Business of Emotion//The Blind Auction

[Moonfire]

“I hope this doesn’t look silly…” Moonfire muttered quietly, adjusting the full mask across her face. Blue eyes skimmed the yellow-orange of the Nar Shaddaa skyline from behind the translucent mesh that covered the eyeholes, the zip of her speeder filtering through her ears. Long hair was pulled back into a simple, yet elegant updo. The sort of comfortable yet well put together hairstyle Moonfire imagined a straight-laced and serious young woman like Iris Marth would wear to a formal event.To be fair, the entire thing felt silly in it’s way. Invitation only fancy parties and auctions. A quick glance at her reflection, feline face curving into tall alert ears in shades of rhinestone star-speckled purple and periwinkle, sending another queer and queasy spike in the center of her stomach. Nothing could be farther from the young Jedi’s comfort zone.

Well, actually, no. Moonfire could think of a couple more things she’d enjoy less. Best not to tempt fate.

Manicured nails, topped with shining lacquer in iridescent swirls of cool colors across jet black, tapped nervously at the invitation in hand as Cerbozz the Hutt’s Sky Palace appeared around a corner, floating lazily in rounded bubbles of architecture above the skyline. Teeming pinpricks of light and winding bits of neon showed the life of the party from even a distance, the pounding of a bass line rattling through the speeder’s windows even at a distance.

As she approached the invitation lit up, a jaunty little jingle playing, syncing with the music into a hodgepodge tune that threatened to startle the disguised Jedi in her seat. After a moment it blinked three times, confirming with Cerbozz’ security system and team that the short woman in a fluffy black dress was indeed invited and not to be shot down unceremoniously from the Smuggler Moon’s airways. Releasing the breath she’d not realized she’d been holding, Moonfire tucked the invitiation, now still and quiet, into the little clasp purse at her hip.

“We’re here, Miss Marth.” Came the rumbling voice of her driver as the airship touched down on the landing pad. With a tip of her head, a tip of a couple hundred credits Sebastian Monroe afforded her for the expenses, “Iris” was up and joining the other auction goers in a fluff of black tulle and modestly-length skirts.

Cerbozz the Hutt fancied himself different from the other Hutts, though didn’t all Hutts share that same hubris? That desperation to distinguish themselves as something other than an oppressive slug? But in his way, Cerbozz was successful. His palace was decorated oppulently in rich jewel-tones, brilliant platinums and stark black and whites. The rooms came off as decidedly neutral, unusual for the usual hutt styles of gaudy golds and crimson reds, touched with brilliant festive colors across the unmasked wait-staff. A woman, richly decorated in shimmering gems with the whirling suggestion of frames about her face, a mask painted in expert strokes of brushes and crystals across flesh appeared holding a tray of bubbling drinks.

”Here, honey! Getchu a’ drink.” Thick blinking collar, the clear mark of a slave, sat heavy across the woman’s neck as she offered the drink in oozing, shrill tones. Before she could even lift a hand to refuse the drink it was placed in her hand by the bedazzled woman. An elbow quickly found her ribs, forcing her to look over at a stunning figure cut in brilliant, nearly glowing feathers. ”You see the princess a’ Onderon over there? In white! Like she’s a virgin! Hah!”

Moonfire highly doubted the masked figure was any sort of royalty, former or not, but the waitress merely shot her another conspiratorial look before moving on the next victim of her unsolicited gossip. Bringing the sparkling beverage to her lips, just accessible beneath the mask, “Iris” allowed herself a moment to scan the room.

She was here tonight to gather information about Memento. Her attempts at finding out their identity on the HLS had left to a few banned shadow accounts and a virus that effectively ruined her burner datapad (what kind of monster created a program to make every ringtone and alarm play at once in some horrific, ancient tune about never giving up or abandoning their loved ones?) her attempts at investigating the infamous slicer in person had lead to a few whispered conversations in alleys with conflicting physical descriptions and less-than-compelling testimony.

Tonight, decked in her conservatively formal best and hidden behind a feline mask, Moonfire would try her absolute best to uncover more information about Memento’s identity and whereabouts, as well as acquire the planted information, and more, on the data-cylinder for auction. All while maintaining her identity of Iris Marth morally ambiguous Corporate Security Officer. If everything went to plan, and Moonfire expected optimistically between sips of her surprisingly bitter champagne that they would, she’d leave tonight with the data-cylinder and a few good leads, identity perfectly intact.

Working her way past the swing-band swaying, neglected drink in hand she checked her chronometer. Still an hour or so until the auction officially started, she might as well find some food. Little finger snacks were the best.

[Deleted]

Zexva didn't like not having his Sith attire on. He felt incredibly naked without it, especially in the hands as his gauntlets no longer adorned them. Wearing a simplistic black tuxedo, and a black mask that completely obscured the scar side of his face while leaving the cheek on his other side exposed. His golden eyes shone brightly, the black mask accentuating their color as he entered the place. Showing the person his invitation he walked through, and into the heart of the party. His snowy white, and pale pink skin earning him glances every so often.

He didn't converse with any of them, barely looked at them instead he walked through the crowd waiting for the main event to start. Keeping his power in check so he didn't startle others who were sensitive in the force like him, he made sure that his presence while not completely concealed, it was dimmed. The last thing he needed was some secret Jedi Military team swooping in through the ceiling, and starting a fight. If he could get the data cylinder that he wanted without to much violence then he would call that a win.

Besides if he got the data he was after, he was sure that the Sith could use it to their advantage in some way shape or form. During a time of so called peace, life was rather boring for him. While he wished so many times to start a fight with others, he couldn't do it so openly. Though perhaps if he got lucky, and this information on the data pad was good, he might be able to go, and assassinate that poor soul. So many possibilities.

Tapping his inside pocket he felt the cold hard metallic cylinders of his lightsabers still tucked away. Just in case he needed them. After all he didn't know what kind of psychos would be present at this event.

[Fromikeable]

Nar Shadda looked different at night. With the night came the recasting of every shadow, every sign, every window, every shop and home, and a whole new character. Vance had used to think it was reminiscent of Coruscant; with the darkness more pervasive, one could focus more on the moon's architecture and urban sprawl, noting it as the city it was. But with time, he had learned that Nar Shadda only grew bolder in its own identity in the dark.

