one of the dukes had been caught with his...staff being serviced by one of the service girls. Rumors were rumors but the thought made Jazen quirk an eyebrow. Not the kind of thing you heard often as Jedi. Amusing. Others whispered about details from the battles of the war, told from their perspective from "being close to the whole affair" or "Did you hear about so and so from this planet and what happened to them?" Interesting, to hear what these pompous rich folk that were never close to a real battle had to say about them, especially when they spoke as if they knew better.

The hardest part was dealing with questions. Jazen wasn't adverse to answering them, but his answers were often limited, as many people wanted to know about the war. Or god forbid, a stunning young lady would approach him. Sometimes more then one, fluttering eyelashes and pouting lips...things he never really dealt with as a Jedi and was so not prepared to counter.

~~~~~~~

"Corporal Aaruvyn, I don't believe we've had the pleasure. I'm the daughter of Duke Cordella, Risel. I was just wondering if you had a date for the evening."

"I can't...say that I do Miss Risel. My job tonight is protection for my brother and others. Don't quite have the time to bring a date, seeing as I'm working." Oh, that brought a little spark to her eye. She was pretty though...long blonde hair pulled up, a red and black dress that hung to all her curves, curves that were not over the top. A natural beauty, they would say. And crystal blue eyes...those were nice.

"Really? Well perhaps someone might be your unofficial date then? Maybe someone young and willing and who thinks, gosh, that you are rather cute."

Yup, definately not his area of expertise. Now, Risel was pretty, no doubt about that and Jazen never really had a problem dealing with pretty girls...but the way she was approaching him, her whole manner, her body language...it was putting him on edge. "Well ma'am, I appreciate whoever might think I'm cute. But I would have to decline. After all, a lady like that deserves attention and mine is...distracted for the evening."

"Perhaps she might offer something a little more distracting then? I mean, there are plenty of other guards...one might not be missed for a bit. Just come join me for a bit and we'll just...talk." She moved closer, pressing herself slightly into him and it took all of Jazen's training to not look down. Or, you know...freak out. Actually, looking at her, he could see she was nervous. A little unsure. Maybe he wasn't the only one out of his comfort zone. His expression softened and he let out a sigh, debating how to reward her bravely and yet let her down easy. For now.

Luckily, the sound of the dinner bell chiming twice spared him the need to make up an excuse to escape. Risel's lip pouted as she looked towards the dining hall with a sigh. "A shame...dinner calls. Perhaps I shall see you after, Corporal." He could see the disappointment in her eyes, that she'd gotten the courage for something and then it was wasted.

"Perhaps you shall. I wouldn't mind having someone to talk too. And I'll be honest...someone that might understand this place better then me would be wonderous company." That got a smile out of her and she nodded, touching his arm gently before disappearing into the crowd heading for the hall. He shook his head and went to follow, before he stopped for a moment. He was supressing the Force in him the best he could but something...something was off. Something felt wrong.

He idled for a minute, trying to figure out what it was, his eyes tracking the people moving into the hall. Trying to see if anyone set off his radar, someone who felt wrong. He thought for a moment he saw two...a woman and a man, disappearing quickly into the crowd. But then nothing. Shaking his head, Jazen put it aside for now. Probably just him shaking off meeting Risel. He followed the group inside, located Locke and quickly rejoined his Master at the table, away from others for a brief moment.

"So aside from the rumors a Duke can't keep his pants up...anything unusual brother?"

[Neology]

”It's beautiful, isn't it?” A feminine voice interrupted from her left. Novus cut her gaze away from the painting to regard the source. A young togruta – unlikely to be one of the Republic's charitable donors. Someone's daughter or paramour, perhaps? Hmm.

“Yes. I was just picturing how it'd look in my apartment.” She shrugged one shoulder, decorative scales tinkling. A few steps down the aisle and she paused in front of a wide jewelry case. Among other treasures sat a very strange piece, polished carapace framed within a thin gilt frame. A ring, allegedly once in the possession of some House Rist spy. Never worn. It glinted rainbows, like oil on water on a sunny day. “Sadly, my personal wealth is not so vast. This piece, though - GalaTec United has a very keen interest in the killiks.” She could feel eyes on her, something that seemed beyond the togruta's polite regard. Shifting her gaze to the dark window, Novus tried to ignore the sensation. It was nothing, surely. Dresses like this were intended to draw attention to the wearer.

