A Soiree of Sith

[Rabbit]

---

Keelen was, in a word, disgruntled.

He hated formal occasions. They reminded him too much of the life he had been forced to leave behind - the affluent and often opulent life of an Aristocra's only child. Of course, as an off-shoot of one of the Ruling Families, Keelen's father and family were't as affluent and opulent as those of other Aristocra. But, that was neither here nor there...the life any Aristocra's family was full of social obligations, soirees, dinners, and a host of other both public and private functions.

It was one such privately public event that had lead to Keelen even being in this part of the galaxy, much less one of the names on a list of Sith...

After all these years, it still felt somewhat strange to him - holding the title and responsibilities of a Sith Lord. Of a Force User. It was still hard to imagine that he - Inrok'eele'nuruodo, only son of House Inrok, a captain of the Copero Colonial Phalanx - was a fully fledged Sith. It was almost ludicrous. Keelen saw the looks many of the other Sith he had encountered gave him when they thought he didn't notice - his current position was ludicrous. Of just about any species in the galaxy, a Chiss was probably the least likely to ever embrace their emotions enough to ascend to a Lord of the Sith. And that was assuming that they got out of Ascendancy space alive...

Yet...Keelen managed it. His dual lightsaber hilts bumped gently against his thighs as he made his way up a rather imposing (and pretentious, he privately thought) flight of stairs. On his left, the representation of his rational side, his Chiss side: a natural yellow blade. On his right, the representation of his emotional side, his Sith side: a synthetic red blade. Somehow, Keelen managed a balance between the two. It was, at times, precarious...but it was balance nevertheless.

He felt that it put him at odds with many of the Sith, his strained, but balanced approach to the Dark Side of the Force. Yet, he (and they) couldn't deny that it made him well-suited to the Cult of Strife, to the life of a military leader. Emotions were all fine and well - they gave him a deep reservoir of power in the Force, after all. But, not everything could be dealt with emotionally - tactics and strategy, for starters. Emotions could blind a military leader, which could, in turn, lead to unnecessary losses of life. Keelen was not exactly sentimental about the men and women under his command losing their lives for the glory of the Empire. But, he hated waste and inefficiency. And losses of life - while inevitable on the battlefield - had to be weighed carefully against "was it worth it?" and "was it necessary?"

And speaking of "was it necessary?"... Keelen glanced up at a female Sith who was ahead of him a-ways. Her skirt was so long, she had to lift it up with a hand in order to step up; her cloak trailing behind so far, that Keelen found himself slowing down, just so he didn't end up stepping on it and tripping her. He rolled his eyes inwardly, though his face showed none of his disgust. So many Sith were so...flashy.

Granted, if his father had been a higher ranking Aristocra, he'd probably have grown up around the Chiss idea of "flashy". Which, to be honest, was rather head-turning, even when held up against Sith standards. But, Keelen's father had not been higher-ranking, so the clothing that his family had worn, while made of rich colors and cloths, had been far from extravagant. Keelen hadn't changed his fashion sense like he'd changed everything else about himself...that much, at least, had stayed the same. "Formal attire" for him looked suspiciously like a military uniform - black tunic, belted at his trim waist with a thick black belt, black pants tucked into immaculately shined black boots that came up just below his knees. If it hadn't been for the tell-tale hilts at his hips, Keelen could have been easily mistaken for an Imperial officer.

The only color on his ensemble was the silver buckle just below his navel, and the insignia on his collar that identified him as a member of the Cult of Stife. Though, he imagined, most Sith would have figured that out based on his rigid posture and austere clothing. On the other hand...the Chiss had seen his fair share of "flashy" Lords of Strife...

He entered the imposing building that served as the host's sprawling jungle home. They were on the outskirts of Kaas City and the unpredictable nature of the planet pressed around the estate on the three sides that did not face the capital city. Keelen couldn't remember the name of the Sith who was hosting the party, but he imagined that with so much manicured land and an enormous house, it had to be one who's title began with "Darth".

It was the yearly celebration of the Sith and Empire's union underneath the leadership of Empress Renata. Keelen had managed to avoid the Unification Day soirees in the past...but he'd finally made enough of a name of himself that he had apparently been sent an invitation. There was no way to decline, either - while the request had come as a beautifully worded invitation that would have impressed the most loquacious Chiss, it was still an order. Of all the Cults, the Cult of Strife perhaps best embodied the union of the Sith and the Empire - a Lord of such was hardly able to weasel out of the obligation to attend.

So, Keelen squared his shoulders anew and stepped through the open doors into the estate's grand parlor. For the glory of the Empress, and all that...

[sparrow]

“Fine. I’ll pass your request to the Empress, but no guarantees,” Zarene sighed irritably, tapping her plasteel-covered fingers on the marble surface of the table to emphasize her annoyance.

She had found her spot in the main hall in this small alcove obscured behind several stone columns, hoping to find some quiet away from the main bustle. But these Imperial lordlings always seemed to find her, and despite the fact that she had never once actually passed any of their requests for an audience to Empress Renata in the past several years, for some reason they somehow all still thought that she could get them one, just because she had once trained under her, at a time when she still simply Darth Renata, and not yet Empress.

This latest one stood up and gave an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, my lady, I’m sure that…” He reaches out to grab Zarene’s hand, but she quickly slapped it away.

“Don’t touch me,” she said curtly, giving him a glare that threatened violence if he did not leave at once. He took the hint and did so.

Zarene leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her drink. Finally. She didn’t really care for these types of events. She was mostly just here out of a sense of obligation and a chance to do some people-watching. It wasn’t something she would admit out loud, but she was rather fond of observing the latest fashions on display.

Her own dress was rather simple in comparison, royal blue cut in a traditional Pananthan style, with a few floral patterns embroidered in bronze thread. A small bronze pin with the insignia of the Cult of Strife at her collar indicated her position within the Sith. Her hair was tied back in a bun, held in place by a steel hairpin.

One of the party attendants came by, refilling Zarene’s glass before quickly shuffling away. Nice dresses and fizzy drinks, Zarene thought to herself as she took another sip. Could be worse I suppose.

[tenkalus]

Late! She was late again! 

Master Keelen was going to flay her alive if she was late one more time. And yet, an event such as this required the proper etiquette. Keelen had said that it was a formal event, so her usual one piece jump suit was simply inappropriate.  Astrid didn't own anything fancy for formal gatherings, as she'd initially made it to the Sith Academy with only the rags on her back. 

Sure, she'd been outfitted properly to meld with the other students at the academy, but black robes were far from complimentary of her personal style and no where near formal enough to walk among the social elite of the Sith. The youthful part of her wanted to just say screw it and show up in coveralls smudged with grease (though she wasn't sure where she would have obtained the grease, not being of an engineering disposition), and give in to the stereotyping that she'd gotten since day one, having been from the "less civilized" sector of the galaxy. The petty side said that if they wanted a yokel, they could get one, and stars help anyone who had the brass to say it to her face. 