If anything, it was more like Coruscant during the day.

Such thoughts flickered idly through his mind as he drove. The speeder they had chosen tonight fit the bill for their destination, being long, sleek, and ornate. Halfway between a stretch limo and an upscale transport, two long seats stretched along the sides of the speeder, the only regular seating being the driver's and the front-most passenger's. Cool lighting basked the dark leather interior in gentle tones, and a small bar with ice sat in the very back, clinking gently with the vehicle's movements.

A bit flashy, perhaps, but then again, their hosts for the evening were not subtle people.

Vance had tried to break from that flagrance as much as possible, his outfit fairly relaxed by party standards. Custom-tailored and well-cut, the suit did well to highlight his shoulders as he steered their ride upward into the forming queue for the sky palace. His mask rested on his lap, a mocked bronze sporting ancient patterns of curves and bumps, left unworn thanks to the almost absolute tint of the speeder windows around them.

When the queue finally progressed enough for their speeder to sit in front of the palace's main entrance, Vance took a deep breath. Looking over his shoulder, he scanned his passengers one last time. The Compeer herself, her date, and her Mandalorian security, the lot of them decked to the nines (or, at least, painted to the nines in their armor).

"Give me two seconds." Putting his mask on, Vance's presence shot out quickly, encapsulating the front of the palace as he got out of the driver door. An assault of sound, smell, and fanfare greeted him, but he focused on none of it, his presence prickling as it focused in on every detail, person, and minutia within his range. For a second, he just stood next to the closed door, staring hard at the approaching valet, inspecting his being inside and out.

We're clean. Considering a Hutt had just tried to demolish the Eye a while ago, Vance felt that his paranoia was at least a little justified.

"Bro, sweet ride!" The approaching valets, both with outstretched hands, had thoroughly impressed smile stretching across his face. Moving around to the back, Vance filled their hands with his invitation and the keys respectively, the small electronic playing its music in confirmation. Receiving his card back, Vance hummed in response.

"You've got custom emitters on there, right? You could fit like twenty chicks in there!"

Vance opened the door, holding it for his exiting employer and coworkers. "Quality over quantity, guys."

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

The hutt’s sky palace loomed up out of the smog, shedding dazzling neon light out of every aperture. Streaky in the dark as the barge made a lazy procession over rooftops, through the canyons between towers. There was a brief impression of movement from the roof – something nasty taking aim? This has to be a security guard’s nightmare, Lidah thought. In fact, she knew: Hertz had threatened to develop a bleeding ulcer when the invitations had finally come in. As that was very unlikely for his species, she had left the wide-net concerns in the firrerreon’s capable hands. Missing tonight was no option at all. It was a matter of face. But at this party, everyone shall be hiding theirs ... Superficially, anyway. Though there was something slightly eerie about it, looking at the hidden faces of the people she knew well. Locke was most strangely transmuted, handsome in his finery but reminding her of another party, years ago. No rose gardens here, or hedge mazes. She had worn gold then too, though. ”Ready to pretend?” Lidah asked ‘Tyrvast’ with a smirking stage-whisper, snatching another glance outside as the line of speeders slowly moved up. As her plus-one, the gray jedi mercenary would be well placed to defend her in the unlikely event that anything got past Jayec Veth. Though quite wealthy and respected in some circles, Ms. Faine possessed no particular talent or taste for violence herself. Which was the bigger lie, there? ”Thank you.” Lidah took Vance’s hand up out of the speeder’s low set seats, smoothing her dress with a curious glance at the valet. Whatever had earned that response, it must not have been very important. She waited for the others and then started to the door, an unhurried but rather deliberate stride. It was too open for comfort out on the balconies and landing pad.

[Meira]

"Are you done yet?" she growled.

"Aaaalmost." Tommaso replied, his lower lip pulled between his teeth in concentration. Ylva did her best to keep still and not slap the man. "Ok, all done." he said.

Ylva stood from the chair and turned toward the full length mirror. Leaning in close, she inspected Tommaso's work. He'd done well. Ylva was never one for painting her face, and she'd initially laughed off the idea when Tommaso had suggested it. This was a masquerade party. No one would see her face. But Tommaso had insisted, saying that the other guests would most certainly see her eyes, and the lower part of her face would also be visible. So she finally relented and allowed the man to do her makeup. The finished product was quite impressive. Tommaso had focused his attention on Ylva's eyes, lining them dramatically with black and shading them dark and smokey. The master touch, however, was the hint of purple he'd blended in and the touch of shimmering sparkle that made her eyelids look like some deep space nebula. The color perfectly accented her violet eyes, making them stand out even more. The rest of her makeup was more subtle, though he'd matched her lips to her eyes with a similarly dark stain and a hint of purple. He'd also managed to match her pointed nails to the theme.

The outfit wasn't a dress, at least. Lidah had referred Ylva to her favored tailor who had tried to put the Zabrak into any number of ridiculous costumes before deciding that keeping all his parts was more important than trying to force Ylva into one more mini skirt. She'd ended up with white, form fitting, high waist pants and a black corset top with a cropped white jacket with three quarter lengthed sleeves. The shoes were black with white tips on the pointed toes. She accented the outfit with a long, layered necklace with a number of black, white, and iridescent pearls.

"Let's see with the mask." Tommaso encouraged.

Ylva reached for the mask and Tomasso helped her put it on, making sure it didn't mess up the perfectly coiffed set of her hair that he'd sculpted earlier. Once the mask was on, Tommaso stepped back and whistled. Ylva rolled her perfectly painted eyes at him, and ordered for the van to be brought around.

---

"Miss Faine offered to let us use a speeder." Simone said as he guided the Jolly Janitors transport van toward the sky palace.

"She did." Ylva said, looking down at the invitation in her hand which had just started playing music. "But I'm already wearing the stupid mask and makeup and clothes. Can I not show up in my own damn vehicle?"

Simone did not respond. Ylva looked over at the man and sighed. She stretched an arm out over to him, tracing his smooth, squared jawline with a finger. It was the closest he'd get to an apology from Madame Wolf. Simone glanced sideways at her and gave her a quick smile as he brought the transport van around to the valet station.