“To date, few samples have ever left Alderaan. Property of museums and such, but … Who knows. In a few years, you could be driving a speeder coated in this stuff.” Novus went so far as to allow a polite smile. Beyond the dark glass, a faint streak of light cut across the horizon – a shuttle's rapid descent. Well timed as the second chime summoned the remaining guests to the dining room. Novus dipped her head in farewell to the togruta and followed the flow of foot traffic back out.

---

“ … The Republic has always held the spirit of charity close. I believe this, more than anything else, sets us apart.” The guest speaker, a doctor whose organization was primarily funded by events like these, seemed to be winding down. Novus wove through the crowd, finding her assigned seat at a small table near the back – the cheap seats, ranging from ten to twenty thousand credits a plate.

“I would like to thank all of you, and invite you to attend tonight's auction ...” Novus watched him exit the stage – human, mid-thirties if she had to guess, angular face beneath a longish fringe of frizzy brown hair. Large nose, pronounced adam's apple. Charismatic without being conventionally attractive. Hell, he probably actually was a doctor. Very light music began, the orchestra hidden from view in the pit before the stage.

A fleet of waiters brought out the first course, a chilled soup boasting Alderaanian glimmerfish as the main ingredient. Novus picked up her spoon, watching as the others at her table tucked in. Sand panther venom was unusual, having no discernible color, taste, or scent. Had her hired assassin mixed things up, or deliberately decided to kill her … The first symptoms would present almost immediately. Burning or numbness in the mouth and face, sweating, confusion. Difficulty breathing would be next, followed by numbness in the limbs and other extremities. Then, within the hour, paralysis of the heart and respiratory center – death.

Nouvs dipped her spoon and brought it to her lips. Delicious. As if this crowd would stand for anything less.

[Fromikeable]

The ring of a bell seemed like more of the crack of a cannon. The enemy army was forming up on the battlefield, arming themselves with sharp metal objects, gnashing their teeth, making all manner of primal growls (albeit not with their mouths). Vance had never imagined that he might liken caterers to soldiers, but their precision honestly surprised him. Each moved almost like a droid, as if walking swiftly with trays the size of satellite dishes being held perfectly level was just another natural skill, like breathing or drinking.

The battle, it seemed, was on. Force only knew how it would end with him and Novus there. Once again, he tried not to think about it.

Following the soup-carriers, he began making rounds to tables, setting down new drinks for each one as they tucked in. A human man, a bit dashing if not somewhat out of place by Vance’s marking, took to the stage as the lights dimmed. Small lanterns began to glow in every centerpiece as he doled out his odd brand of charm, all eyes falling on him. Delivering drinks therefore became a simple matter of Vance dipping his arm between chairs, grabbing empty glasses and replacing them as quickly as he could. It was a nice change of pace from the crowds; he was already pretending that he wasn't there, and now so was everyone else.

Everyone, that was, except for the source of another raspy cough.

Vance felt a tug at his arm as he turned to leave another table. “Excuse me dear, could you bring my husband some ice water?” Turning back, he traced a somewhat wrinkled arm to an older Morellian woman, her face in a sweet yet belabored smile. Contrasting her was the man beside her, her husband presumably, whose face looked more like a tomato than flesh, his elbow pressed against his lips like a vice as he only coughed harder.

“Of course miss.” He turned away again, trying to beat down a sense of suspicion. He was stopped by a politely quiet, whispered yell from the next table, “Two here as well!” mixed with the sound of raspy, whistle-like breathing. Retreating through the tables, he made his way back to the bar, his eyes certainly a little wider, darting at the glasses Andy began to fill. Another duo of waiters arrived, asking for more of the same, discussing the requests.

“... he drank the soup too fast. If we get sued again for burning some old Muun’s lips, I swear to the gods-”

“I don’t know Klon, I've never seen twenty people burn themselves at once.”

“Maybe it’s just that hot? Somebody should go in there and yell at them to turn down the stoves.”