But that wasn't appropriate for someone of her current standing. She wasn't a child anymore, and couldn't afford to make such rash decisions. In other environments it would have been seen at political suicide for anyone trying to climb the ranks. In the company of Sith Lords and Darth's mingling around, such a mentality could potentially be literally suicide. So while she didn't like adhering to the rules of uptown society, her Master had given her clear instructions that she would be present and would dress appropriately now that she was his apprentice and a representative of the Cult of Strife. 

Strife wasn't just another organization seeking power. They were made of discipline, control and intellectual acumen. As well they had to be - they were commanders and tacticians both on the bridge of cruisers and on the field of battle. Leaders in every sense of the word. Not that Astrid felt particularly suited to lead soldiers into battle, but then, one rarely saw qualities in themselves that mentors and teachers saw. 

Astrid respected Keelen more than she could properly articulate currently. He wasn't like other Sith Lords. In that sense, the two of them made a fantastic pairing. In all things social, Astrid was severely lacking, and while he certainly didn't much enjoy that aspect of his new station, Keelen at least understood that it was a necessary evil and embraced the inevitability that they would be in this situation. In typical Chiss fashion, he rose to the occasion brilliantly without showing a hint of distaste.

Something that Astrid needed to learn quickly.

She contemplated that as she rushed up the stairs toward the banquet. It had taken her all day to find a shop that produced clothing she found tasteful, and then hours on top of that to get both fitted and appropriately accessorized for the event. Now she was two hours behind and huffing as she neared the top of the ridiculous number of steps. Who planned these things anyway? She was in peak condition and was still struggling to make it to the top without a turbolift. It was as if the planners has designed the stairs as a kind of gauntlet so that only the worthy would make it to the festivities and food at the top, and the weaker party goers would be found collapsed on the steps and left for dead. 

It certainly made sense from a Sith point of view. Would they really do something so petty though? Certainly some would. Some she had known from the academy would relish the thought of watching failures and washouts tumble back down the steps as they lost steam. But Astrid got an uncharacteristic grin when she thought about those same acolytes being hurled across the room by none other than herself. The way Jariss Trun had broken through that table had been heavenly.

But she quickly wiped the grin from her lips and refocused on her breathing. Running up a million stairs in a dress was tough enough without having to worry about pace and breathing...

In the end, she'd settled on a simple black dress with bronze inlay patterned around in swirls and a loose black silken tunic that was snug in the right areas but not too tight. She didn't like showing off her muscles in public. Around her neck was a simple silken choker with a Cult of Strife pendant hanging lightly from a little hook. She'd applied a layer or two of makeup and had drawn bronze extended cat eyes. Her hair had been braided in a tight bun at the back of her head and secured with a long silver spike. She of course left enough of her hair loose in the back to hang down over the nape of her neck, to cover the scarred tissue there where her slave collar had once cut into her. She'd had a hard go of life since being kidnapped, but was happy enough to be able to at least represent the Epicanthix race with a traditional hairstyle of their people. 

Finally she reached the top of the stairs and glanced around hurriedly to locate her master. Keelen wasn't hard to pick out in a crowd. He was likely the only blue man in the bunch. She was correct on that point as she noticed him from behind. Good! He wouldn't have noticed her tardiness.

That is, if she'd met him as requested two hours ago. But it was totally fine. She could just make up a story about getting lost on the way and had to use the skills he'd taught her to make it where she needed to go. He'd eat it up like a good mentor and praise her for ingenuity.

Wouldn't he? He was a Sith. They rarely gave praise for doing what was expected of you. 

She straightened her dress carefully and regained her composure, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind her ear before walking in the most dignified way she could muster over to her Master, each step trying to come up with a good reason to have been late that he might believe besides the truth.

She'd lost track of time while looking at pretties again.

"Master! There you are!" She said, carefully wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "I'm sorry for being late I-...."

What would it be? What could she say? It had to be good. Very good to fool Sith Lord Keelen into complacency.

"Had... to break up a fight in the ladies room... A couple of Darth's got into it and there was hair and water flying everywhere. But I stepped in and told them "No! Act like a Darth!", and you know what Master? They stopped, shook hands and went back to the great party that was thrown for our people...."

Nailed it. 

She watched the Chiss turn to her and stared forcefully into his unreadable red eyes to see if it was enough. 

[Rabbit]

Keelen had barely begun to mingle when he felt young apprentice enter the grand foyer. It was only then that he ruefully realized that he had completely forgotten that he'd told Astrid to meet him here for the evening. The two of them were barely a month into their master-apprentice relationship and even Keelen was having a little trouble adjusting to the change in his daily pace and mentality.

Responsibility for a platoon of battle-hardened special forces? Not a problem. Responsibility for a teenager just now learning how to be a woman of responsibility herself? That was another matter entirely...

The Sith Lord didn't dwell on his own oversight but for a few seconds. At least she had remembered...though, she should have been at his side well before now... Keelen had an excellent internal clock and he rapidly wagered that Astrid was about an hour and a half, if not more, late. Again. The Chiss showed no outward emotion, but he frowned inwardly to himself. Tardiness was fast becoming an intolerable habit of his time-challenged apprentice.

Best to nip that in the bud as quickly as he could. Though, admittedly, Keelen wasn't really sure how to do that without erring on the side of utterly draconian, since he hadn't ever been in a position to be bothered by someone else's tardiness before, and since the Chiss, as a societal whole, were too particular to ever tolerate tardiness in their own children long enough for it to become a problem. By the time the vast majority of Chiss youth were old enough to be held accountable for being where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be, they had learned that even tardiness by a mere minute was practically a sin.

All these thoughts flew through his mind as he turned and faced Astrid - who, for her part, approached him a bit breathlessly, but with as much dignity as her age and position could muster. At least she showed no fear.

Keelen listened, his face a blank slate, as he took in Astrid's preposterous excuse. The longer she babbled on, the more stern the Chiss' posture became. By the time she'd finished, his back was ramrod straight (even more so than usual) and he'd clasped his hands behind his back as he looked down at her. His face remained a blank slate; his nostrils flared, however. Had Astrid been a Chiss, she would have known immediately that he was deeply, deeply displeased.

Had they been in private, Keelen probably would have let his emotions take the reign. But, they were in a very public place - the first time as Master and Apprentice, in fact. Keelen wasn't an idiot - he knew every Sith eye (and quite a few of the more nuanced Imperials) around them was watching. This was a test for both of them. And Keelen relished tests, else he would have been drawn to some other Cult besides Strife.

