A Memorable Evening

[Jason Russard]

(*Posters - please see note in OOC forum re: this Thread, thx)




THE RUSSARD ESTATE - 1.00 AM

The alarm ships dodged and weaved in the night sky, their narrow escapes from the hail of burning meteoric rock raining down from the heavens were a marvel of the Empire's technological creativity, mobile automated craft distributing information and direction to the Imperial Citizens below. The un-manned vessels broadcast tinny voices to the populace, warning all to stay in the shelter of buildings and basements until the barrage of Mother Nature abated. As if the populace couldn't figure that pearl of wisdom out for themselves. The warnings had come too late for alot of individuals. A large spread of Imperial Centre was already a-fire from the Asteroid shower - an uncommon yet not unheard of event - that had struck with almost no warning. A freak of nature that took Coruscant unawares and would go down in the history books as one of the worst meteor storms of the era. It had certainly thrown a damper on the party - a fabulous event held at the Russard Estate to celebrate the new Empress, Miranda Tarkin. It was a gathering of the Galaxy's who's-who, the Rich, the Famous, the Important were well represented at the luxurious Russard Mansion -it was THE social event of the year and the notoriety and excitement of it had been building for weeks - was all the holovid news reports spoke of. Nothing had eclipsed it, or could eclipse it. Except, of course, the worst meteor storm in decades. It had started innocuously enough, one guest observing as a hot wind suddenly gusted, ruffling the curtain sheers of the french patio doors and blowing them forward roughly, "I say, isnt that a bit odd.."

Jason Russard stood beside Roger Phillips who was directing their very important guests down the staircase into the durasteel lined basement shelter. He spoke quietly, but urgently, for Rogers ears only, "Is everyone accounted for?"
They would be more than safe in the shelter, they would be comfortable. The basement being well stocked and furnished for a prolonged stay in case of disaster. The young man looked from his list up to his employer, his concern evident. Some guests had left before the storm had started, alot had not. "Well?" Jason demanded, not yet hearing the response he desperately wanted.
The night had started off so well. Russard heard the wall chrono chime 1am. A mere six hours ago, the night was just beginning and no one had any idea how things would turn.

*********************

SIX HOURS PREVIOUS:
8:00pm Russard Estate - Grand Hall



The band was playing a delightful melody, reminding Jason of his spring roses in the gardens. They would need attention soon, and he made a mental note to see Arthur, their groundsman, about it.

The guests had begun arriving fifteen minutes ago and Russard found himself rising to the occasion. He had not been in a very social frame of mind. In fact, the idea of entertaining and perhaps even deal-making (some of the guests specifically invited with that purpose in mind) had been a drain on his energy for four weeks. However, dressing in an expensive suit, sipping expensive chardonnay and enjoying the classic beauty of elegant music had shifted his spirit somewhat. It helped also that Estelle was here, a signifigant new friend with her - she always brought out the best in him, made life appear not quite so dire. Adelaide would be here soon, too. It would be the first time he had seen her since that awful Crei business. His stomach did an involuntary flip. Even after these months, the thought of seeing her still made him nervous to the point of nausea.

The house looked wonderful, fresh flowers on every ledge and flat surface, the tables decorated with crisp pale powder-blue tablecloths, accented with dark navy napkins and trimmed with the Imperial Insignia, every glass, dish, plate and utensil sparkled with the reflections of hundreds of candle-style lights. The french doors opened onto a large patio, the band set up on a small elevated platform halfway between so that guests could saunter in and out as they so chose, enjoying the warm evening air. Lanterns dotted the extensive grounds, showcasing the night blooms in their soft ambient glow. Beyond them, in the shadows, the security was out of sight, yet very present. Phillips had seen to that. The entire Estate was safe and secure by the best the Empire could provide.

Servers moved throughout the room, discreet and attentive, every worker eager to do their best - their way of honoring the new Empress. Jason took one last look around, content with the overall presentation. He wondered if the Empress would really come...there had been hints that she might. Wouldn't that be wonderful, he thought humbly to himself. Really, it would be wonderful.

[Old Man Russard]

The Old Man hooked a finger round the rim of his starched collar and tugged.

"Stop pulling at it, you'll smudge things" Lissel, his nurse of many years, chastened him as she eyed him reprovingly.

Russard grimaced and clamped his lips into a thin line. He never felt quite right in a suit, even after years of reconcilling to them as a necessary evil. They were too constricting for his fighter nature, he liked things loose, flowy, like baggy boxer shorts. He tugged again and got a slap on the wrist from Lissel, "Leave be, would you Mr. Russard"
Opp, it was her angry voice. Jason the Elder obeyed and dropped his hand to his side, he'd lost so many of these battles with Lissel before.

"Are they serving the Riuou' tonight?" Jason asked hopefully. Riuou' is a white fish from Kamino, very flavourfull and fleshy -one of the old man's favorites, yet one his diet had been denied for years for being too rich. Too much of a good thing...or so the doctor said, maniac.

"Mhm" Lissel replied, knowing how happy it would make the old man, "And you might even get some if you can manage to be polite to everyone tonight." Russard gave her his trademark smile, it was a killer and charmed the ladies every single time. "That wont work on me, Mr. Russard" Lissel scolded gruffly, "And I doubt it will work on many of those Imperial Officers either"

"Oh, you'd be surprised" Russard assured her with a wink and settled into his wheelchair for the trip down into the Grand Hall. Once downstairs, he would begin the evening standing with the use of his cane, but that would be too hard on him to do all night. But he was determined to manage for a while.