Oh dear Force, is she poisoning people? All of that trouble on Felucia had been for tonight? She… she wasn’t that inhumane, was she? None of these people were soldiers; a quarter of them were too old to even enlist. The rest, while admittedly a bit priss, snobby, or otherwise disconnected, didn’t do anything more criminal than fund a war that was going on anyway.

But a fourth waiter seemed to make it clear, actually running up the bar and quickly whispering at Andy. “Hey, where’s the first aid kit? Some Duro woman at table 7 just blacked out.”

His mind quickly turned into a small panic, jumping through options. His body, meanwhile, ran on autopilot. “Also two champagnes.”

“Just a sec. What do you mean she f-”

“Now, man.”

The other human quickly poured out two glasses, placing them on Vance’s tray with a grumble and further questions. The ex-padawan didn't bother to hear them, quickly dashing away from the bar as it increasingly became Ice Water Central. His hand, shaking a little, fumbled through his pocket as he stuck to the perimeter of the room, not going direct through the tables. The route gave him ample time to discreetly drop two tablets into the champagnes, their plastic wrappings idly poked into a potted plant. To the naked eye, they looked like calcium tablets to help soothe stomachs. In reality, they were salvation (or damnation; he wasn't sure which).

But he had to keep up the charade, had to… to act normal. Right. Tray full of water. Still clearly bee-lining for Novus’s table, he absentmindedly placed one or two of them down on the edge of each table he passed, trying to get rid of as many as he could without stopping.

So it was only natural that he would, with an awkward movement and a bad step, go to put one down in front of two male humans and a young Togruta woman, only to fling the contents at all three of their laps.

As if on cue, a curl of his hair ungelled itself. The Force, it seemed, would have none of this “success” he’d heard so much about.

[Rugs]

The third bell chimed as Locke, who’d found himself distracted by yet another patron — this time an elderly Correllian man who didn’t seem to give a damn if he was late for dinner — returned to the dining hall. A mild annoyance, perhaps, but he figured there was something to be said for being fashionably late. The serving staff was just arriving as he entered the room, and so he, their vanguard, hurried along to join his student and ward for the night.

“No, nothing too out of the ordinary,” he said in answer to Jazen’s question as took his coat off, hung it on the back of his chair and sat down in a sweeping-obviously practiced motion. Certainly not something Locke Nemsee would take time to do for the sake of putting on a show in public but Aaruvyn Iovine… here was a man given to occasional vanities, even if small.

“And brother, we know that’s just a rumor,” he went on, showing a shadow of a grin to his Padawan. Locke took a fresh glass of water with a smile and a nod from a serving girl who passed by, pausing briefly at their table. “Surely a Duke of Alderaan itself wouldn’t sully his name with such… uncouth behavior, no? Not tonight, of all nights.” He winked and nodded, apparently to Jazen, at a glance.

But neither gesture were truly meant for the boy, if he had the eye to see it. A middle-aged man, husky in body and a bit round about the face, happened to look up and catch Locke’s eye from a two tables away. The Duke, surely fending off playfully-pointed questions from his dining company. The man gave a start, brows drawing down before he hastily returned to whatever conversation went on.

A bit of sport, but just for Locke for now; it’d be terribly rude for Jazen to turn and stare.

The waiting staff dispersed, moving like a thick, well-dressed smoke through the crowd to deliver dinner to the horde of hungry rich folk. Locke saw this from the corner of his eye and registered in some part of his brain that they’d be eating shortly, but paid little mind.

“I did meet a woman who’s interested in furthering a business venture,” he went on, keeping up the charade of pleasant conversation as the dinner began to arrive. “Our conversation was cut short, but she was, uh… very eager to continue talks. Alde Supplies is her company, I think she said.”

A waiter stopped by the table to drop off the first course: some creamy soups with bits of vegetables and meat floating in them. The hair on the back of Locke’s neck stood up, even as he thanked the waiter with a smile. Something’s off, some voice seemed to say in his mind. That was nonsense—random samples from each table had been tested before the food was allowed to come back. As far as he knew, everything got the all clear.