So, the Chiss Sith held back on his emotions and quietly addressed Astrid as he might have one of his soldiers in a similarly public situation. He stepped closer to her, until their shoulders were touching (Keelen was only an inch taller than his apprentice, as it turned out); Astrid was facing one way, Keelen another. That way, he could tilt his head down toward her ear just slightly and talk without anyone hearing him...and without any but the very sharpest eyes reading his lips.

"You disappoint me, Apprentice," his tone was cool, but not cold - he was not furious with Astrid and Keelen was careful to communicate in his usual subtle way; whether she picked up on his tonal differences or not was something Keelen was still trying to figure out. "If you are going to tell me outlandish lies, perhaps we should find you a master here among the Cult of Truth. Deception is worthy of them...not the Cult of Strife."

His point made, Keelen leaned back and looked over at her out of the corner of his eye. He eyed her makeup...her hair...her clothes... And lifted an eyebrow in understated interest.

"Those are new," he remarked quietly after a long pause; he dipped his chin to indicate her clothing.

After another significant pause, Keelen continued in a soft voice. He was no longer worried about other Sith reading his lips, but he still wasn't interested in calling undue attention to Astrid for the moment. Her tardiness was a bad habit, but it was not one he needed to humiliate her for.

As a general rule, Keelen was of the opinion that humiliation of any subordinate was uncalled for. It was also strategically unsound. He had been around the Sith long enough by now to know how many masters treated their apprentices...humiliation was a key component and Keelen was of the opinion that such disciplinary action simply shorted the master's live by several decades once their apprentice was old enough for Knighthood...

"Always take pride in your appearance. However, if there is one thing you will learn from me, Apprentice, it is balance. Do not indulge in one virtue at the expense of another," Keelen dipped his head again until he could capture Astrid's gaze; only then did he continue. "Indulgence is for other Sith. It is not for those of us who lead."

[Rugs]

The shuttles’ thrusters tousled Aurelius’ hair as it blasted back off to orbit from his landing pad. He straightened his coat--black, but made of light fabric for the Kaasi heat--and glanced skyward. The Regent, the pride of the Imperial fleet, hung low in the atmosphere this evening, her 10-kilometer length easily visible against the night sky. Renata was one for shows of might, it seemed.

The Empress’ yacht was higher up, in orbit. There Renata celebrated Unification Day in private. Aurelius had been there. He’d prefer to avoid any socializing and ass-kissing at all, but the Empress’ party was at least a private affair for a select few. But now, then he had to go down to the surface and be seen because he was the head of the Order -- under the Empress, of course.

He scowled, briefly exposing a fang as he turned from the sky and toward the mansion housing the evening’s affairs. A part of him longed, quietly, for his days as a Lord, when he could skip these things. But when the Empress beckons... he told himself as he began to walk. Besides, he wouldn’t give up the position’s power for anything, even if it meant occasional annoyances.

The mansion pulsed with life. Countless Sith, from the Order and Empire proper — though the Order was the Empire proper, these days — would be within, celebrating Renata’s rise to power. Nieraan’s long coat, with subtle gold accents for the Cult of Ascension and cut in a decidedly-Imperial style was adorned with a pin of the Order’s emblem on one collar and a gold chevron on the other. His pair of lightsabers hung openly on one side of his hip. His pants matched the coat and the whole affair, including the shirt beneath, was some of the finest wear from one of the best tailors the capital had to offer. His blue-streaked-black hair, normally shaggy, was even neatly arrayed, for once.

Aurelius couldn’t care less about it, but Danica spared no expense for these things.

“Darth Aurelius,” one of the doormen said as he approached, “welcome.”

Aurelius, face carefully neutral, gave little indication that he saw the fellow beyond a sidelong glance from a golden eye as the doors parted to admit him.

The party within was lavish. As extravagant as Aurelius had come to expect from any major Imperial affair. He set about schmoozing, feigning brief interest in some lordling’s tale about how helping the Empire prepare for the resumption of hostilities, ignored attempted brownosing from another and plucked a few hors d'oeuvres from a tray as he wove through the crowd.

It was hard, even for him, to pick out any particular presence with so many cluttering the place, but he found the trace of one that intrigued him. After pushing through a few more forced social interactions, he made his way to Zarene, who’d taken up a spot in an out-of-the-way alcove.

Some Imperial was scampering off as Aurelius arrived.

“Yin,” he said, with something approaching friendly warmth, “it’s been a damn while.” He stopped near her table, glancing back at the hall. “I think you’ve got the right idea with your setup here.”

[tenkalus]

And just like that, with a word, Astrid’s world came crashing down around her ears. Hours of planning, prep work and execution amounted to a moment of surprise that left her at absolute zero. Whether or not her Master meant to hit that particular mark, didn’t matter. Keelen might as well have back-handed her and called her ugly and stupid for the damage his simple words had caused her mentally.

The no-nonsense manner in which he had addressed her was sure to deny a scene, lest Astrid herself make one herself. And while new to social situations like this, she was too controlled for it. But internally, all humor and good nature that she’d brought with her silly explanation had evaporated in an instant and left her emotionally floundering.

And what exactly had she expected? These were not Jedi. She was not among a group of people who typically found worth in humor. They were Sith, and it made her come off as weak-minded and simple. An easy target to be smashed against the rocks in the ocean they all seemed to swim. She felt defeated in that moment when Keelen stepped to her side to speak. She had tragically misjudged the Chiss. Her only aim with her tall tale was to make him smile, but then Chiss weren’t exactly prone to do such things were they? Keelen was a far cry from stereotypical and maybe for just a fraction of a second, Astrid had thought that she could break the mold.

She’d been a fool. And more importantly, she’d let her Master down and made him look foolish by arriving late.

The man who had rescued her from the academy. The man who was showing her how to be strong. And Astrid had no illusion about where she’d be today had he not flown her from those ancient stone hallways. She would have been made an example of in the end, pitted against some ruthless virtuoso in the practice ring, “A training accident”, they’d have said when explaining how she’d been killed. And that would have been that. She would have been swept under the galactic mat and forgotten forever. Keelen had quite literally pulled her neck from the chopping block. And Astrid had the raw power to be a Sith. She had the capacity to be among the strongest elite amongst the Sith ranks. She had the tactical mind to be a competent commander for the Sith.

But she didn’t seem to have the heart of one. Or maybe, just maybe she had too much heart. It seemed as though she had yet to shed the baby fat of her realization of where she was and what it was she was being called to do.

Astrid worshiped Keelen. He was strong. He was a leader, and showed restraint in battle to remain tactically superior.

As a 19 year old girl, Astrid just wanted him to be as proud of her as his apprentice as she was honored to be his student. She had lost track of time, it was true. But she had only lost track of time because she’d wanted to let Keelen show off his apprentice, a young woman of taste and class and beauty, as well as a future Sith of military worth. She just wanted to be versatile for him. She just wanted to to be praiseworthy for him. She’d wanted to be perfect.