Entering the enormous dinning room, a server promptly handed him a crystal tumbler, his drink of choice a whiskey. He raised his glass to Lissel and smiled roguishly, "Riuou'"

[Estelle Russard]

Estelle had chosen a short-length dress, its hem falling just above the knee.

Traditionally, to these type of evenings she would wear a long gown of simple design - but tonight she had wanted to feel exactly what she was, young, happy and care-free.

Her life as a Rebel spy left her little to no time for such abandon and the feeling of non-responsiblity (at least on a scale that for her always measured in life and death) was a giddy feeling indeed. Not to mention she was flush with that indestructible sensation one gets when a new romance has blossomed, quite unexpectedly, with a man that is absolutely the stuff dreams are made of. She looked at Cristobal and as if he read her thoughts, he smiled broadly and even managed to blush a little under her stare. Oh god, he is gorgeous, Estelle twittered inside her own head.

She sipped tentatively at the Chardonnay, which was very, very good. She cautioned herself to drink s-l-o-w-l-y the memory of another night of wanting to feel some abandon with her partners Kazaar and Mili having not ended quite so well, was still very much in the forefront of her thoughts.
Speaking of whom, she looked about for them, wondering if either of them had come down from upstairs yet. Both would be here, under their pseudonyms, of course.

Tonight was a one in a million. A night where she could pretend at a real life, wearing a pretty dress of pastel lemon overlayed with delicate white lace and enjoy a party that had some of the most exciting guests Imperial Center had ever entertained.

It promised to be a wonderful night.

[Roger Phillips]

"Roger," Jason inclined his head at the approaching figure. "How are the guests? Has everyone arriving been accounted for?"

"Yes, Mr Russard, everyone is accounted for thus far." Roger Phillips, security and logistics specialist, former martial artist, charmer, promising businessman of sorts, all-around go-to man for the Russard family, and for tonight as well, chief security detail officer, handed over a datapad containing the list of arrived guests to his employer. "The Coruscant Sector Governor and his aide confirmed their attendance late today and I just finished delivering special instructions to the security to grant certain leeway to the personal guards arriving with him and his wife. Additionally, I have a waitress trained in serving certain royal personages on standby to be Empress Tarkin's personal attendant should she she make an appearance. The food is served, the guests are enjoying themselves, and sir?"

Jason looked up from the list. "Yes Roger?"

Roger smiled; a smile not rogueish for there was little rogue in the man, but the twinkle in his eye spoke volumes. "Thank you for coming. Please enjoy our hospitality for tonight and don't let the business of coordinating the evening suck you in."

The Younger Russard smiled; Roger somehow saw through the calm front he portrayed to the antsy, uncertain man beneath. Instead of acknowledging the comment, he turned the conversation in another direction. "That's a nice suit, Roger. Is it new?"

Roger's smile broadened. "Yes, it is. A gift from your father for this evening, I believe. Including the cufflinks; ornate oropearls with this kind of shimmering quality are very rare Kaminoan exports I hear. Speaking of which, I need to see a man about a fish. If I may?"

His employer waved him off, and off Roger went. His first stop lay with the kitchen where he met with the Riuou chef long enough for the other to provide him with a covered silver platter as Roger'd previously arranged for. Leaving the kitchen, he cast about the hall until he spotted the figure of an older gentleman in an archaic-style wheelchair chatting with a matronly female Twi'lek. To that pair he strode, greeting them each with a cheerful 'Evening!' as he neared them.

"Roger" the two said in unison.

"Mr Russard, thank you for coming," Roger said, uncovering the dish and proffering its contents. "The chef prepared this Riuou dish specially for you. I know your diet typically prohibits you from eating this," (here he glanced at Lisell), "but the chef would be most upset if you didn't enjoy at least a little of it since he considers it a specialty of his."

The Older Russard 'hmphed', but the sight of the fish brought a smile to his eyes that he couldn't hide. "Leave it with me," he said gruffly. "I'll try and eat a bite or two."

"Of course," Roger set the platter into a special hooked slot on each of the wheelchair's armrests where it would act as a mini-table for the purpose of eating. "Let the nearest server know if you need anything, though I hope you'll find all you need right there."

"Nice suit, Roger," the Old Man said, already beginning on the fish. "Very well-tailored."

"Yes, the mystery gift," Roger replied, momentarily posing for effect with both hands (and the cufflinks) in front of him. "Someone who knows my measurements, who can access fine clothiers, and who has excellent taste in cufflinks left it for me at my residence this morning. I decided it would look nice tonight."

"I dare say you might win over an unattached lady or two, Roger," the Old Man chuckled. "Don't you think so, Lisell?"

The Twi'lek made a small noise of exasperation at being drawn into this particular discussion and said nothing. After a moment, she relented and eyed Roger up and down. "You do look very sharp, Roger," she agreed.

Roger grinned. "You're too kind. Speaking of unattached ladies," he added. "I need to go see a woman about a compliment. If I may?"

"Shoo!" the Old Man said, waving him off. "And leave an old man in peace for a few minutes."

It didn't take long for him to spot Estelle Russard, however as he did so, the commlink in his ear beeped twice, indicating his presence was needed at the guest check-in. Undeterred by the voice passing a message to his ear, Roger made his way over to Estelle and the gentleman who was her escort for the evening. "Estelle," he greeted her with the warmth of an almost-brother and a quick hug. "It's so good to see you here tonight. I only have a moment right now as I'm needed downstairs, but I didn't want to pass by you without taking the opportunity to say hello. I hope to have a chance to catch up later in the evening. Sir, if you'll forgive me the impoliteness of a proper greeting, I promise to make it up later. Right now, I apparently need to see a lady about a midget. If I may?"