Stopping the vehicle, Simone jumped out and waved off the valet. he wouldn't be staying. He hustled over to Ylva's door and opened it for her. Ylva took his offered hand as she stepped down onto the carpet rolled out for arriving guests. Standing next to Simone, she contemplated bringing him in anyway. She had a plus one with her invitation, after all. She'd had him wear something of a mockery of the formal attire as her driver. He wore a short sleeved tuxedo style jacket over a white button up shirt and a black bow tie, but still wore the small black shorts the Jolly Janitors were known for. His shined black dress shoes, and calf length dress socks looked silly with all that bare leg above them.

"Ma'am?" Simone said, a questioning look on his face as he noticed his employer staring at him. Ylva came to her senses and waved him off, biding that he keep his comm on. She would likely want him to come pick her up sooner rather than later. Simone gave her a quick peck on the back of her hand and rushed back around the transport to drive it away. Ylva presented her invitation to the valet, who confirmed it. She then moved toward the entrance of the sky palace, intent on parking herself at the first bar she encountered.

Her violet eyes peered through the black and silver wolf mask as she moved through the crowds of revelers and slave servants. Some kind of drink had been pressed upon her almost immediately upon entering. It was a tall, thin glass with a neon yellow liquid. The glass felt ice cold, but smoke billowed from the top nonstop. When she took a sip, the drink had a pleasant citrus flavor, accompanied by a strong enough kick to let her know that Cerbozz wasn't cutting his liquor to save costs. Ylva nodded her head in approval, and then spotted a familiar silhouette of Mandalorian armor. She quickly moved toward the figure, thankful to find someone she knew in this circus.

[Rugs]

“Yes, yes, welcome all to the Blind Auction!” Io’an was all smiles as people flooded in. He was on duty tonight. As he was every year since joining Memento’s crew. A subtly reflective silver masquerade mask, gently curving, obscured the top half of his face up to his blonde bangs, and dipped down to cover most of his left cheek.

He wore a fine smoke-grey pea coat over a neat black shirt, with matching black trousers and dress shirts. Fine enough to belong, but not enough to say he was a guest. After all, he wasn’t. The lightsaber and hold out blaster hidden in his jacket were testament to that.

Not that he hoped to use them tonight.

“Glad to see you again, Madame Ryzal,” he said, flashing a charming smile and a short bow of his head to the esteemed art curator. Another guest to whom he’d hand delivered an invitation. She seemed to enjoy his visits. He hadn’t the faintest idea why.

”How’re things looking?” Reflex’s voice hummed in a tiny listening device hidden in Io’an’s pointed ear. The Sephi nearly rolled his eyes — Reflex couldn’t expect him to give updates if he was being forced to socialize — and politely disengaged himself form the business of welcoming guests to the Auction.

He ducked around a corner and into a door meant for staff, which he technically was tonight, and up a flight a stairs. “We’re fine,” he said quietly. “Relax.You’re gonna freak me out if you keep asking for updates.” A moment of silence to put on a fake smile for a passerby as he emerged on the second floor and sauntered over to a balcony that offered a view of where most of the new arrivals were coming in at the sky palace.

“Anything I should know from your end?”

Ylva was arriving, down below the balcony--evidenced not by a fancy speeder so many patrons rented out for the occasion, but one of her business’ signature vans. Io’an busied himself with stealing glances at all of that leg her hired help was showing. The woman had good taste, he had to admit that.

”No,” Reflex replied after a short pause. ”Holonet traffic is normal so far.”

“Well just keep an eye on things,” Io’an said. “I’ll let you know if it looks like things are going sideways.” Force only knew the potential was there. That strange Zeltron was already here — Io’an could feel his presence, restrained and cautious, off elsewhere in the palace. He prayed to whoever would listen that wouldn’t be source of trouble.

He ducked back inside. There was still bullshitting to do with the guests until the auction itself got underway.

He wondered when the rest of Faine’s crew would arrive.

---

Locke watched the buildings zip by as Lidah’s speeder approached the sky palace. He was wearing a black tuxedo — very well tailored to his form, in spite of the late hour he’d requested it at — with a vest of gold and matching tie to go with Lidah’s dress.

“Pretend?” he asked Lidah with a wry smile. “I don’t know about that.”

Officially, Tyrvast was Lidah’s guard for the night. Unofficially, Locke would be hiding in plain sight with her. He could think of far worse ways to spend his evening.

Mooney was already at the event. He’d gotten word that she was on the way before they departed for the event. She was after the data-cylinder, as were most other people at the Auction, Locke imagined.

No doubt the bidding would be a sight to behold.

The speeder arrived at the sky palace, and Lidah exited. Locke, smiling at the sight of her, beautiful in her gold dress, as he stepped from the speeder. “Nice one,” he said slyly to Vance’s comment to the valets as they arrived. The palace loomed above, dazzling against the night sky.

“A night out a palace,” he said quietly, matching Lidah’s stride with a subtle smile for the palace before them. “I’d say we’re doing well for ourselves.”

[CaptainBonkers]

This gala was very much not Jayec's scene; in his beskar'gam the mandalorian stood out of the sea of designer suits and dresses like a mountain jutting out of a forest. This might have been a problem, if Jayec had actually cared at all whether or not he fit in the scenery. He strode forwards with his head held high, owning every disapproving or worried look he garnered and wearing each like a badge of honor. Let those that were threatened by his presence remain so. It was their problem, not his and a sane state of mind most of the time.

The only reason he had bothered to have his armor painted with new decorative coat and wore a fancy armorweave side-cape over his left shoulder was as a courtesy to miss Faine. The jetpack he had left home, mostly because he was fairly sure that while the security at the gala probably wouldn’t hassle him over a blaster pistol and a light repeater, they would certainly draw the line on flamethrowers and anti-armor missiles. It was little unreasonable, yes, but such was the world they lived in. Having his entry denied because of such a silly reason would have made his job somewhat challenging, so Jayec had opted to preemptively leave any likely offending equipment home.

Scanning his surroundings, Jayec felt quite certain that he could have made a fortune by simply firing into the crowd indiscriminately. In a crowd so filled with the cream of the shadowy world of intergalactic organized crime and espionage the collective price on the guests’ heads had to be enormous. That would have been bad for his reputation, though, not to mention unsportsmanlike. This event was, after all, protected by an informal truce of sorts, breaking of which wouldn’t have looked too good on his resume. Not to mention that he might someday maybe attend this event as a buyer instead of just a bodyguard. You never knew if the Mand’alor could have used something sold here.