She just wanted to be pretty enough to stand in his shadow…

The entire range of emotions crossed her socially undisciplined face as her eyes dropped to the floor, noticing the tips of her black dress boots protruding from the hem of her dress.

Stupid. She should have worn heels. That’s why she wasn’t pretty enough. To save time that she hadn’t had, Astrid had rationalized that her shoes wouldn’t make a difference since her legs were completely covered to the ankle, and who would be looking at her feet anyway? And she wasn’t shiny enough. The bumpkin from the Outer Rim didn’t know fashion sense and had neglected her jewelry. Even if she’d been on time, she would have disappointed Keelen.

She wanted to break down and cry. But she was a warrior at heart. So she bit her lower lip hard and regained what composure she could muster, but her eyes didn’t leave the offensive boots under her dress.

“I’m sorry, Master. I just-” but Keelen didn’t want an apprentice who gave excuses. He wanted results. “It won’t happen again…” she muttered and reached up to tuck another strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

[Dutch]

A pale, long fingered hand graced a smooth, wooden bannister. Dark veins which snaked over the back of it pulsed lightly as a pointer finger tapped slowly. Clack, clack, clack, it went, tapping a ring of pure jade against the white-painted wood. Baleful red eyes watched the Sith as they climbed the stairs below, his guests- the Empress’ guests- filed in to show face and play the great game. Amused by the metaphor, a coy grin spread toothily as he tilted his head, and the motion caused long, black, feathery hair to fall over a shoulder as he watched the guests who struggled with the climb. It wasn’t for the weak of body nor spirit, after all.

He looked up at the Regent, then his Mistress’ private yacht after that, and basked in the Kaasian wind one more private moment. The Sith turned, adjusted the collar of his light three-quarter frock jacket, and solid jade cuff links shaped as the Eye of Truth glinted in the manse’s chandelier candlelight. Tall, polished black boots clicked smartly across marble tiles as Darth Solis moved from the balcony onto the lofty second floor. He adjusted the jade serpent-headed buckle which fastened a snake-patterned belt around his slim hips, and held up slacks of the same material as his jacket. The white silken shirt beneath hugged his lithe torso comfortably, the sensation exquisite in his slightly inebriated state.

First of the Darths to have left Renata’s private affair, he was pleased with the work his people had done with Tanglehold; his personal estate on Dromund Kaas. Equal parts private getaway and exotic hosting venue, the sprawling mansion was set at the very fringes of Kaas City, and the vines which webbed across the mansion’s exterior a non-subtle metaphor for Solis himself. All white walls and floors, ornamental gold was inlaid throughout, the metal gleaming softly in the grand chandelier’s warm candlelight. It might have appeared more civilized than Tanglehold’s exterior within, but the aware knew that right now it was the most dangerous den in Dromund Kaas.

From the second floor, the Darth looked down at the majority of the party which milled, chatted and mingled about. A hand rose to accept a vibrant red cocktail held towards him by his own private mixologist. The steady click of his boots came to a close as stopped at the zenith of a sweeping, ornamental stairwell, and even then Solis’ presence rolled headily down them. A wave of his hand signaled the string quartet, set in the alcove opposite the dance floor which mirrored to Zarene’s, to pause, and waited as the evening’s music ebbed quiet. The Sith breathed deep as a Cultist of Truth rang her glass near him, before raising his hand in greeting, and projected his voice out with the Force to amplify it.

”Welcome, welcome, my dear Lords, Ladies, and the rest of you who managed to find a way in to attend Her Imperial Radiance’s special day, here with us at Tanglehold.” The zelosian boomed, and a low chuckle rumbled through the crowd at the cheeky jab. His vibrant, glowing eyes moved from face to face as he regarded them, wide, winning smile fixed as he shot a quick wink at Aurelius on passing.

”I do hope the evening’s delights have found you well, and if not, that you may find the elixir to slake whatever thirst you suffer. Dance, eat, drink, and celebrate our progress under the Dark Empress.” Darth Solis lifted his glass high in toast over everyone, the bright red liquid within swirling as it captured candlelight.

”Raise your glasses, for Renata. May She ever reign.” He raised his glass higher, before taking a long drink from his favorite, self made cocktail; Lyko’s Garden.

[sparrow]

"Well, Onin, I've never been a fan of the socializing part of these social events," she replied to Nieraan's statement, "The whole point was to not be bothered." Her words conveyed irritation, although the slight smirk that touched the corner of her lips indicated that she did not find his presence here entirely unpleasant. Tolerable, for now at least. She raised her plasteel right hand slightly, gesturing with her fingers, as the empty seat that had been occupied by that annoying young Imperial lordling a few moments before slid out from under the table.

"I'm quite glad to see that last year's fad with all the feathers is out this year. So tacky," she observed to no one in particular, before turning her attention back to Nieraan. "Did you bring Liviana with you, or is she sitting this one out?"

They were interrupted by the tapping of glass followed by a sudden quieting of the hall, as their host for the night, Jessoin Zarander, Darth Solis, gave a toast from his balcony perch. She had never particularly liked the man, but she had to admit that he knew how to host an event, and had a gift for smooth words. Zarene raised her glass slightly in response, listening as other members of the Order gave their own toasts in response, but remaining silent herself.

[Rugs]

“It’s good to see you again too,” Aurelius said with an insincere smile. He was hardly bothered by Zarene’s prodding, and even if he was, he had no desire to wander back out to the main floor and deal with all the bullshit that would follow.

He took the seat she gestured at, moving his longcoat’s tail as he settled in to watch the soiree from a distance. Solis was making an entrance as Zarene asked about Danica. Aurelius had a tight friendship with Jessoin, though their paths in the Order had taken them in different directions. He’d have to catch up with him at some point. The Zelosian was one of the few Aurelius could stand to do any real socializing with.

And it was only fitting, being in the man’s home. Force knew Aurelius would never think of hosting a party in his own. The risks were too great.

“I was able to avoid that one, thankfully,” he said, raising a glass as the Sith gathered in the great home voiced a cheer to the Empress. “Never been a fan of feathers.”

“Danica is at home,” Aurelius said. With the children. He doubted Yin was unaware of his offspring — they were something of an open secret within the Order. But Cassius’ attack years ago had instilled a caution that was hard to break. “She sends her regards, of course. And me in this.” He motioned at his coat and shrugged.

“How’ve the years treated you, Yin?” he asked. “I don’t get to see as often, now that the war’s quieted.” He paused to eat one the snacks he’d picked earlier--some salted meat wrapped around a creamy cheese filling. “Though, I do have something coming up that could use your particular talents,” he added, looking at her from the corner of an eye as a smirk crossed his face. “We can talk later, though, if you’d rather not mix work and pleasure.”