They both nodded their greetings and agreement. Roger left, out of the grand hallway, down a side stairwell, and into a small entry chamber where a small figure in a suit, sash, and top hat struggled against a security guard's grip. "Mr Phillips," the check-in greeter, a woman named Linda Markower, spotted him with relief and held up a small datacard. "This gentleman claims he's the Koprulu Sector Moff, and while he isn't on the list, he does have proper credentials."

"I'm sure he does Linda," Roger smiled and waved off the security guard and placed a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "I'd heard that the Sector Moff would be on Coruscant this weekend on business and was warned he may drop by unexpectedly. Though I must admit, while he's always been rotund and bald, to see him shorter than usual is very surprising. How did you manage to shrink three feet since we last spoke, sir?"

The small man froze in the act of brushing himself off and straightening his outfit. Apparently, he'd believed bluster and nice formalwear was the only requirement for attendance and genuinely hadn't expected to be caught. "Sir," he said formally. "While I'd like to thank you for coming, I'm afraid I can't. I'll have to excuse you so you can see a door about leaving. If I may?"

The small man nodded, visibly trembling. Roger grabbed him under the arms and lifted him off the floor; with a heave, the impersonator was thrown out the door and down the outside steps. An arriving couple "oh my"d and laughed as he flew by them.

Roger turned to the guard. "Make sure he sees his way out," he directed, then turned to the greeter and took the datacard from her outstretched hand. "This was likely stolen from the Moff himself; I'm fairly sure that was one of his staffmembers just now. I'll see to its proper return myself some time tomorrow."

Tucking the card inside his inner jacket pocket, Roger grinned at them both. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'd like to see a glass about a drink."

[Salem Ave]

The wine was good. On such occasions, the host would often begin the evening with a middling vintage, knowing full-well that the most respected guests had yet to arrive – but the glass in Salem Ave's grasp was above and beyond anything that flowed into the bejeweled goblets of Iziz Royal Palace. It would be the only glass the Prime Minister of Onderon drank that evening, so he savoured it while he could.

At present, the estate had a pleasant atmosphere. Conversation was not flowing freely just yet, but pleasantries and rumors of guests still to arrive were being exchanged throughout the party. Salem himself had managed to attract the attention of a middle-aged woman (the wife of some apparently important Moff) who was relieved to learn that he was not blind (“Put them out of their misery, I say!”) but quite clearly anxious at the revelation that he was not entirely human. She was chattering away, mostly to herself, about some injustice her son had suffered at the hands of filthy aliens masquerading businessmen, though after just about every unabashedly hateful remark she would make a rapid apology.

“Not that I mean to imply you would do any such thing, Mr. Ave. Your kind shares too much in common with your human cousins, I'd wager, to stoop to such villainy.. what was it you said you did, Mr. Ave?” she asked, peering up at him through half-moon spectacles, her lips puckered into a pout. Meeting her eyes, Salem smiled thinly.

“Oh, I don't want to bore you with that. Now, what was it you were saying about...” - he let the words trail away, knowing instinctively that she would pick up where he'd left off. The Moff's wife, it was clear, was a woman who quite happily would spend an evening talking about just one thing: herself. Whilst he had no interest in learning her life-story, the longer she talked at Salem the more she seemed to like him, and the greater the chance she would decide he was worth introducing to someone else.

Start at the bottom and work your way up, he thought, with another – this time genuine – smile.

[Vince]

He gave a small huff of amusement at the high-society article listing all those who were attending the soirée being thrown by the Russard family. The fickle nature of people at large was grating to the nerves of most of his colleagues, but Trix himself found it more amusing than anything else. Everyone desires to be rich and famous, or something trite like that. He tossed the datapad to the seat absently, and felt the speeder stop. The door opened quickly, and Trix stepped out of the car quickly, desperate to stretch his body out. A few of his joints popped as they realigned themselves for better movement, and he sighed in satisfaction.

It took only a few moments for him to make his way through the gates and into the estate of the Russard family. His dress uniform was freshly cleaned and well pressed. 'It might be a bit vain,' Trix thought to himself, 'but I clean up pretty well, don't I?'

He ignored the embarrassment of a short balding man who he could see was thrown out. Alas, if that should happen to him. But then, it would a good excuse for him to take off his jacket and find a nice pub or bar where formal wear and manners weren't so highly demanded.

Coming up to the doors, he gave a friendly smile to the bouncer and the greeter. “Hello,” he said with a nod, “I am Trix Idalix, and I've been invited.”

He dug into a pocket for his datacard, and pulled it out with a small flourish and a grin.

[Xavier Synik]

The limo glided through the air on it's way to the Russard estate near silently letting Xavier enjoy the scenery as it whizzed by. It was only his third or fourth time on Coruscant, but he never got tired of taking in the sheer magnitude of it, it was quite the place for so many reasons.

On this night however it was the place for some socializing. Something which he was not completely unfamiliar with, but something which he tended to avoid. And typically these were the ones he most often tried to avoid by booking some last minute business meeting on the same date. No, he was not entering his element that was for sure, though his tailored charcoal pinstripe 3 piece suit, white shirt and cobalt blue tie, no one would be the wiser to the fact that he would have preferred to be in a pair of slacks and a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves at the very most.