As the group pushed further into the gala, a familiar figure pushed her way through the throngs of other guests and approached the lot of them. Despite of the mask Ylva wore over her face she was still impossible not to recognize, both because of her choice of attire that stood out almost as glaringly as Jayec’s armor and because of her figure. Jayec was fairly sure that anyone that had spent even few moments in her rather formidable presence could forget it. She moved with her usual confidence but seemed a touch tense to Jayec’s eye but that was hardly surprising knowing Ylva’s taste in parties. A high society gala was likely pretty low on her list of favorite things to do.

“That designer miss Faine referred to you didn’t manage to persuade you into a dress, huh? Looks like I owe Thel a tenner.” Jayec was grinning under his helmet, though he wasn’t sure if anyone present could tell. Other mandalorians might have but people without the benefit of a mandalorian upbringing...not so much. “Looking fine, though, Wolfie, as always. Enjoying rubbing shoulders with all these rich jerks? Present company excluded.”

[Moonfire]

Parties were usually only good for one thing and one thing only in Moonfire’s opinion. Teeny tiny appetizers. Of course, one might find a more filling meal from full-sized hor’dourves, but a little bit of crisp root vegetable topped with cream and rich gamey meat the size of your fingertip was too charming to pass up. And such variety! Sweet, savory and small. The perfect little party food when surrounded by a whirl of decadence and vibrant emotion. Washes of the social, financial and criminal elite of Hutt Space wild and bare in the crackling energy of the Force. For the first time Moonfire understood why force users came to hide here, it was terribly easy to get lost. Tipping the bubbly tart beverage back to her lips the young woman rolled over the list of leads in her head.

Locke Tyrvast was due to arrive shortly, guarding a crime boss of some sort. A clever cover built up over years of assuming the identity. A little coil of nerves, bundled rigid and tight in the center of her stomach, writhed at the idea of being alone for this. But it made more sense for them to be apart, to have different means of procuring an invitation and different circles to drift between as they gathered information. At least Thel would maybe be here-- The consultant was hardly a partner, persay, but she felt better knowing someone else capable was nearby, perhaps even friendly. A stab of guilt wriggled amongst the nerves before being boxed quite resolutely away.

Now certainly wasn’t the time to wax poetic about lying to perfectly pleasant people for the greater good, no sir.

Popping another appetizer into her mouth, “Iris” smiled politely at the flamboyantly dressed Zelosian, all in green and snake-motifs, beside her before working her way towards the center of the party.

A bannister curved into an elaborate stage, an amalgamation of live band and disc-jockey booth lifting up and away as a spotlight appeared. A swarthy zeltron of chestnut coloring and patchwork attire slid across the stage, a mask of intricately interlaid rings dazzled like engravings across his face glinting with every turn of his generous chin.

”Eyyyyyyyyyy, fuckos!” Shouted the caricature with a goodnatured wave, the houselights dimming in time to his quick acquisition of a microphone. ”Welcome, welcome to the evening you’ve all been waiting for! Nice of you to come crawlin’ out of your respective shit-holes to join us all tonight in the ever tastefully decorated home of your favorite space-slug!”

The tattered man laughed uproariously, a wash of emotion altering pheromones bringing the gathering crowd of weak-willed entrepreneurs into hearty chuckles with every pointed jab and playful insult. Cerbozz, the Hutt behind using charismatic vaguely psychic and alluring aliens has his entertainment, waved with a hearty chuckle from his chaise on the far side of the room, frizzy blonde slaves fawning over him in gaudy jewels and girlish giggles.

”C’mon up here, Cerbie-- No, wait. Wait. Nevermind-- You, uh, yeah, stay there buddy! Everybody, big round of applause for your host! I’m Pukk, your Master of Ceremonies here with our house band, The Bored Walk, for the evenin’. We’ve got some excellent things up for auction’-- But let’s get your tight-wads good an’ drunk ‘fore we start rolling out the credit-cases, eh?” Pukk gave the crowd a salacious wink before tilting his head towards the members of The Bored Walk, a variety of well-oiled men in sunglasses and frosted tips, who took the cue to break into a jaunty but incomprehensible song.

They weren’t half bad in Moonfire’s opinion as she wove through the bodies, pausing for the brief introduction before a flutter of sandy-hair and non-descript formality of clothing caught her eyes. The man who’d brought her invitation, and if rumor was to be believed, a man hired semi-frequently in slicer circles. Cautious steps brought her closer as feline mask turned to review the teeming mass.

For a moment, the briefest flash, she let her presence loose from the strangling grip she had on it. Familiarity struck her instantly, brushing against the distinct presences in only the most cordial and non-invasive tones. Feather-light and polite. Thel. Locke. Io’an. The corners of her lips twitched into a slight smile as she withdrew before whatever bit of pleasure she felt quickly wrenched into nausea.

Zexva was here too, somewhere.

[Fromikeable]

The expressions of the valets changed with every exiting passenger, running the gambit from intimidation at the sight of the Mandalorian to something far less polite at the sight of the Arkanian. By the time everyone was out and Vance was closing the door, both stared at the departing company with mouths agape.

"Bro..."

"Bro!"

"Bro." Smiling, Vance adjusted his mask before finally relinquishing the speeder, walking after his companions. What greeted them all was as ostentatious as expected, the palace flooded with lights from elaborate chandeliers, waiters in fine garp with odd accents and slave collars offering up champagne and appetizers, and even the din of what sounded like a large band. By the time they arrived within the main hall of the palace, the lights were already dimming, the MC for the evening making his introduction.

He was loud, certainly, but he had a certain charm. The odd sort of taste Vance expected from a Hutt, in any event.

Plucking a shrimp from a nearby waiter, Vance found no time to dwell on the host's chosen wrangler, too distracted by the feeling of a familiar presence tap his. So Mooney had indeed gotten in? He was glad; she had proven to be good company in any scenario ranging from high-speed chase to idle chit-chat over milkshakes. A small part of Vance reminded him that she had her motivations for being here just like any attendee of the Blind Auction, but...

Well, he was inclined to continue giving her the benefit of the doubt. She had failed to abuse it multiple times now.