[Rabbit]

Keelen fought the urge to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose. He could feel the angst rolling off of Astrid. Why, though, the Chiss couldn't fathom. His response had been very measured, all things considered. He hadn't raised his voice, hadn't belittled her, hadn't humiliated her. By Chiss standards, he'd been practically paternal.

Paternal. That was a thought that drew him up short. He eyed Astrid again, this time in something of a new light.

Paternal. Was that the dynamic they were to have, then? The Epicanthix's emotions were a turmoil, but then, what teenage girl on the cusp of womanhood wasn't an emotional see-saw? Even Chiss girls at Astrid's age could be something of a handful - or, at least, that's what his wife had said, when they had been discussing children and the raising of them.

Keelen's eyes lingered for a moment on the profile of Astrid's down-turned face. His own daughter would be about his apprentice's age by now, he wagered. He hadn't made that connection before...

The Sith lord stifled a long-suffering sigh as he turned his face away from Astrid in order to consider the man at the top of the nearby stairwell whose commanding presence, and voice, had suddenly grabbed the attention of everyone in the expansive room. Keelen's mind kept turning, though, and he barely heard what was being said.

He had studied the Epicanthix, once his apprentice had made her origin known to him. He could respect them, her people. They were a fierce and honorable warrior culture, that prized not only their skill in battle, but their appearance as well. Come to think of it...he had noticed that about Astrid. His apprentice took pride in her appearance, which was a quality that Keelen had overlooked until now. Granted, it was because he himself came from a culture where one's physical and outward appearance was of particular importance as well, so Keelen took pride in oneself for granted.

Astrid wouldn't have had clothes for an occasion like this. Keelen's red eyes moved away from her, to sweep over the crowd around them, as glasses were raised in a toast in the Empress' honor. The Chiss joined in the toast - again, almost automatically, as his mind was turning over the mystery of his apprentice's rather alarming (and decidedly dramatic) shift in mood. He hadn't even thought of her wardrobe when he'd instructed her to meet him here. But, of course, an Epicanthix wouldn't have been caught dead in everyday wear to such a public and important social event as this. Keelen could feel the corners of his mouth twist into just the hint of a wry smile. Well, in his own way, he'd set up his apprentince to fail in this particular instance. He wouldn't have been able to find something suitable to wear in the span of a single afternoon, had the tables been turned. Not, of course, without being late.

The situation warranted a discussion, at least. Keelen was hardly going to admit his own fault in the situation - to his mind, that was neither here nor there. But, the lying thing did bother him...as did the tendency for Astrid to be late, to everything it seemed. Perhaps there were some underlying differences in culture that they needed to consider. At the very least, some ground rules on punctuality needed to be set. One could hardly punish when rules hadn't been established, and Keelen hadn't exactly taken the time to decide what parameters his apprentice needed to operate within, much less communicate those boundaries to her.

This was not the time or place for such a discussion, however. Keelen was now scanning the crowd to see if he could spot an out of the way area to sit. It was more his style to watch parties, anyway. It only took him a few seconds to spot an alcove along the far wall. There were already two other Sith sitting at one of the three tables gathered there, but Keelen decided the table farthest from the pair would do quite nicely.

"Go get us some drinks," he ordered, his voice a little louder now, than it had been before; his voice and demeanor gave nothing away about what had been going through his thoughts.

There would be another time for that. A more private time. Though...perhaps it wouldn't hurt to discuss their cultures with each other. Or, at the very least, enjoy a cold beverage while teaching Astrid how to read a room and every last individual within it.

"I'll be over there," he jerked his chin toward the alcove and stepped away from the girl as he began his weaving way through the throng of bodies, toward the little cubby of respite.

He realized, a bit ruefully, that he hadn't specified to Astrid what sort of drink he wanted and what sort of drink she was allowed. Yes...they definitely needed to work on communication. Himself, especially. It wasn't like the poor girl could read his mind. That was hardly their area of expertise.

Keelen nodded politely to the two other Sith as he stepped into the shadowy alcove. His eyes lingered briefly on the emblems of their cult - Ascension, the man; Strife, the woman. Keelen's attention snapped immediately toward the woman's face - he didn't know her, but then again, he hardly made an effort to familiarize himself with his fellow Praetor. Something told him that his usual manner of taking what he wanted (in this case, a seat and a spot of quiet) might not be appropriate for the situation. Something in the way the man stood warned Keelen that perhaps a brief show of manners might be in order.

"Good evening," he bowed ever so slightly. "I trust that taking the table here," he leaned his head over to indicate the one farthest from the two sitting before him. "Will not inconvenience your discussion?"

[tenkalus]

"Yes, Master." Astrid replied quietly. Keelen walked off, ever on a mission and Astrid was glad for it for the moment. It gave her a reprieve from the blade that had wedged itself between her ribs and pricked at her heart strings. 

It shouldn't have been that big of a deal. Rationally she knew that. But the punctual nature of her Master's words and the curt dismissal was more of a betrayal of her soul than even Astrid had been prepared for. Now, adrift among a sea of unfamiliar and potentially hostile faces all posturing for political positioning and personal gain, Astrid was lost. At least now she had a task to do, even if-

Oh no... she hadn't asked what kind of drink Keelen wanted. What was she supposed to get a Chiss Sith Lord? The drink itself would denote his own stature. A red wine would come off as prissy whereas a white would come off as feminine. Did Keelen even like wine? Desperation gripped at Astrid's heart once more as she glanced around the room, looking for hints at what other prominent males were drinking.

At the bar, Astrid finally made up her mind. "Give me two of whatever Darth Solis is having." She muttered and jerked a thumb at the man who'd made the public announcement while Astrid herself was getting reamed out in the quietest manner possible. It seemed whatever Solis was drinking was practical enough for a man in power. 

And of course she knew who Darth Solis was. Keelen had been sure to point out who potential enemies were. It was practically lesson one. "Know the battlefield and who is on it. Knowing your enemy is the key to victory." He'd said. It wasn't even that Keelen really even disliked Solis. Truthfully, Astrid wasn't even aware they knew each other. But Keelen had a very practical approach to his peers. 

That approach was fairly straightforward. Don't trust anyone until they were vetted. 

"Ma'am, I could only guess at what Darth Solis has in his glass, as he has his own mixologist." Came the tenders' reply.

Astrid looked back and fixed the man with an icy glare. "Then fake it." She growled through gritted teeth. She wouldn't fail again. Even if she had something that even looked like the right drink might be beneficial. "And forget making two. Give me something that looks like that one and a glass of champagne."

Yeah that was it. Variety! If she came back with both, he could choose which one he wanted and thus posture himself as needed. 

Parties sure were hard work...

"Hey there beautiful. Having some trouble?"