But he'd been convinced that this would be worthwhile. Turning away from window he looked at his companion in the back of the limo. She'd been the one to convince him that not only would declining the invitation have been social suicide, but that it made damned good business sense, and who was he to go against logic like that. Especially when the logic was coming from the person he not only shared the business with, but a bed with as well.

Reaching over he took her hand in his and brought it up to his mouth kissing the top of it lightly.

"Know I told you this about twenty times already, but you really do look beautiful tonight..."

His sentence was broken as the limo glided to a stop in front of the large mansion and the door was opened immidiately buy a servant. Stepping out Xavier took a brief moment to button the top two of the three buttons on his jacket before extending his hand downward to the open doorway for his companion.

[Eliessa Corta]

The Judge followed only a few feet behind Trix Idalix and shrugged when Adelaide, who was jostling along beside her, asked if she knew who he was. Both women politely ignored the scuffle of dwarf feet on the pavement as the security hastened the ejected intruder away from view.

Corta responded speculatively, "Could be one of those holovid stars" and allowed herself to be relieved of her wrap as she stepped inside the entrance, a young couple entering just before her. There was bound to be quite a number of guests Eliessa would not know by sight, but would most likely know by reputation.

Adelaide's head bobbed and weaved beside her, jockeying for a better peek before the young man disappeared into the party, "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, try not to be such a bumpkin, Adelaide" Eliessa scolded, though she was pleased to see signs of first real animation in Del since she had become her ward. "I have a reputation to keep and employer of starry-eyed nitwits is not a part of it. Now....." Eliessa discreetly swept the gathering with a cool look, "Who do we want to bump into..."

[Lykaios]

“Your transport is ready, sire.” The HRD’s pleasant voice interrupted her master’s thoughts briefly. All this time, she had stood there, watching him stare at his reflection for what seemed like hours unend. Were she organic, she might have wondered how much vanity could fit in a human being, but she wasn’t exactly a living being and he wasn’t exactly human either.

He wasn’t exactly being bane, perhaps part of him was, but the truth was far more simple and complex all in the same: What was invisible to others, he could see as clear as day. And so, in such important occasion, it would have been a crime for his attire to be presented in anything less than impeccable fashion.

Taking his time and with a very deliberate cadence, he made his way to the turbolift and then to the hangar bay, where Mixtli stepped into the pilot’s seat and awaited for her master to board the back of the luxurious vessel.

On his way to the Ruusard estate, he went through some of the names in the guest list (which had not been hard to obtain, most of the names had made their way to the holonet and were all over different holonews channels, coverage for the event had not been lacking for after all, this was the supposed to be the event of the year), putting faces to names and titles.

He did not intend to act as a know-it-all and pretend he was in the know and part of the high-society circles, after all he was still new to the Empire, instead he was simply avoiding to be caught off-guard. After all, he was sure that there would still be instances where he could be surprise, for nights of such frivolities were anything but dull.

Once the ship arrived at the gates of the Ruusard estate, Mixtli had been more than quick to make her way and open the shuttle’s door for her master. As he stepped out of the opulent shuttle, he buttoned the top two buttons of his expensive jacket. Mixtli then gave a small bow of her head and drove the ship off to where she would await for her master.

At the top of the stairs, he reached inside his left inner pocket and pulled out a fancy datacard, which he handed to the man standing just outside the door.

[Milivikal k'Vik]

"It's just a dress." Estelle had said. "You'll do fine."

Milivikal had stared at her with rare, wide eyed panic. Shit.

Milivikal, early in the day, had been given the dubious task of finding a garment appropriate for Estelle's family social event. Much biting of lower lip and fingers through hair had ensued. Milivikal protested several times to Estelle that she had no idea what she was doing. It fell on not deaf ears, but occupied ones. Estelle had family affairs to attend to. Kazaar was no help, and steadfastly refused to accompany her to the "zoo of walkin' pirhanas" of shopping and comerce. A dress had never been an issue in her life. When she attended formal functions, she would simply wear Jedi robes. It was accepted, and expected from the servants of the Force and the Guardians of the Republic. She couldn't wear robes in front of the captains of Imperial industry, much less in an era when the Jedi were a literal handful of individuals scattered to the winds. She needed to blend in, per Estelle's instruction.

So, she indulged in previously forbidden (and formely needless) interest. k'Vik engaged in her dangerous pursuit of beauty. The Russard's valet dropped her off at CoCo District's higher end shopping area. Kazaar was right, at least on the account of it being a zoo. Milivikal pulled on her sunshades from her jacket to shield her light eyes from the noon sun. She looked alien. Black slacks, white t-shirt hiding beneath a typical jacket a smuggler might wear. She missed her holster already. She reached inside her slack's pocket. Her fingers found a felt bag, it's single item reassured her.

Milivikal took a deep breath, and moved into the writhing belly of the beast. She was looking for dresses. She walked hurriedly, half-again as fast as the rest of the crowd. It was the only way she could diffuse her nerves. She encountered a multi-level monilith of commerce, Truhan's, which had 12 distinct floor, and innumerable departments. Half of the store's patrons were the moderately to stupendously wealthy shopping, and the other half were tourists. She stopped ten steps in, not exactly in the way, but not out of the way, either. Mili frowned, and pulled the shades off. She looked down. Even the floor was opulent: a high-quality imported granite. It was the same sort of opulence that she wondered about but never was allowed to explore. She shook her mind from the veined details of the expensive rock, and set about to find evening attire.

Store staff were everywhere. Mili walked up to one not presently occupied, at a cologne counter. The Bothan looked at her. She looked better suited for a dive in the Outer Rim than Coruscant's upper crust.