Locke’s brows drew slightly down when he felt a tremor of distress, muted against all the noise that already filled the palace from so many people gathered in one place. Another flared to life, the another.

Locke put his silverware, already halfway dipped into the soup, down and lowered his voice. “Be alert,” he murmured, “something’s not right.”

He got up, half standing-half sitting in the way that curious people sometimes do and looked to see a woman gasping for breath three tables down and to the right. At another table, closer to the front and on the far end of the hall, an elderly man hunched over his soup, hands gripping at his throat.

Locke’s jaw tightened. More and more incidents began to flare up, to the apparent dismay of a panicked waiting staff. “Sirius,” he said, speaking quietly into the comm hidden in his collar, “we’ve got a problem. Get medical staff in here and lock the premises down.”

Locke turned his attention to the students, lips drawn to a thin line. “Someone’s interfered here. One or two people might choke on some hot soup, but this…” his brows furrowed.

Then nearly jumped off his head as a sudden splash of cold spread across his lap. About ten different curses in four different languages sprang to mind, but Locke managed to hold them in, in favor of a loud, yelp of shock.

He looked up, plainly irritated at the water that’d been dumped into his lap, at the clumsy waiter. He was prepared to excuse the blunder, but something held his attention. The hair was wrong, even as a lock sprang free, but the face — he’d seen that face before, but where?

“Vance?! What are you doing here?”

The realization hit like a pile of bricks, dropped from a cruiser passing overhead in orbit. Locke hadn’t seen the (former?) padawan since his captivity. He’d lacked the means to save Vance then, but now why was he here now? No other Jedi were on this job—certainly not a lone padawan. And he wasn’t sure he trusted this padawan’s loyalties.

A woman screamed as EMTs rushed to her husband, who’d fallen to the ground and wasn’t moving. The stunned shock of those gathered was quickly growing to open panic, pressing heavily on Locke’s senses.

Locke stood, grabbed Vance by the collar and leaned in to speak, voice low for only the boy to hear. He didn’t care that it looked poor — he was about to drop his cover anyway. “I’m going to need you to tell me what the hell is going on here,” he said, and grey eyes harder than the stone they looked like. “And are you here alone? Do not lie to me - you don't have it in you to fool me.”

The question needn’t be asked plainly; they both knew Locke was asking if she was lurking in the shadows.

[Jazen]

The table they sat at was apart from the others, like many of them were. A separate table that was just for the three of them, allowing them to speak freely for the moment, although they still did their best to maintain their covers, to make sure they didn't give away much to some idle passerby. It wasn't too hard, especially since Jazen got to play the soldier brother, which meant all he had to do was look serious enough to warrant his position.

He did crack a little bit of a smile at Locke's opening statment. If there was anyone who could play the role Locke had, it was Locke. A flare for the dramatic and the wit to drop sarcasm and gossip without batting an eye? Locke could have fooled anyone as to his real profession in the room. "You know brother, most truth's begin as a rumor. Besides, if such a person were to do that, one could see why. Some of these serving girls look like they belong on the cover of a holozine." He gently glanced at the serving girl as she walked away before turning back to Locke.

Locke was briefly distracted by something for a moment, Jazen's eyes tracking it to a man a few tables away. He had no clue what Locke was doing but a few quick discreet glances showed that whatever it was, Locke was the successor, as the man finally went back to sweating his sizable butt off and talking to the others at his own table.

Movement to his left drew his eye and he reacted like a soldier might, moving his head to assess the source quickly. When he saw it was merely the waiters coming en force to deliver the first of the many course tonight, he seemed to relax and went back to the conversation with his brother. "A business venture?" He asked with eyebrow quirked. The way Locke responded and the slight nervous tinge to his tone made the padawan smile. "From the sound of your voice, sounds like she was planning on another kind of venture as well. Brother, did you pick up an admirer? I'm sure that'll make father happy." Father, they're code name for Levin while here, Locke's friend who'd sent them on this mission. Oh, he would be amused by that.