Astrid looked up at the new voice and saw an Imperial Lieutenant standing before her with some kind of beer or ale in his hand, she couldn't tell which. She wasn't an alcoholic and didn't honestly care. She wanted to ignore the fool but truth be told, this was likely a test for her as well. Everything was a test. Everything. And she wasn't going to fail.

"No, thank you..." she said, Lord Keelen in mind. Appearances needed to be maintained.

"Oh, come now sweetheart. Don't be like that. Let me buy you a drink."

"The drinks are free..." She shot back, temper rising now.

"Nothing is free, you know? And I'm absolutely certain we could find a way to get make a repayment..."

Astrid rolled her eyes in disgust. A test. It was a test. And appearances needed to be maintained.... So when she turned back to the ignoramus, she was all dainty smiles. "You know what? That sounds nice." And she held out her hand in ladylike fashion to greet him. "What was your name again?"

Immediately he brightened. Apparently he'd expected that to be more work. "Lieutenant Korbolt. What about you?" he asked, suddenly very interested. 

She took his hand gently and smiled prettily at him, batting her eyelashes playfully. "Oh, my name is Astrid. Astrid Blackspyre. But I got a bit of a nickname at the academy...." she continued suggestively. 

"Yeah? What was it?"

Astrid squeezed. Hard. "Steel Hand." She growled, teeth gritted again.

Korbolt squealed and dropped to his knees, hand trapped in her iron grip. She could feel the bones in his hand compressing and pressing together, threatening to pop. The ale/beer drink slipped from his free hand and shattered on the floor, splashing on her (now very practical) boots. Good thing she hadn't chosen heels!

"I'm a Sith, Lieutenant. Sith." She repeated slowly for him. "Go pick up women in the red light district. Now get out of my sight before you find it hard to salute with a broken kriffin hand!" She hissed. It was odd, she seemed to always speak through her teeth when she was irritable. Funny, she hadn't noticed that before. Always learning. "And clean this mess up before you go. You're an officer, not a savage."

And with that, she turned back to the drink master at the bar and accepted the two drinks she'd ordered with a pretty smile and a slight curtsy. "Thank you!"

Everything was a test. She was a Sith Apprentice to a rising star of the Cult of Strife. She was not a pushover, or easy meat. Astrid was a soldier, and one who showed restraint where needed. 

A month ago, Korbolt would have needed serious treatment for touching Astrid. After Keelen had gotten his hooks into her, well...

Korbolt would still have most of his right hand function. 

Restraint was important.

She was a Sith, and proud of her own strength. Now everyone watching would know that. 

[sithlover]

Having been invited to get to know other members of the Order Ven didn’t know what to expect. She had arrived in a long flowing black dress with gold fabric laced into the sides. She had black strappy heels to match with a red rose hair pin on the right side of her head. Her long brown hair had been put up into a bun and the finishing touch on her outfit was a red amulet necklace.

Ven had arrived just as Darth Solis had given his speech. Recognizing him as the head of the Cult of Truth she began to wonder which Cult she might be chosen for.

Not having as much experience as a Sith as everyone else Ven had hoped that this party would give her some insight on who was out there to mentor her, other than just the normal trainers back at the temple.

Sitting down at a couch Ven sighed. She was afraid no one would want to interact with her. Sitting there she waited to see if anyone would care to notice her.

[Dutch]

Solis drank deep of his cocktail as the guests called back their toasts. The tartness of Kaasian cherries swirled with a dry, imported Coruscanti gin, and the Sith let his eyes slide shut in delight. He let the drink linger a moment before swallowing, and sighed with content. With a casual roll of his free hand the zelosian used a single finger to cue the quartet once more, and opened his eyes to the sound of rising strings. That hand moved to frame his glass opposite the other, and long, pale fingers webbed to cradle it. His glowing gaze drifted as he watched the display of finery and manners- or lack of, the Darth noted as a Strife cultist near broke an offending hand.

He watched the pretty, young epicanthix put the son of a powerful Baroness in his place, and slipped that bit of knowledge away for later. Lt. Korbolt Decou would surely tell his mother about this, and Solis would need to hear of it. Not that he’d turn away a chance to meet with the Baroness of Dantooine. A content smile slid into a wickedly entertained grin, and the zelosian laughed softly. It was always so easy to spot the Order’s rookies, so fiery and out to prove themselves worthy.The Sith’s crimson eyes followed hers to who was likely her Master, and shifted to rest his hip against the stairwell railing. Yes, the Chiss. Inrok'eele'nuruodo. Mouthful of a name, and one of many curiosities found within the current Order. So far, a standard marcher within the Cult of Strife, but to assume anyone here was what they seemed was simple ignorance. The chiss moved near Nieraan,and much to Solis’ amusement Zarene Yin, as icy as ever. She’s still got it..

The zelosian looked from the cyborg, to the young epicanthix, and back to the older one. His eyes shined brilliantly as the possibilities tumbled in his mind, and watched with bated breath as the youth weaved closer to her master. Solis sipped of his cocktail, rolling it over tongue, savoring both beverage and the incoming interaction. Would the young Strife woman continue to flex her power? Would Yin need to put her in her place? Would Keelen interfere? Sadly the most predictable was Aurelius, who Solis already knew watched the same antics as his zelosian brother did.

[sparrow]

A pity Danica wasn’t here, Zarene thought to herself. She had always found the woman’s company rather pleasant, and it was always amusing watching her attempts at correcting Nieraan’s behavior, trying to make that his shirt was tucked in or his hair not too busy. But she had to admit it was smart of Nieraan to keep her away. Too many ambitious members of the Order would have been all too eager to strike at what they would have perceived as a weakness for one of Empress Renata’s inner circle.

She suddenly found herself thinking of her own mother, back on Panatha, who she had not seen her in years. What would she think her daughter now? Probably thinks I’m Jedi Knight now… with two arms. Best not to shatter that illusion now… not yet. She forced the intrusive thoughts out of her mind.

“Me? Let’s just say that this temporary peace is boring, and I could use a distraction,” she replied to Nieraan’s next query. “So if you’re comfortable talking about here with all these others around, then I’m listening.”

A new presence approached them, tall, blue skin, dressed in an all-black military uniform. This place just keeps getting more and more crowded, Zarene thought to herself as she noted the bronze emblem of Strife on the Chiss’s collar. She definitely heard of this one before. There weren’t many Chiss in the Sith ranks after all, but they were hard to miss. His name escaped her though. She tilted her head slightly as she looked him up and down trying to recall.

“That depends on how far you take it, Praetor…” she trailed off, hoping that he would fill in the blank.

[Rugs]

“Peace does bore doesn’t it?” Aurelius hadn’t heard a truer thing all night. His entire life, since his mother stole him away from his father and forced him into the crucible of her cruel tutelage, had been shaped by conflict. Conflict against his mother. Conflict in the criminal underworld. Conflict within the Order and for it against the Republic.