Stretching his presence out as the MC dismounted the stage, Vance lazily inspected the crowd around them, falling back on learned, arguably-paranoid habits. Locke and Lidah were unsurprisingly concealed, their presences no more remarkable or aware than any other auction-goers. Somewhere else was Io'an, his presence unconcealed, but nevertheless directed in on itself, nervous and reserved as always. Across the hall he found "Iris" with her presence tucked tight, far better concealed than it had been at the hotel. Aside from that, everything seemed fi-

His presence bristled across another, immediately recoiling in surprise. Alien in nature and dimmed as best as could be done, it almost seemed benign, akin to someone trying to pull their hat down and avoid eye-contact. But there was no mistaking the movements that it made, the self-aware nature with which it moved.

And unlike the other presences about, it was far, far, far more focused on fighting, judging by the way it reacted sharply to even the slightest natural prods.

Vance immediately retracted his presence defensively, tapping both Locke and Lidah's. His message to them was short and sweet, accented by a sideways glance at them both.

There's a Sith here. At least, he assumed it was a Sith. Then again, he always assumed the worst.

"I'll be back in a minute. Promised to meet someone here." Striding away, he patted Jayec's shoulder as he passed, not catching what the Mandalorian was speaking to Ylva about. Something about owing him money? He wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to poke him about it later. For now, he was carving his way through the crowd, maneuvering through the sea of bodies like a particularly tall sailor through an ocean. Clutching his presences close, he was clearly keeping it on the defense, only letting it lick out far enough to find Moonfire, otherwise preparing it to repulse whatever it might need to.

When he finally reached the woman in the feline mask, he spoke up, tapping her shoulder and greeting her with a small smile.

"I pegged you for a cat person." The smile faded as he looked around, his head on a swivel. "I hear there's a hound around here though."

[Deleted]

While he waited for the host to appear, and start talking, he grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and took a nice big drink. It was a nice bubbly drink, that he rather enjoyed when he had the time to enjoy such things. That was when the man whom he thought was the host got on stage, and began to talk. It was another of his race, it wasn't hard for him to figure out, especially when those with weaker wills began to fall victim to natural pheromone ability that all Zeltrons possessed. He hated how weak they were, and how easily captivated they could be with just a few words. At least make it interesting for him to be here. With a displeased sigh he got another champagne glass, and downed his second one. Though when the music started his muscles lost a good portion of their tension.

While it wasn't something many new about him, during his seven years abroad he had learned how to dance. It helped him fit in with certain crowds of certain status, allowing him to get closer to his enemies. Perhaps due to the fact that he was a Zeltron, or some other reason, it was an activity that he enjoyed. Despite his upbringing Zexva couldn't help, but want to show off a bit, finding a nearby female he gave her a polite smile, and held out his hand. It was a masquerade after all, and what was a masquerade without a dance.

"Excuse me...Would you care to dance with me?" his words smooth like honey, and his exotic eyes drew her in, and soon they were weaving through the crowd.

Zexva had to laugh a little to himself as he felt a few other users of the force, reach out, and feel the crowd. They brushed against him, and seemed perturbed by the fact that he was there, but he recognized one of those touches. He didn't go looking for her though, and continued out to an open spot of the dance floor. Gripping the woman firmly by the waist, he began with a simple jazz waltz nothing to complex to see if she were as skilled as he was. Thankfully she kept pace with him, and soon the real dance began.

Her silver dress soon became a blur entwining with his black suit, painting them like the yin, and yang symbol. He had to admit this woman was an incredible dancer, and as the band rose in tempo, so did their moves become more complex, and intricate. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to enjoy anything other than training. As the beat died down to the song, Zexva dipped the woman whom was his dance partner, and held her til the beat ended. Looking up he realized that there was a small circle of people observing his dance.

Standing the woman back up, he simply bowed, flashed his partner a wink, and then walked off to go grab another drink. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be all bad.

[Meira]

"Serves you right for making stupid bets." Ylva replied to Jayec's comment. She took some offense, though not much, to the fact that Jayec had thought the tailor could persuade Ylva into anything she didn't want. But, a joke was a joke and Ylva dismissed it with a smile that widened at the Mandalorian's compliment.

"Yeah, yeah." she said, and then took a bit of his cape in her hand, lifting it to get a better look. "I see you managed to find the armor polish." At his question, Ylva simply rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink rather than verbalize what she thought about the guests in general. She did give Faine and the man that accompanied her a nod of acknowledgment. What was that man's name? She tried to remember, but couldn't quite her her finger on it. Tyrask? He'd been at Fork though, and hanging around with Lidah recently.

Thel had been with the group, but had scampered off somewhere. With a quick glance, Ylva spotted the tall man approaching a female figure. Ylva's lips turned downward, but the frown was impressed rather than disappointed. That slicer will be disappointed, she thought. But good for him.

The lights dimmed and a man appeared on a stage, introducing himself as the band. There was laughter and applause, a little more than seemed entirely necessary to Ylva, but she'd only just arrived and was only now finishing her first drink. It was likely that many of those present were already well into their cups. If Ylva was going to stay, and possibly even enjoy this party, she would have to do some catching up. Luckily, one of the serving slaves was passing at that moment, with a tray laden with various drinks. Ylva plucked a short, wide glass with an amber colored liquid from the tray and sniffed at it. Ah, yes. Whiskey. Quick as she could, she plucked a second glass from the tray just as the slave moved on, and turned to offer it to Jayec.

"Wait..." she said, eyeing the man's helmet. "How's this gonna work?"

[Neology]

Pretend-or-Not. Lidah had meant it as a joke, but a serious reply invited serious thought. The character of Tyrvast Ricost, smitten for one night under a guise of professionalism. Allowing Locke to behave … How he might wish to, she hoped, as she linked her arm through his. Who, exactly, that that particular layer of deception was for had grown a touch fuzzy of late. Their few friends and allies, perhaps, secured through generous pay before any personal loyalty. If Tyrvast kept showing up, they’d soon stop believing his claims of only middling talent. And Lidah did hate the idea of giving anyone a lever to move her with. ”May it not be the last. Though ... Someplace greener next time, maybe.” Not much of anything grew naturally on Nar Shaddaa, though the massive life-sustaining algae farms were certainly the right color. But no place for any kind of party. Locke wasn’t the only one with a role to play here. A certain amount of excess and indulgence would be expected of any guest – and the mask on her face did little to hide who she was. Few enough Arkanian offshoots in the upper reaches of criminal empires. Lidah selected a glass off one of the passing trays, marginally safer than anything directly handed to her. A man – some hireling – took up an obnoxious patter on stage. Lidah ignored him, studying Ylva thoughtfully. Her modiste could be pushy, true, but Ms. Vuk was quite the personality herself. ”Nice. It suits you.” Lidah’s gaze cut suddenly to Vance’s retreating figure, a brief flash of alarm smoothed away with a sip of her drink. Strong, sickly sweet in the aftertaste. An unlucky pick if she wanted to stay on her toes. A Sith loose here could be a disastrous complication to all she had built. If they recognized her – for once the Order’s high turnover rate could work in her favor.