As their food arrived, Jazen felt his mouth water a little at the sight of it. It smelled wonderful. Spoon in hand, Jazen was ready to sample it...and then he felt it. A little tickle at the back of his neck, what most people felt when something in the air made them nervous. In a normal person, it was something that made them hesitate, unable to figure out why. For a Jedi? That was a warning something was off. Something dangerous. It gave Jazen pause, looking to Locke and seeing his eyebrows furrowed. He'd felt it as well.

Then the Force flared in his mind, picking up something else. Distress. Little bits of it at first, then more started to fill the air in the room. Something was wrong. Like a well trained Jedi, Jazen's eyes tracked the room, looking for the source. There; a man hunched over his table, hand on his throat, face red. Having trouble breathing? He struggled to take a breath and then, with the others at the table panicking a bit, he slumped onto the table and to the floor with a crash. The crash was enough reason for Jazen to stand suddenly and look that way, eyes narrowed. So much for a simple dinner.

"I'm counting at least a dozen people reacting in a similiar way, plus maybe half a dozen more I can, um...feel. I think we should..." Locke's sudden yelp had him spinning to him, hand on his belt, remembering his lightsaber was elsewhere on his person. A waiter had spilled onto Locke's lap, the reason for the yelp. Jazen looked to the waiter, just as Locke did...and then that little bit of hair fell and Jazen's eyes widened.

Vance. A fellow padawan, like him, who'd gone missing a while ago. Missing but then found ,by Locke no less, when he'd been captured by the Sith. Vance, the padawan who had been with the woman that had tortured both of them now. Locke had the man by the collar in no time and Jazen was at his side, eyes panning the crowd. Looking for her. Voice low to speak to Locke. "Master, if she's here...this is going to get very bad." Did his knees just tremble a little at the thought of her? Understandable...except he didn't know if it was from fear or excitement.

A terrifying thought indeed. And one that didn't matter until Locke got what he could out of Vance. And Jazen stood ready to act, even as the room fell into chaos around him.

(Sorry for taking so long, muse went dead for a bit there )

[Neology]

Here and there, people began to show symptoms. Novus waited, her thoughts a finger on the pulse of the room. The festive atmosphere soured, rippling with distress and rising panic. Interesting in a distant, voyeuristic sort of way; like something she'd happily read a study about from the comfort of her office.

Crowded in among the Republic's elite and the people that they paid to serve them, she could be no further from it. The man seated to her left started to sweat, flushing scarlet beneath the starched collar of his dress uniform. Some of the others at her table – a minor holonet celebrity, and a unusually affluent environmentalist, began to chatter nervously. The environmentalist's companion, an auburn haired escort in an emerald dress, excused herself to the lady's room. Feigning wide-eyed concern, Novus offered the Captain her glass of ice water. Less robust individuals fared far worse already. It was easy to forget how frail people could be without the Force.

Vance's sudden distress drew the Dark Lady's attention. She pushed out her chair suddenly, halfway to her feet before she noticed her fellow diners staring.

“I ... Excuse me, I'm going to go check on ...”

”Rachel?” The environmentalist offered.

“Yes.” Novus drifted into the crowd, struggling to remain in character. Arjha had no reason to run, and these damned heels made that practically impossible besides. Where was that kid?

There! She drew up short, sensing the Jedi before she could see them. Her lips drew into a painted line as she turned away. So much for the plan. She could run. It would mean leaving Vance here, with two Jedi who had every reason to hate her. Disgusted by the thought, Novus pressed her way up to the bar. There, a wave of her hand caught the attention of a frazzled looking server. His name tag read Andrew, silver pin slightly askew. Novus grabbed his wrist, drawing on the Force to influence the young man's mind.

“I need you to deliver a message for me ...”

---

Andrew “Andy” Gurik straightened his name tag and reached behind the bar. His fingers closed tight over the handle of a short knife with a flat tip, which he immediately pressed against his neck. Strangely he was not at all alarmed by this, thinking of the woman in gold and wishing that she hadn't gone away. Maybe she'd come back if he did this thing.

Andrew “Andy” Gurik never stood out in a crowd - that was why he told those stories - but today they gave him a wide breadth. He felt faintly gratified as he marched over to the crowded table where a gentleman had a hold on one of the other servers. Andrew “Andy” Gurik pressed the knife a little harder, drawing a tiny trickle of blood, and put on his best smile.