And now the Galaxy was at peace, and he found himself an administrator, as much as an enforcer. The former was an unfamiliar role, and Aurelius was quietly still unsure whether he was as suited to it as the latter.

“Fortunately, I may have a solution to that,” he said, watching the new blue man approach from the side of his eye. “Gotta keep the fangs sharp.”

The new arrival was an unfamiliar face at first blush. He was recognizable enough by his dress and mannerisms. He seemed a military man, and the bronze icon on his collar was unmistakable. “Suit yourself,” he said, as Yin spoke to the Chiss. His gaze lingered for a moment, wondering at the man’s identity before he returned his attention to Zarene.

“I’ll send you a more detailed briefing later, but there’s a cult that’s made themselves at home in our frontier, on Iego,” he said. He raised a glass, watching the amber liquid within as he spoke. “The Empress has demanded they be brought into the fold or dealt with.” Aurelius smiled, a toothy smile that exposed his pointed canines. “I’ll be seeing to the matter personally, with a team of my choosing.”

[Rabbit]

Keelen's attention was briefly diverted from the two other Sith before him, by a flurry of activity on the far side of the ballroom. It appeared that his apprentice was...flexing her strength. The Chiss' face showed no emotion whatsoever as he quietly observed Astrid's bone-crushing example of restraint. In other circumstances, a fierce smile, full of teeth and not an ounce of mirth, would have flashed across his cerulean face.

She was learning.

Keelen remembered well what had happened at the Sith Academy, when he had first taken note of Astrid. She had practically mopped the floor with her fellow acolytes - one in particular, though the boy's name had been well beneath Keelen's interest. The young woman was almost entirely ruled by her emotions, which was the first hurdle Keelen had been trying to teach her to overcome. Granted...she wasn't anywhere close to where he thought she ought to be. Ideally, she'd get to a point where she could make her point without flaunting her physical strength. Something told Keelen, however, that maybe the young man had it coming to him. A Chiss he might be, but Keelen could appreciate beauty when he encountered it, whatever the form.

His apprentice was, indeed, a beautiful young woman. He'd noticed from the very beginning how she would turn heads as she passed other beings by - particularly those of the male persuasion. It didn't surprise him at all that an unsuspecting, and uncouth, Imperial officer would try to approach her out of a crowd. It was almost the natural way of things. Depending on what the young man had done, or said (or both), pain might have very well been the appropriate course of action.

At the very least, she hadn't made a complete scene. In fact, for Astrid, her actions had been practically circumspect. There was, of course, a massive amount of room for improvement. But, for now, it was an acceptable start.

Keelen wondered idly, as he turned back to his fellow Sith lords, if he was going to have to account for his apprentice's actions to someone of higher rank than his. Those sorts of situations were tricky and he'd have to find out what the young man had done to incur Astrid's wrath, before he made his preemptive decision to either defend or punish her on behalf of Sith-Imperial politics. Keelen loathed politics...but he was an Aristocra's son, after all. He could play the game well enough, and likely without sacrificing too much of his tenuous progress with Astrid's fragile self-image.

“That depends on how far you take it, Praetor…”

He focused sharply on the woman before him and allowed a vague smile to play along the edges of his lips.

"Praetor Inrok'eele'nuruodo," the answered smoothly, as if his thoughts hadn't just been pulled in another direction all together.

He did not offer her his core name, as she did not offer her name in way shape or form herself. Unless she attempted to say his full Chiss name, he wouldn't provide her with a shorter alternative. He always enjoyed the brief moment of frustration that came to most when they tried to say his name properly...and failed miserably. Cheunh was a difficult language, not least in part because certain combinations of sounds could only be pronounced by vocal cords that had developed speaking the Chiss' native language. Alien tongues and throats were woefully under-developed and completely inadequate in forming the correct pronunciation of most Cheunh words and names.

It always gave Keelen a private little thrill of superiority to listen to the utter failings of others.

"My intent is to take the seat farthest from you. I have no wish to be an imposition."

He bowed slightly at the waist to her and toward her companion, who barely acknowledged him. The blatant dismissal didn't ruffle Keelen's feathers in way - he was used to it, frankly. He wasn't the sort of Sith who sought power for power's sake, either, nor fame, nor notoriety. He was just as happy to ignore others, if they chose to ignore him.

He did file the woman's face and features away in his memory, however, for future consideration. He hadn't shown much curiosity toward the others in his Cult, but that was rather shoddy of him, now that he thought a little more on the matter.

Always know one's opponent. Isn't that what he was constantly telling Astrid?

And speaking of his erstwhile apprentice...she slipped up to the table he had claimed with all of the grace of a sword fighter. She carried two drinks in her hands and Keelen considered them both as she stopped just out his arm's reach.

"Sit," his red eyes flickered up to hers and he motioned casually to the seat next to him.

That way, she could look out over the crowd with him, while they talked.

"And I see that you have learned the first basics of restraint," he settled himself down without waiting for her to join him - he knew she would and she would do so in her own time, without any need for him to loom over her every choice. "I am curious to know, however, what the young fool did to deserve a Sith's show of strength?"

[tenkalus]

Back at her Master’s side once more, Astrid was beckoned to sit in the chair beside him, facing the room. Strategic as always, she thought to herself. Keelen always would always choose to sit in a spot that offered the most advantageous view of a room. He liked to see the comings and goings and be able to see situations before the formed. That and having his back to a wall made sure no one could sneak up behind him. 

All of this, Astrid understood impeccably. She took the compliment offered to her in stride, such as it was. Restraint on her part was indeed progress. But that progress would be lost if she showed her excitement outwardly. That was also something she was learning as her time with Lord Keelen progressed. If you made it easy for your enemy to read you by your expressions, it was likely that you would lose. She was trying not to smile, but succeeded in only managing an awkward smirk.

She knew her place with Keelen. She knew that she was supposed to obey his every order without question. But the one thing she could not understand in that moment, threatened to shatter her world.

Why the hell hadn’t he chosen one of the drinks?! Whyyyyyyyyyyy…..

She sat beside him, champagne glass in either hand, and they remained there, hovering awkwardly in her grip as she sat ramrod straight a few inches away from the back of her chair. There was no table with which to set the glasses down before them. He had to take one.

Had. To.

Astrid knew that eyes were on her now, after the debacle with the Lieutenant. And she was acting like a smitten schoolgirl trying to impress a mentor. Truthfully, she didn’t see Keelen that way either, but it was hard for her to not want to impress him.

With that thought in mind, the young woman cleared her throat gently and adopted a more dignified facial expression. She relaxed her shoulders some but still sat up straight, prim and proper, as a lady ought to. A normal lady would cross her legs, but she was the student of a tactician, and a fighter. Crossing one’s legs meant that she would lose reaction time in having to untangle herself if she were to be attacked while sitting. So she simply placed both legs together and tilted them at a diagonal to the floor. Both arms retracted to her torso and she held her drinks idly.