[Rugs]

“Greener, eh?” Locke made a show of looking at the city that stretched around and below the sky palace as he and Lidah made their way inside. “I don’t think that’ll be much of a challenge. Perhaps we could organize a nice little shindig on Kashyyyk...”

He went through the rote nods and greetings expected of a man arriving with a high-caliber guest upon entering the palace. Yes it was good to see you, mister whoeverthehell and ah yes, Madam I-don’t-really-know-you, you do seem to be doing well this evening.

He raised a finger to steady the metal mask on his face. It was burnished gold that fit neatly over his his eyes, with decorative styling to the sides and top. He liked it, and seeing as Lidah had vetoed his original (half-serious) choice of a jester’s mask, it was the next best thing.

A loud Zeltron--of course it was a Zeltron--took his place up on the stage to welcome the collective “fuckos” that’d gathered for the auction. Locke couldn’t help but smile at the fellow’s demeanor, and he merrily plucked a flute of some sort of drink from a passing tray.

Yes, they’d want to get everyone nice and sauced up before the main event. Relax the nerves, get everyone settled in to open their wallets to buy Force only knew what.

The data cylinder. That was the big draw wasn’t it? Or it least it was for some of them. Moonfire was taking point on that, though.

Before Locke could wonder more aloud, a warning from Vance pressed against his mind through the Force. A Sith. Locke drank from his flute — it was champagne, it turned out — and glanced at Lidah.

A Sith at the party could be problematic for both of them — for everyone — but especially for her and Vance.

“Seems this auction is livelier than we expected, Ms. Faine,” he remarked as Tyrvast, glancing around. No one immediatley stood out, but the place was loud and crowded. With his presence drawn tightly in on itself, his senses were so muted against the roar of life in the palace s to be worthless in pinpointing a specific person.

The way he saw it, their best option was to try to locate this Sith and evade as best they good. No good would come of a brawl.

“Hopefully it doesn’t get too much more so,” he drank again, downing the second half of his drink and lazily looked around for somewhere to toss the empty glass. "Has a way of killing the fun, y'know?"

[CaptainBonkers]

Jayec was tempted to drink up the whiskey Ylva was shoving into his hands. In a party like this it was bound to be good stuff, or at least it better have been considering how exclusive the guest list was. However, he was here as miss Faine's bodyguard, not as a guest. As sure as Jayec might have been that he could handle his liquor, drinking on the job was a quick way to damage one's professional rep. But he was still going to humor Ylva little.

"I'd love to partake but I'm working tonight." he said, nodding towards Miss Faine to emphasize his words a little. "However, if I were to drink, I'd either take the bucket off or..." he continued, reaching under his helmet for a small switch. There was a faint click as he pressed on it and a small, bendy tube of some composite polymer material extended from under it, dangling from the chin of the helmet. "...use the emergency induction port, though that doesn't look too dignified. Really useful to have, though, when you're expecting an ambush or drinking from a sealed bottle in a toxic atmosphere."

Jayec knew some brothers and sisters who had chosen to have in their helmets a small slit that could be opened for the consumption of drinks but he had always thought that those compromised the integrity of the helm. Plus, a straw was far more easy to environmentally seal if necessary. All you needed was the right seals on both the straw and the canteen you were using and tada, you had a safe way to consume liquids in any environment.

"So, you eyeing anything special on the roster, or are you here just to enjoy the catering?" Jayec had himself skimmed the list and found himself mildly interested in the set of "genuine" mandalorian armor they were selling. It hadn't seemed like a real beskar'gam to him but that did not mean it was automatically rubbish. Plenty of mando'gam were made from alternative materials or alloys, hideously expensive as true beskar was. He wasn't sure if he would be allowed to bid, but if the armor seemed to be of any quality he just might. There were always kids back home in need of a good armor to get them started on their life.

[Moonfire]

Tendrils of fear wrapped tight about Moonfire’s heart, her presence recoiling back to wrap muted and tight about herself. Blood thundered in her ears, fingers gripped tight about her champagne flute as covered eyes no longer concentrated on the inane prattle of fellow attendees, zoned out in mild panic.

How had he managed to get an invitation? What was his plan? Last she saw of the zeltron sith was outside the cartel cantina, taunting as metal gauntlet’s tapped toyingly, clicking in her ears. ”Goodbye Moonfire. Oh, and don't get into any trouble, while I'm here." Was that a warning? A threat? His words echoed in her skull as hard swallows of the carbonated alcohol threatened to lodge solid and frozen in her slim throat. Exits, Mooney. Go over your exits-- Keep your mind fresh, think of your trainin--

A gentle tap at her shoulder forced the woman to spin around, masked face thankfully concealing her expression as blue eyes flicked up to meet bronzed scrolling. A tuft of dark hair and wide set of shoulders immediately putting the woman at ease. A smile, warm and genuine, peaked beneath the edge of her celestially themed mask.

“Thel, I can’t express how good it is to see you.” Iris laughed, her nerves nearly melting in the wake of a familiar place. She’d missed the gentle prodding of his presence, also held close. A common practice for force users at things like this. The swivel of his head quickly caught her attention, her own neck craning to catch his, skimming along the dancers. She’d caught his meaning quick, icicle piercing her heart briefly at the cold thought. A hound. Far more on the mark than she’d liked to admit. “These affairs bring in all sorts…”

The Bored Walk’s song faded from one to another, the male vocalist holding the microphone close at hand as he began to croon, setting the scene before demanding to know how events played out in such a way. Turning back to Thel she extended a hand, hesitant to speak so openly beside the chattering wall-flowers beside them. “Care to dance? I’d love to catch up.”