"Hello. Where might I find a dress?" Mili asked, voice uncertain.

"Seventh floor, miss." There was a veiled note of amusement in his voice. He doubted her ability to afford a dress, but looks could be misleading, and the best policy was to be unfailingly polite. Milivikal did not doubt the Russard's purchasing power. She wound her way up the starecase, also made of exotic stone with intricate, wrought metal railing. Women's fashion. She exited the stairs, and was immediately overwhelmed. There were hundreds of different dresses. She bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and started looking at the items on the nearest rack. Halfway through the first set of hangars, she hadn't found anything that looked remotely interesting. Some of the designs were the same shade, and she couldn't fathom why they'd be repeated twice.

A Rodian male walked behind her. His yellow skin and black markings floated above a well tailored suit. A pin with "Teneek" over his breast was displayed in stylized silver Aurabesh script.

"Do you need any assistance, Miss?"

"Yes. But I do have a question." Milivikal held aloft a pair of dresses with identical designs to her. "Why do you have two of the same dress?"

"One is pink, and one is light green, Miss."

"Oh." Milivikal's cheeks turned nearly the same shade of pink. She replaced the dresses. The associate made a mental note that Milivikal was colorblind.

"What is the occasion?"

"My co-worker is having a formal party. I haven't the faintest idea of what to wear." Mili said.

"Hrm. Take the jacket off." Mili obeyed. The shirt was fairly form-fitting. "Turn around now." Nervous, she did so.

"I don't think this will be a problem."

"Oh good." Mili said. At least someone thought so, and threw the jacket over her shoulder.

"You should get something to contrast against your complexion... hmm..." Teneek said, he wandered over to a rack, pulled a green dress out, glanced at Milivikal, and put it back. The process repeated several times, for the better part of a half-hour, until he stumbled across a black dress, with a dark blue print.

"Ooh." Mili said. It had a moderate back, a medium bust-line, and an asymmetrical design. It was a smooth downhill from there. Mili ended up with fashionable black boots with a 7 centimeter heel to match her new dress, and a strapless bra. Exhausted, she paid with the generous credit chit given to her by Estelle, and took the bags home. She could not fathom why anyone enjoyed shopping, and was determined to have a nap.

She'd been secretive around Estelle about the dress. Estelle was curious, but far too busy to give Mili real pressure about it.

She crept up behind her partner, her footfalls silent.

"How do I look?" She asked softly.

[Emelie Shadowstar]

It was one of those knowing half smirks that Xavier's words were met with, just about the only thing that could be done to hold back the instant want to make some crack about how she was ditching the look as soon as this was all over with. The look however, was important. Of all the things she wanted to accomplish that night, of all the possibilities, her standing out that evening wasn't on the list. It wouldn't have been hard, Emelie had more than enough elegant though risque dresses in bright green that combined with her preferred hair color made her able to be seen from across the room in just a simple glance. And if this had been any other social event, she probably would have gone for it. But no, this wasn't about her, and rumors (and even confirmations) on some of the guests expected to be about made Emelie very aware of the fact she had to, for once in her life, blend in...mostly. A compromise in her sensibilities was met first with a change that had been the most reluctant, the bright orange and pink tresses being changed (Dear god, thank you only temporarily) to brunette. After her hand had slipped from his, fingertips had retreated to twisting around one of the softly curled strands and she found herself mulling over just how strange it was to see it such a shade. The dress she wore on the other hand...green had been ditched for a deep blue, and while it was considered among the more modest of things she now owned, the cut of the halter style dress still left little to the imagination. Her favorite part of it perhaps being the back, which dipped down low enough to reveal the corset-like laced ribbon that most would assume was part of the gown but upon closer inspection would show that rather the bit of fabric was laced between two rows of rings that pierced through the skin of her lower back. Let the upper class have a good talk of that one... It would have to do, if Emelie felt anymore in disguise, she'd have trouble not using one of her aliases rather than her actual name throughout the evening and that kind of slip up would be costly.

Emelie allowed herself one last moment of "Ai ya tian a...if I can survive this night, I'm finding the first dive I can run to and having a bottle of the local rocket-fuel. Then it's off to The Bastel...Wonder if solider-boy would be up for shots, sure Xi would get a kick of the two of us trying to beat each other again..." as their ride arrived at the Estate and then she forced herself to take a deep breath before placing her hand into her companion's and stepped out.

The change was subtle in her, going from those small nervous ticks she had to having that air about her of a young wealthy socialite without a care in the world. Emelie took note of those arriving at the same moment they were, seeing them as nothing more than faces she'd have to put to names already running about in her mind for the moment. Like the others datacards were presented to prove their identity before they were granted access to the Estate, and quickly thereafter the Grand Hall. A glass of Chardonnay was quickly found (she'd stay away from the harder stuff...for now but gods the wine was amazing.) and for the moment she stayed at her partner's side. Being among the Imperial elite was a moderately uncomfortable notion and until she managed to acclimate Emelie found herself perfectly happy to remain by Xavier.

[Sanya Tagge]

A sleek, silver bullet of a speeder conveyed another two of the evenings guests towards the Russard estate. As he navigated the busy lanes of evening traffic, the driver spared a glance into the rear-view mirror at his passengers. On the left sat a young blonde in a outfit that held his eye a little longer than was politely appropriate, and on the right was a pilot in full, blue dress uniform, his head stooped some to avoid bumping against the roof. Throughout the journey, they had scarcely spoken a word to one another. The blonde gazed wistfully out of the speeders tinted windows, whilst her companion repeatedly smoothed the creases from his starch-pressed trousers or tugged at his jackets' cuffs.