She eyed the nearby company and realized that they were well within earshot. Briefly, she considered answering Keelen in Sy Bisti, just to keep their conversation private. But then, if Keelen had wanted it to be private, he would have done the same.

“That Lieutenant is drunk and came on to me. The insinuation in his suggestive nature was unbecoming of an officer, so I told him that. I have a problem with men who get grabby. Especially those who are supposed to represent a group greater than themselves, Master.”

Her explanation was concise, and factual. No embellishment whatsoe-

Hey, that other Strife Sith nearby had the same haridew as her. But that was weird because it was a Panathan traditional style. A glance down the woman’s person brought certain aspects to mind, narrow eyes, solid bone structure and of course the Panathan hairstyle.

“Hey do you think she’s Epicanthix?” Astrid asked mindlessly as she absently extended both drinks at arms length to her Master while staring at the woman in question.

[sparrow]

One of Zarene’s eyebrows arched upwards ever so slightly as the Chiss Sith gave his name, some long many-syllabled thing that she did not care to try to pronounce. The nature of full Chiss names was not unknown to her, and she decided that the man was obviously trying to be deliberately difficult by declining to give his Core name or his Sith name that he would have received with his Praetor rank. As such, no further response from her was needed. As for the name, she made a mental note to herself to look it up later.

As the Chiss made his bow and went off to his table, Zarene’s attention was grabbed by the commotion that was going on at the far side of the room. Observing the girl who was at the center of it, Zarene noted her features and dress. A Panathan style. Perhaps… It was too far to tell for certain at this distance.

Zarene thought she had seen her enter earlier with the Chiss, and wondered if they were master and apprentice. Her suspicion was quickly confirmed when girl came striding over with a glass in each hand, taking a seat at the Chiss’s table next to him. Now that she had come closer and Zarene could get a better look at her face, she could now tell that the girl was indeed also an Epicanthix.

Apparently the girl had had the same thought as she sat in her chair in a stiff pose, still holding to the two glasses. She’s staring at me, Zarene thought to herself. Weiiiird…. And talking about me… as if I’m not even here.

This is getting too awkward…. “<<The answer is yes, by the way,>>” she finally said in Epicant. If the girl was what she thought she was, then she’d understand.

[Rabbit]

Keelen stifled a sigh - his apprentice was fortunate that he Sensed so much raw potential in her. Otherwise, her unexpected moments of acting precisely like a teenage girl on the cusp of womanhood would irritate him like nothing else ever had.

The Chiss distracted himself from her inane babbling, by considering the drinks she still held in her firm grasp. After a moment of consideration, he decided that one looked like champagne, which really wasn't his thing. The other one - the deep red one - was intriguing. At the very least, red suited him. He took the glass and sipped it as he tried to catch up with where Astrid's train of thought had jumped to next.

After a brief moment of silence, in which he had started to lift the flute to his lips, Keelen realized that Astrid had asked about the female Sith sitting on the opposite end of the alcove from them. He turned his head ever so slightly to frown disapprovingly at his apprentice.

"It's rude to talk about anyone like they're not present, but doubly so for a Lord or Darth of the Sith," he chided quietly.

It wasn't his style to correct in public, but really, Astrid hadn't left him much of a choice, considering. Had she really been a slave for so long, that she had failed to grasp even the basics of social etiquette?

The answer to that, would certainly be yes, he thought to himself with an internal groan.

Not only was it his job to teach her how to be a Sith, but he would have to impart a good dose of Chiss manners to her, too. Keelen hadn't really bothered to learn any of the other social and cultural etiquettes around him in his time outside of Ascendancy space, but he had observed enough to know that a lot of things were simply universal. He had also observed enough to conclude that when it came to etiquette, few had it over the Chiss. If he taught Astrid at least half of his own social norms, she'd be the politest Sith in the whole damn Empire.

He took a sip of the drink she had gotten for him...and was momentarily distracted by how good it was. It was, quite possibly, the smoothest drink he'd had since leaving Copero. It had a tart flavor - which was one of Keelen's favorite taste profiles - but was also just the faintest touch of sweet. He could tell that it was made of a mix of several different alcohols, but it had been blended with considerable skill. His regards to the bartender, for certain.

And to Astrid, who had chosen rather wisely. Champagne was a safe choice, but he did wonder what had prompted her to choose the red one he now held. Mixed drinks were notoriously individual, when it came to appealing to pallets and tastes.

He resolved to ask her about her decision making process later. His attention was now turned toward the female Sith, who was speaking a language he didn't know, and seemingly toward Astrid. Keelen assumed, in response to her uncouth question.

He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as he took another sip and kept quiet...for the moment. He wasn't keen on another Sith usurping his position and correcting his apprentice in his place. The Chiss glanced briefly toward Astrid, then back at the Sith who's name he still didn't have.

It didn't sound like she was berating Astrid... So, for the moment, Keelen leaned back in his chair and quietly enjoyed his drink, thus giving his apprentice silent permission to address her superior in kind.

[Rugs]

As the conversation turned to things he had little personal interest in, with his message to Zarene delivered, Aurelius stood from the table and drifted away into the crowd that filled Solis’ manor. His path took him by another servant carrying a tray of green drinks on a golden platter, which he plucked without a second glance.

Again, his hopes of slipping through the crowd unnoticed were dashed as little lordlings and people who thought themselves far more important than they truly were vied for his attention. Aurelius waved them away, or directed them to contact his office directly with their problems.

He wasn’t so blind as to miss them scrambling for a Darth’s favor like hounds of a scrap of meat in the street. Too bad for them that their Imperial betters were aboard Renata’s Yacht.

After a few annoying minutes, he made his way to a staircase, guarded by a pair of men who let him pass with deep bows.

A short trip later, and he was walking onto Solis’ observation deck, raising his glass in greeting.

“Solis,” he said. “It’s been some time, brother.” Aurelius smiled, earnestly, for his Zelosian friend as he came to stand beside him. The view from above was more to Aurelius’ liking. No annoying people yapping at for his attention.

“Quite a party you’ve thrown here.” He lifted the green cocktail, which was nearly gone. “Good shit, by the way. I’ve never been one for parties, though.” It was hard to shake his upbringing. Years on the street, of hard living, bred an inherent mistrust of others. The Sith Order had only refined it.

“But look at us,” he motioned at Solis, and at himself, at the finery they both wore. “Wasn’t that long ago that we were beating down the gates of Bak’Mral. And now we’re like gods to them. By the Empress’ generosity, of course.” He raised his glass in a toast of sorts, grinning wryly at Solis. A spark of mischief touched his eye as he downed the last of his drink. “I only wish the Noghri could be here. I almost miss him sometimes.”