”Sirs, Miss Tikaris invites you to meet with her in the garden. She says you're to bring the boy.”

---

Novus slipped out of the dining room, leaving one guard quite convinced he that hadn't seen her, and moved quickly down the hall. She reached out with the Force, turning cameras away. Even so, she kept her face down in case there were any that she missed.

The brisk evening air rose goosebumps on her arms as she stopped at the entrance to the vast hedgemaze. She stepped out of her delicate shoes, finding that the heels tended to sink into the thick grass with every step.

Come on, Nemsee. Chase me.

[Fromikeable]

A small part of Vance was almost a little amused by the feeling of hands grabbing his collar and holding him. Less amused and more… relieved. Relieved that the charade was over, and that he could drop the act, and that the curls slowly bouncing free of the oils he’d slicked them down with were no longer a source of panic, but rather a return to natural form.

Oh, right. Life was being threatened. What else was new?

The thing that really got his eyes wide was when his vision came back into focus, getting a good look at his grabber’s face. He had expected authorities to be here tonight, surely, and a few parts of him had known out of sheer probability that there was likely to be Jedi within spitting distance…

But Locke? That was just the universe playing another of its dramatic jokes. The morbid kind that left him feeling a little hollow afterward.

His hands instantly grabbed onto Locke’s wrists on pure instinct, but as soon as he recognized the face, his own went white, and his grip slackened, more clinging than grabbing back. What was he doing there? Well… killing people apparently. That was awful, but… he couldn’t just sell out Novus. She hadn’t lied; he just hadn’t asked, or rather had been too afraid to ask.

It was his own damn fault. Again.

“I…” It showed in his wide eyes that his mind was racing to process everything, too mired in a barrage of new information to yet adopt any sort of emotion beyond simple surprise. The only one that really managed to peek through the chaos for a second was guilt. Locke’s crotch must’ve been freezing.

But Locke was far quicker on the draw than he was, and very quickly got to the important questions. Vance admired that, honestly. He wished he could do that; that he had that sort of backbone and conviction, that sort of wisdom to sniff out most pertinent information. But his mind yet squabbled, and his subconcious very obviously directed his eyes from Locke’s toward their right, toward the table he had been hurrying toward, the table that should have harbored the mastermind…

… only to find her gone. Surprise was immediately mixed with confusion as he managed to form a coherent sentence. “… I didn’t ask if people we were going to kill people.” He swallowed hard, his eyes managing to shift back from the empty seat to Locke’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” For what little it was worth, it sounded genuinely guilty, if not somewhat naive. The story of his life, he supposed.

But before he could get to other things, like who exactly the other Jedi was, they were approached by… oh, poor Andy. That blade to his neck made the ex-padawan wince a bit, his guilt only growing now that he had dragged that admittedly agitating dope into this mess. It wasn’t hard to tell by the waiter’s tone of voice that he was just a little too enraptured to be of sane mind, and the message he conveyed shot the point home.

Which reminded him. If Locke didn’t throw him in a cell for this, “Miss Tikaris” was definitely going to kick his ass. She hadn’t before, but then again, he’d never screwed up quite like this.

Looking from Andy to the two Jedi, Vance couldn’t help but take a few breaths, his heart racing a bit. Still riding the tail end of his shock and still putting his confusion on full display, he could only try to be nominally helpful, feeling as though he only knew marginally more than them.

“She’s, uh… in the garden.” An afterthought hoped that he wouldn’t be misconstrued as snarky. He didn’t try to break loose of Locke’s grip; they were all going to the same place anyway, and frankly he wasn’t sure whose figurative hold of him would be safer tonight.

[Rugs]

Vance wilted, once the realization of the situation hit him. A part of Locke wanted to let the padawan go, to shove him roughly away while he snorted in displeasure. But his grip tightened, eyes hardened and jaw clenched when the boy said he didn’t know what would happen. He didn’t expect that people would die, he said. Locke sneered.

“And what else did you think would happen?” he growled. Heat rose in his chest, part anger that the boy’s Jedi training could leave him so inexcusably naïve, part frustration at the situation was spiraling out of hand.