“Please, stop that.” Slightly startled, the driver quickly looked away from the mirror. Yet, the scolding was not meant for him.

“You look very handsome, Cael,” Sanya observed, with a clinical appraisal of her chaperon's clean-cut military garb. “But all of this fidgeting like a child isn't becoming in the least.”

Bathala – feeling like a well-tailored mannequin - gave a nod and coughed, clearing his throat. Sanya watched as he laid his hands just above his knees, obviously in an effort to keep himself from fussing, though this new manner of sitting just made him look, awkwardly, like he was trying to not to move. Suppressing a sigh, Sanya returned her attention to the Coruscant skyline, allowing silence to fill the speeder once more as she reassured herself that at least she wasn't set to spend the evening with the Moff Yeart Quenn.

By the time they arrived, the party had gotten off to an excellent start. The crowds of lesser nobility parted graciously as the Imperial Minister of Truth and her rather dashing guest moved towards the main gathering. Judging by the hush in conversation and the looks on the faces around her, choosing Cael Bathala as her companion for the evening had not been a mistake. At six foot four, he cut a striking figure, and as both a military man and a local celebrity - with a surprisingly easy smile - he was just the kind of sympathetic accessory Minister Tagge needed.

[Nya Halcyon]

"Osi'kyr!" she mumbled, faintly, and felt a blush creep onto her face.

One curse away from dumbstruck she stared at the stranger opposite her. Out of the mirror in her employer's spacious 'fresher the stranger looked back, equally wide-eyed and horrified. A hand lifted to touch the golden-red curls on the other's head - just as her own was doing - then moved down to run a fingertip over the stiff black collar, and from there followed the hem down to her chest, where the black netting met. Another hand moved, to join the first as they ran across the thicker weave on each hip.

This couldn't be her.

It felt like her own mirror image was some kind of alien creature, mocking her. All her life she'd hidden behind her armour, or at least a black body suit. Now there was nothing but a thing layer of tovan silk, and the black lace netting between her and the world, and she felt... naked. Uncomfortable. So completely not like herself.

"Whew!" a low whistle came from behind her and she turned abruptly into that direction and... then turned back, the blush on her face deepening. She couldn't meet Caran's eyes as he came to stand behind her. She could feel his eyes on her almost bare back, lasers burning holes into her.

For a moment she had the surreal sensation of something fluttering inside her stomach, and the beating of her own heart sounded like drums inside her head - then it passed as she tried to understand it, and left her bewildered.

What is happening to me?

It had been his idea, that dress. She didn't know where he'd got it from, nor what she needed to wear it for - he'd not told her anything other than to show up for work at a later time this day. It had taken him a while to convince her to put it on - it was for a job, he'd claimed; but somehow she didn't believe that, not truly. No job she'd ever done for him had needed her putting on different clothes.

"Now will you tell me where we are going... please?" she asked, and found that her voice sounded feeble, and shy.

But he just grinned at her image in the mirror. And reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, another on her arm; with an assertive pull, she found herself facing him.

For a moment her eyes met his. And almost stumbled, as her knees suddenly seemed to have turned to jelly. A sinking sensation in her stomach, she looked away, forced herself to keep whatever cool she'd still retained.

He had used the time while she was getting dressed to do the same. As she avoided his face, she focused on his own outfit: he'd put on a very formal looking neo-modern trenchcoat above what at first glance looked like his everyday wear but turned out to be a two-piece suit to match the coat. Not that she understood much of these things, but it seemed he'd taken care to make them both look at the height of current fashion.

It could not be a "job", surely not!

She'd never felt less sure of herself. What crazy scheme was he getting them into, that necessitated pulling her so completely out of her element?

"You're just going to have to wait and see," he said, and grinned in a way that she didn't appreciate at all. Then he very formally offered her his arm - causing her to blush with embarrassment again, because it took her a second to realise that that was what he was doing - and after she'd nervously taken it, he led her out of the 'fresher back into her bedroom, and then out of that, also. Casting a glance back into the room as the door irised shut behind them, she saw her discarded blasters and knives lying there, and suddenly realised with all the clarity that her force-imbued senses could lend her that it was indeed a mistake to leave them behind.

But his grip on her arm was relentless, and she'd already been told not to try and hide anything underneath the folds of the dress (if that had been at all possible).

"Can't you tell m-" she started to ask again, as they took the lift up to the landing platform that housed his speeder. "No," he cut her off, his voice now almost unfriendly, and she noticed an edge to it, something she hadn't noticed there before.

So she just stood there, and let herself be led, first out of the turbolift, then into the speeder which had already been prepared for departure. A human male who wasn't his family's usual driver was at the front, acknowledging them with a nod before initiating lift-off. And all this time, she was watching Caran from the corner of her eyes, trying to see beyond the obvious, trying to feel for the meaning of it all.

There was something gleeful, something lurking, in his mannerism. Something dangerous. For some reason she got the impression of him playing with fire, as yet unsure whether it would burn him or not. Or burn her??

What did it mean?

[Aurelias Kazaar]

Kazaar was standin' near o'balcony smirkin' his eyes off. Was pretty frackin' funny watchin' all th'guys'n dames prance 'round in their special outfits'n all. Pretty frackin' funny. People all playin' pretend. 'Least Birdy an' th'Kid looked good. Even if she'd brought 'long a playmate.