“Iris” quickly took the returned hand, moving them both into the swarm of steady dancers just as the singer, a shiny-haired near-hum with a bouffant pleaded in forlorn notes. She was far from an expert dancer, and from Thel’s reluctant look and careful shuffling he matched her in skill. This sort of plan always looked so much better in the holovids-- An arm looped about the young man’s shoulder, fingertips light as they swayed half-in time to the simple beat.

“Tall zeltron. Pale skin. White hair.” She whispered, head tilted to appear intimate as the couple moved in chaste little motions. “Sith Order. I’m… Unsure of his motivations for being here, but I know it can’t be good.” The music and the closeness obscuring the sound of their conversation before she pulled away, pale pink lips pulled into a friendly, but awkward smile. “The usual, you know?”

[Fromikeable]

Vance's eyes jumped from face to face before returning to "Iris's", not entirely sure what they were looking for. An evil grin? A murderous glare? Things that anyone could have at events like this, especially given the underworld company. Sith could fit right in at places like this, where the humor was dark, the value of life was low, and the average mood ranged somewhere between perverse and furious. Vance couldn't help but wonder if that made Iris stick out. Beyond that, how well did he blend in?

He decided quickly that he'd rather not think about it, shaking his head.

"Dance?" Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he hesitated for a moment at the offered hand. Taking it anyway, he drummed up an incomplete defense as he was led to the dance floor, the music thankfully changing to a slower tune. "I can't really-"

Then an arm was looped around his shoulder, and the debate ended before it began with him just trying not to step on her toes.

Striking an uneasy rhythm, he managed to slip his free arm around the small of her back, pulling her close enough to make the dancing look genuine. With a simple sway, they moved to and fro with the beat, basically shuffling in place in a slow, continuous turn. As her head leaned in, he managed to forget the fact that, to his memory, he couldn't remember ever dancing with a woman before, focusing instead on her barely-spoken words.

"I know." Resting his chin gently atop her head, Vance continued to inspect the crowd as they made their slow revolutions. A white-haired Zabrak, a pale-skinned Duro, a Zeltron with brown hair… when no one fit, he closed his eyes again. His presence began to unfurl just slightly, coming to cover their immediate area and nothing more. Enough range to search, but little enough to quickly retract and defend.

”I can imagine. I dealt with them for years.“ Adjusting his arm around her, he cleared his voice, not meaning to have said as much as he had. Whoops.

Hopefully he didn’t blend into this crowd as much like a Sith as he worried he might.

”Don’t worry about it though. This is our turf. If he wants to pick a fight, he’ll bite off more than he can chew.” His eyes flicked back from whence he’d come. Everyone had moved away, but it was a safe bet to imagine that they were around.

… he hoped no one saw him dancing. That was a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have.

”Besides, this is the Blind Auction.” Cracking a smile, he chuckled a little, his chest pressing against her as it rose and fell. ”This is the usual, half the time.”

[Deleted]

Zexva was a bit amused to say the least as he blended seamlessly within the crowd. Sure they could all feel him, but only one of them new what he looked like. That still wouldn't help them all though, searching through the crowd of couples who were now dancing as he stood on the sidelines. Observation was key to his success, he was a wild card to whatever other machinations they were planning. To those who had felt him, he was dangerous, and they all knew that much. It would be curious to see how they all reacted to the fact that he wasn't trying very hard to conceal who he was. While his presence was dialed back, there was an undeniable shadow that was just there.

It didn't hover around him like an aura, it was just naturally part of him. Unlike the rest of his order, there was no light left in him. He had entrusted that to someone else, willingly gave it up for her to take care of just in case. Perhaps one day she would realize what he had metaphorically given to her back on his home planet. Though if she never did, well he wasn't missing it very much. In the sea of others he managed to pick out the girl with dark hair that filled him with conflicting feelings. There was a part of him that wanted to see her entire order destroyed, and burned beneath his heel. The other part of him just wanted to see her smile genuinely at him for once.

That was when he saw her, and he approached through the crowd. Purposely passing by Moonfire, and her clumsy dance partner so she could catch a glimpse of his back as he walked by. Approaching the woman with hair the same color as his, her icy gaze was held aloft by delicate, yet strong features. This was someone that he knew, someone that he had asked an important question to once long ago, she had given him some advice though. For that he was thankful, but he was trying to figure out how she was alive. It appeared that the Sith Empress didn't share his penchant for cleaning up loose ends.

They were getting sloppy if they couldn't properly dispose of those that they struck down. It was pitiful to say the least, but he was here for something, and it wasn't her. Approaching her, he wondered if she would remember him, though back then his skin had been a deeper shade of red, and his hair wasn't white. Still it was intriguing to find her here, though her presence in the force was gone, like a light that had been shut off.

"I must say...You look well my Lady..." he said to her with a smile on his exposed lips. The inflection he gave to the last word making it very obvious that he had some inkling who she was. "I'm curious...What brings such a woman to a place like this?" his honey covered words drifting into the air as he grabbed another champagne glass.

[Neology]