And part annoyance at the rather cold spot that’d taken up residence on his crotch.

“Did you think you got dressed up like that just for the hell of it? You’re smarter than that, Vance.”

A woman shrieked across the room. Locke heard a waiter swear in two more languages than he might’ve expected. Panic, sharp and raw, washed over his senses. He gave Vance a hard look, knowing the boy could feel the same. Jazen, he trusted, could deal with the realization.

But, as tempting as it was to glare at Vance forever, or elbow drop him through a table, it was neither an efficient use of his time in a crisis situation or very Jedi-like. Not that the latter had ever stopped Nemsee from doing anything.

Well, a few things.

Another, very different problem arose as his mind whirled to figure out what to do with Vance.

Some waiter came strutting up to them, apparently blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding around them or that fact that Locke’s hold on Vance looked like the setup to a bar fight from some third-rate action holo.

The truth was readily apparent as he approached, though—knife held to his own throat, a thin crimson trickle stark against his neck. Locke clenched his jaw again.

”Sirs, Miss Tikaris invites you to meet with her in the garden. She says you're to bring the boy.”

There it is. Locke hesitated, thinking. Miss Tikaris was obviously aware that Locke had Vance in his grip. Meant she was in here. Had to be. He instinctively glanced around the room, even though it was pointless — Novus would’ve been long gone before the entranced waiter came inform them she wanted their audience.

That leaves a few options… Locke’s gaze went from the waiter, to Vance, to the waiter again, then to Jazen. “Hold him,” he said, shoving Vance into Jazen’s grasp. “Now you…” he turned to the waiter.

The Force was a window to many things, and as Locke delved into it, separating himself as best he could from the turmoil that rippled through the banquet hall, he could almost see the touch Novus had left behind on the young man’s mind. It was a simple thing, in principle, but deeply pressed—it wouldn’t work, wouldn’t bring him to the edge of maiming himself or worse, if it hasn’t.

Locke sighed, steeled himself and dived into Andy’s mind, doing what he could to lessen her hold. He didn’t have the time to remove it complete, especially not knowing what Novus might do, but leaving the boy with only a strong desire to serve Miss Tikaris, rather than a borderline suicidal one would have to do. For now.

“Jazen, come with me,” he said, abruptly turning for the door. “Bring Vance.”

He led them both into the hall, walk purposeful as they passed security, then turned, stopping their progress.

“Do not come with him into the garden,” Locke said. “I don’t care where you take him, do not bring him to Novus. He’s the second most dangerous person here, whether he admits that or not, and I want him in your sight at all times.” He paused, glancing down the hall. A touch of fear gnawed at the inside of his stomach; his last meeting with Novus hadn’t been pleasant, and he’d not desire to repeat that. “Other than that, keep an eye on security. They’ll do whatever they can to help the people in there, but something else may be afoot. Be mindful, until we’ve got a hold on the situation.”

Locke turned to go, then paused. “Oh, and if anything goes, awry, contact me. Immediately.”

The walk to the garden was short, barely long enough for Locke to radio a short message to Sirius to put all security personnel on alert and start locking down the facility.

The night air that greeted him was cold, doubly so where Vance had spilled the water on him. Still, Locke made a show of straightening his vest and jacket, even if he wished he’d not left his coat inside. Anything to project an air of ease before the woman who stood waiting for him.

“Ah, Miss Tikaris,” he said, resuming the air of Aaruvyn, if only for a moment as he spread his arms wide. “It’s so delightfully,” the smile faded from his face, and the false, lilting accent he used for his disguise dropped mid-word, “unexpected to see you again.”

He stopped some paces away, leavening enough space for an extended lightsaber blade to fit comfortably between them. “You’ll have to forgive me, our other company is uh… occupied at the moment. But, I have to say, murdering people is really no way to win an auction.” Locke paused a moment, gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. ”You could’ve just asked if you wanted the stuff that badly.”

His first mission out and this is the woman he runs into. Surrounded by his own security personnel and unable to shake the fear prowling in the back of his mind.

Getting too old for this shit.