Kazaar wasn't th'kinda guy t'play dress up, but he still hadda couple nice suits from 'is time wit' Ash and Delly. Didn't wear th'suit Delly gave 'im much, wasn't really th'kinda thing he wanted t'remember. Th'suit Ash'd given 'im...that had some pretty good mem'ries. He smirked despite 'imself as he remembered. 'Specially that one time on Bakura where they had t'attend some Cosmic Balance event. That'd been a helluva lotta fun. 'Course th'suit'd been damaged inna firefight two years ago so he couldn't wear that. Hafta get it repaired an' Kazaar didn't have time f'that. Not with Rebel Intel crawlin' with spies. Th'wrong kinda spies.

So that left th'suit he'd worn at he'n Delly's wedding. Coulda sworn it'd been thrown away, hell Kazaar knew he'd tossed it out at Spenny's place once. Damned info junkie musta slipped it back in The Dutchman when he wasn't lookin'. Frackin' Spendrim.

When he'd slipped th'dark brown over 'is white shirt, Kazaar could smell th'old memories. Standin' on Brentaal gettin' hitched. Times they'd spent in th'back o'his speeder watchin' th'stars (an' other things). Happy 'n good times. Yeh frackin' right. He still couldn't get th'look on Delly's face when she killed Crei outta 'is head. Frackin' Crei. 'Least he didn't t'worry 'bout that anymore.

Dammit Spenny why th'frack ya hafta save this damn suit. Why th'frack did Kazaar even hafta wear it. Woulda been easier t'go out'n buy a new one, but Kazaar wasn't that kinda guy. Suit fit so 'e wore it. Bad mem'ries'n all.

Back in th'present, Kazaar took o'puff offa his mild (at th'Kid's request) cigar'n watched th'crowd 'gain. Since he was Estelle's bodyguard he was able t'keep 'The Twins' with 'em. Just had t'hide 'em better. He was pretty sure Milivikal had 'er own weapon hidden somewhere in that form-fittin' dress. 'Course, he knew she wouldn't let 'im figure out where it was, but that th'price ya pay f'invitin' ya partner 'long. Even if she wanted th'other one.

His eyes caught Jason th'Younger'n they nodded at each other. He was pretty frackin' happy 'bout th'night. Th'Kid was pretty frackin' happy f'other reasons too (Cristobal). Who knew what Birdy was thinkin', but Kazaar bet she was still hopin' t'steal th'Kid away from Cristobal. Another smirk. Who knew if that was gonna happen. Dames were pretty frackin' strange creatures.

'Least their dresses were nice.

[Adelaide Kasperian-Kazaar]

Adelaide had become separated from Eliessa quickly, the older woman being pressed upon by some eager lawyer trying to impress her with his credentials, and failing miserably, had cornered her over by the band and was as yet ignorant that he was doing more harm than good to his career by such a clumsy effort.

A passing server offered her a glass of chardonnay, which Del declined, asking for a soda water mixed with lime instead. She tried not to, but Adelaide couldn't stop herself from looking around for Aurelias. She'd told herself to finally let that ship pass, to relinquish the hope she still held out for a reconcilliation between them - but found it impossible to do so. She missed him. More than she had ever missed him when Bren was...was alive. The holovid screen idol walked passed her, though she thought that might be an incorrect assumption on her part as she saw now that Trix was wearing a uniform.

Across from her, engaged in conversation with a young man who appeared to be showing off his cufflinks, was Jason Russard. He hadn't seen her yet and the shy little wave she had given went unnoticed. To her left, the Old Man Russard had been waiting for her to look his way, a knowing smile tugging faintly at the corner of his lips as he gestured back a small wave of his own. So, not completely unnoticed.

Glad to see the Elder Russard, Adelaide wove her way over join him where he stood, leaning on his cane - his Twi'lek nurse Lissel standing close beside him. Lissel greeting her warmly.

"You look good" the Old Man said, "The hair is not so..." he couldn't find the polite phrase for "alarmingly awry' - the only descprition that fit her appearance at their last meeting.
Adelaide laughed, "Yes, I am slightly improved since you last saw me, Mister Russard" she said, fighting back sudden tears of appreciation that threatened to overwhelm her, she leaned forward and hugged the Old Man tightly. "Thankyou for all you've done" she whispered into his ear. Jason patted her lightly on the back, relieved that the choices he had made some months earlier to place her in The Judge's care had been so evidently rewarded.

Adelaide withdrew atlast from her embrace and her eye caught a familiar sight - one that threw her back about ten years and kicked her in the guts like a wild Nerf. Kazaar had just stepped in from the balcony and back to their wedding day. Adelaide blanched when she saw him, recognizing the suit...what did he mean by wearing that? Did he want her back? Was that his way of saying so, so blatantly and for everyone to see? Or was he just trying to be cruel?

"Adelaide!"
It was Jason the Younger stepping up beside her, "You look lovely. Its wonderful to see you!" He took her hand and kissed it politely. Adelaide turned a shocked face to him and blinked dumbly, and to Jason's obvious disappointment, said unenthusiastically, "What?"

[Aurelias Kazaar]

What th'frack was she doin' here? Son of a frackin' bitch! Kazaar cursed multiple times as he saw 'is ex-wife walk into th'ballroom. Frackin' Russard. Why th'frackin did ya not mention that Delly was gonna be here. Too busy hopin' t'get into 'er pants?!?

Kazaar made o'beeline f'the outside, leavin' a smoke trail lika o'freighter with a bad motivator.

Frackin' Russard. He sure as hell wasn't gonna approach Delly wearin' this suit. Kazaar started t'look f'someone t'get a hold o'Russard so he could wring his frackin' neck.