”Noted.” If she was translating right, Locke didn’t want a fight on his hands and was saying as much. No one did, except perhaps the mystery Sith … And Jayec and Ylva, if they got bored. This strange half-way point between tawdry and class might not live up to their idea of a fun night out. Ah well, she’d seen the van. Ms. Vuk was an admirable opportunist. ”You were right, Tyr. I really shouldn’t have had that second glass on the way over.” Lidah made some adjustments to her posture, leaning more on Locke’s arm, coltish and fidgety in her sparkly stiletto heels. The best way to distance herself from Darth Novus – tightly wound control freak that she was – was to ditch the Dark Lady’s mannerisms, quickly. ”I would hate to have to duck out early, though.” Lidah tipped back the rest of her glass and abandoned the empty vessel as soon as it could be politely managed. The alcohol was an expanding ball of heat in her otherwise empty stomach. Laughter bubbled up, too loud but not entirely manufactured, as Jayec deployed some sort of tactical straw from his helmet. It was simply too at odds with the very real death that the mandalorian carried with him. ”Where’s the fun in that? But I suppose there’s no harm, in this case.” Who else would want a slavering predator for a pet? The worst she might expect were early bids to drive the price up. ”I want the howlrunner for my menagerie. You don’t see them off Kamar alive much.” Lidah’s fingers rose briefly to her hair, pulling out a handful of pins and the dark twist of antler that served as the sole ornament. Released, it tumbled in silky waves down to her mid-back. She sensed someone watching her, a prickly feeling that traveled down her spine. Shit. A tall man was cutting his way through the crowd. Lidah met his gaze with a bland smile, wondering where she had seen him before. He didn’t look much like a zeltron, but the chemical soup that trailed behind him left little room for doubt. The voice she recognized, though not the ingratiating tone. But add seven or eight years, allow some variance for darkside corruption … ”Ah. I remember you. And your questions.” Lidah licked her lips and nodded to the stairs. ”Say, would you like a practical demonstration? My friend and I were about to go up.” Her voice was pitched low in invitation, though some of the steel reasserted itself in her posture. Running from this was no good. Best to keep whatever followed behind closed doors. At least then Cerbozz's goons wouldn' t be throwing her out on her ass. As she led the way to one of the Hutt’s private parlors and out of sight, Lidah dropped the mask on her presence. At least one of them should have full command of their senses for this, and she was already exposed. That it saved some trouble and embarrassment finding an empty room didn't hurt, either. The room was a lavishly furnished observation deck of sorts. Gel-filled furniture upholstered in crushed velvet, a tacky blue-and-black animal print. A decent view of the city skyline, just lights and shapes from here. Lidah grazed from a spread of finger food delicacies for several moments before turning her attention back to the Sith. ”Well? I don't see you as a messenger. So what do you want?”

[Rugs]

The back of Locke’s head throbbed slightly. Hairs on the back of his neck stood. Something foul was afoot, what?

“It’s fine, Ms. Faine,” Locke said, quickly adjusting to her change in demeanor. "That's what I'm here for." He picked up the game she was playing. Change who she was, just so, and throw off the Sith skulking around on main floor.

No guarantee to work, but it was better than nothing.

Their company helped -- especially Jayec’s straw. That might have been the best thing Locke had seen all week.

“Say how does a fella get one of those put on his helmet,” Locke asked. He spoke a bit louder, more boisterous, now. The Generalissimo could come out of his shell in such company. It was a party, after all. Locke was very nearly serious in the question though. A tactical straw was too good for the Mandalorian to hog it for himself.

He was about to make some quip about his disappointment that Jayec didn’t paint his armor after a tuxedo when the Sith arrived.

The man’s presence announced itself before he arrived. It was dark and cold, like being dipped unexpectedly into ice water. Even with his senses muted by his hidden presence, it was impossible to ignore at such short distance.

The Sith was a Zeltron. A strange one, by appearance, bearing the unmistakable corruption of the Dark Side. Pale skin, white hair, yellowed eyes peering like a wolf’s through his mask. Locke looked at him plainly, until the emphasized my Lady drew him to place himself slightly — subtly, as he moved to grab another glass from a passing tray — between the two.

He was, after all, supposed to be Lidah’s bodyguard, in some capacity as Tyrvast.

And as Locke, he would not let a Sith stick his grubby fingers into the night’s affairs.

Lidah spoke before he could, however, and he offered a knowing smile and wink to the Sith — the horror — as she led them away.

Her presence unfurled as they walked along toward the room. Locke’s reaction remained muted, save a turning of his grey eyes from the Sith accompanying them to her. That’s a rarity, he thought to himself. Lidah rarely exposed her presence in the open. She was taking this seriously.

They arrived in the room shortly after. Locke closed the door securely behind them and locked it. No need to risk someone wandering in on whatever the hell was about to happen.

Lidah addressed the Sith directly, dropping the act of an invitation to romp.

Locke, circling around the Sith to stand slightly beside Lidah, sized the fellow up. He was tall. Young, though. Was he of the brash sort or did he have some sense to him? Time would tell.

“You’d best tread lightly boy,” he said, keeping Tyrvast’s thicker accent. His presence remained tightly pulled in on itself. His eyes narrowed slightly beneath his mask. “No one here wants to make a mess of things, so what happens next is up to you.”

[Meira]

"Bah." Ylva said with a frown as Jayec explained his purpose for the evening. She snatched the tumbler back, holding it in reserve as she continued to drink from her own glass. Her sour expression lessened, however, as she acknowledged Lidah's compliment with a self satisfied smile. And it disappeared when Jayec popped a straw out from the chin of his helmet. Ylva had been mid sip when he did it, and the laughter that burst from her shot some of that whiskey out with it. Setting her reserve glass down on a table, Ylva wiped at her chin gingerly with the back of her hand. She glanced at her hand quickly, self-consciously worried that she'd ruined Tomasso's work. There was no smudge of the lip stain though and Ylva relaxed.

Unable to resist the urge, she reached out, grabbing the straw between two fingers and giving it a playful tug. Not entirely surprising, but impressive all the same, the straw barely budged beyond a slight flexing. Nothing but the highest quality, Ylva thought with a chuckle. "You have to let me give that thing a try sometime." she said.

The group fell into amenable conversation. Ylva's eyes wandered idly around the crowd. After a moment, they fell on the most unexpected sight. She nudged Jayec and then gestured to where Arkandri was now swaying to the music with the woman he had approached. "I didn't think he had it in him." she said.

She smiled as Lidah mentioned one of the animals in response to Jayec's question. The Compeer did have quite a zoo of exotic creatures. Ylva was familiar with many of them, as her men were often enlisted to clean up after the beasts. "There was something about a ship." she said, giving her own response to the question. "I saw a holoshow about people who bid on ships, or warehouses, or whatever. Sometimes they score big on what's inside."

Someone approached and even Ylva seemed to note that the vibe had gone icy. She bristled, standing up a little straighter and turning to face the man that had approached Lidah. Something about the way he spoke belied a less than genuine tone to his words. Lidah's date -dammit, what was his name- very casually placed himself between Faine and the stranger. Ylva squared up as well, just behind the man, but hands flexing, ready to become fists if need be.

Lidah... invited the man upstairs? Ylva's eyebrows rose behind her mask as the stranger followed Faine and her date toward one of the many private parlors. She watched the three vanish through a door that quickly closed behind them. She stood for a few seconds, and then turned toward Jayec. "What the fuck just happened?"