"'Ey Rog." Th'former bounty hunter almost spun th'butler 'round as he walked by. "Grab ya boss. I gotta talk t'im. Now."

[Vince]

Trix smiled. Sometimes, it was good to go to parties like this, simply for the feeling of being ignored; while he loved his fans (it still sometimes boggled his mind that people liked him especially), their enthusiasm for his person got annoying after a few minutes. Thankfully, he was (and he had no problem admitting it) filler for the more important people that had arrived. The men would send their wives over to talk to him while they made deals and intrigues, and some men would speak to him about odd things while they waited their turn to make their own deals. Still, he prided himself on never giving a disingenuous smile no matter the circumstance.

'It's like a system,' he thought to himself blandly, sipping at a glass of champagne. He made his way to Jason the Younger (he idly debated why the family didn't use numerals in their names, 'Jason II' made for a much easier speaking experience, in his opinion) to thank him for the invitation. Perhaps then he could try and find Cael, whom he could have sworn to have seen at the side of Sanya Tagge not five minutes before.

“...You look lovely. It's wonderful to see you!”

Trix stopped short as one of the hosts of the evening greeted a pretty young woman, though sadly he missed the name. Her reaction to Jason's greeting was a bit amusing though, a simple and rather unenthusiastic “What?”

He could wait, he decided with a grin. He drained the glass of champagne, and found it replaced by a waiter. He nodded and thanked the young man before sipping off the carbonated drink and enjoying his relative isolation.

[Estelle Russard]

Estelle had recognized the voice sure enough, Mili having lately become a welcome daily staple in the young Rebel's life, so it was with some degree of expectation that Russard turned in response to k'Vik's soft-spoken question, "How do I look?"

"Oh! Mili!" Estelle's eyes had grown as large as quail-eggs and danced delightedly as she took in her partner's appearance. "You look stunning!"

"Miss Grey," Cristobal chimed in, "You'll capture every heart here." He added with a small half-bow, "We are at your mercy."

Estelle was constantly being surprised by Milivikal - her capacity to adapt to any occassion was amazing, as tonight proved yet again. Transformed from the rapier-toting lethal killing machine of their past missions into this evenings' woman of elegant and sophisticated style was enough to unbalance even the most level-keeled individual. Estelle was open in her admiration.

"You are very beautiful, Mili. You take my breath away"

[Cora V'al Counis]

"Have you seen Caran anywhere?"

Cora asked, as casually as she could make it, while sipping champagne from a crystal flute and watching that dishy holovid-star Idalix languidly doing the same. She considered going over to him for a word on his latest, but since she couldn't recall what its title had been, she was unsure yet whether that would be a wise choice. What was it someone had told her about him...?

Her husband Getar, CEO of the Counis Corporation and head of a long line of nobles, seemed equally preoccupied as he stood there next to her, with his arm around her waist. "'Said he'd be here a bit late," was his reply when it eventually came, just as she'd begun to wonder if he'd heard her at all. Then he chuckled under his breath.

Cora stole a curious glance at her husband, who seemed as always completely oblivious to the state of her emotions concerning her son. "'Think he means to make an impression, coming late. Not that it'll do him much good, with this crowd."

A thin wisp of his scraggly grey hair was standing off in a tuft behind his left ear again, and Cora reached out and smoothed it down for him. Out of the corner of her mouth she risked another question, "Did he tell you who he's taking?"

But her husband's attention was finally completely pulled off her; he disentangled his arm from around her, and started walking off, at a slow but steady pace, towards Jason Russard who he seemed to have noticed at last.

With a sigh, Cora put her champagne flute down onto the tray of a passing server, but didn't bother to pick up a new one. Considering the possibilities for her son's choices of females to take to this party was keeping her mind temporarily occupied, and off thinking about her other worries. She was hoping it would be this new assistant Getar had told her about - she'd seen and heard much about the young lady, so naturally she was curious...

With a frown she started nervously playing with the buttonholes on her light overcoat. This was the first of such occasions that she and her son had not come together, and she missed his familiar presence by her side, his conversation, his delightful sarcasm with which he would have made it tolerable for her to stand here like this without her husband by her side, feeling very much abandoned.

If only there was some way to talk sense into the boy...

Her mouth felt dry; so she started moving into the direction of a server who obligingly met her halfway. Holding a full glass, she tried to push misery away from her for the sake of the evening, but knowing what was to come - or rather, what wasn't - she failed quite badly.

[Santiago Cristobal]

"Indeed she is very beautiful." Santiago smiled as he handed Estelle a glass of champagne. There was one for himself all ready. The Rebel took a moment to kiss Milivikal's hand, then gave Estelle's hand a kiss as well. "Hello Miss Grey. It is good to see you."

Milivikal only gave a slight acknowledgment of Santiago, she was too enamored with Estelle to be bothered. The acting Sub-Director of Analysis' mind flashed briefly on wondering what a strange woman Milivikal was but didn't hold onto it for too long. Estelle was turning towards her father, Jason The Younger.

"Father, this is Santiago Cristobal. We met on Naboo during my business trip there."

"Hello Mister Cristobal." Jason gave a friendly handshake. "What were you doing on Naboo?"

Santiago's smile seemed almost sheepish. "I'm a financial analyst for Venthan Chassu's estate. The education side of it. I go from art institute to art institute and look and see which artist deserves a scholarship. From there we take them to Selonia where they receive additional training from his apprentices.

"It's not as exiciting as running an entire corporation, but I do enjoy it."