The Baroness Executrix

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

This was a bit of a gamble, the preamble to the actual gambling. What wager would be more than a trifle, but less than a hardship to a middling royal? Too low, and she'd insult his sensibility and waste his time. Too high, and a loss could cause resentment, or affect his allowances.

"Fjive thoussand forr the match?"

Her ears raised slightly, awaiting his decision.

[Royston Basillie]

He hesitated only for a moment, just long enough to think about her offer. It was much higher than he had expected. Five thousand, for a single game of Ringer. He had more than the funds to cover that. In fact, his father had recently increased his allowance. Something about being proud of him finally getting a real job working in the Senator's office and improving himself and his relationship with his constituents. However, not everyone was a wealthy Duke to be with golden parachutes coming out their ears. This was a nice park in a wealthy district, but that did not mean that everyone who played here was royalty with a bag of rubies in their pockets.

Killian could not even afford that slick Palpatine-Youth hair cut he was sporting, much less a five thousand credit bet.

That meant this woman had money, had connections, had something she was holding in reserve. More than just a pretty face. True, she be like him and just be born into money. That was still something. Money was money, even if you did not earn it. Not as fun, in his opinion. There was a certain extra tactile joy from knowing you had generated wealth yourself. He had spent years trying to accomplish just that, to fairly tangible failure. Never a bad idea, only a bad outcome.

"Five thousand, is that all? Very well. Would you like the first pitch, Rai'faani?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

"Alwajyss." Rai'faani's smile was clean confidence. "jI prreferr to sset the terrmss."

Her disc satchel opened with a wave of her hand, and she thumbed through a stack of a half dozen different-shaded discs. Drawing one with a clear center and a vivid orange band, the heiress spent a moment feeling the disc's weight, flexibility, and contour as she picked her targets. The field of rings in a game of ringer reset after every match, so there was never the chance to sharpen your approach with one guaranteed strategy, but the rough ideas were all still the same. Did you trust yourself to take a longer shot down the course for a higher points gain immediately, or did you try and lock out the more sure bets up close, possibly coming away with a combo?

Rai set aside her satchel, pacing within the shooter's box at the head of the course. Royston's friends were already seated under the pavilion having drinks service, but it was clear that their attention wasn't on their own conversations. They were interested in the match, and from the sound of it, placing their own money on the outcome among themselves.

A slight breeze picked up, cooling against her skin. Rai crouched down to pinch two fingers worth of dirt from the shooter's box, and as she stood she let the dirt go, mindful to see how it fell. She paced the box one more time, pausing when it appeared she'd found her angle. Spreading her feet apart slightly, she let her disc fly, easily scoring the ten point ring, but also the 15 point ring a few meters back and to the left. Her disc caromed off the inside rim, but rebounded to pass through.

Pleased with herself, Rai surrendered the shooter's box to her opponent with a bow that bordered playful and polite, and gestured for the waiter at the pavilion who was handling drinks service.

[Royston Basillie]

"Bravo. An excellent throw."

The words came out delayed, as he suddenly remembered that he was participating and not merely the observer he had almost just resigned himself into being. It was hard to take his eyes off the creature. She seemed to play the part of the delicate heiress seeing the sights of a foreign city while on a trip; and yet the moment that terms were agreed upon and the match started, she shed that soft fur coat and there was a creature of steel beneath. Clearly she was more practiced than he would have given her credit at first glance. Testing the air flow, carefully selecting from a collection of high end discs, and then delivering an almost textbook opening throw. Not a professional, thank the gods, but definitely someone who was used to more competitive sports.

While they tried their level best to embarrass each other, there was rarely a time that him and the boys were actively trying their hardest to win. This was going to require much more effort than he ever wanted to put into it. How droll.

Jorgio had collected up all the discs from the previous game and had them stacked up on a bench. The discs were weathered and beaten from hundreds of hours of play and were hardly as well maintained and professionally milled as the ones being played by Rai'Faani. He had a nice set, back at home, but those were for far fancier social gatherings or the very rare game of honor. Still, he knew these discs quite well. They were worn and broken in. Familiarity was an edge he had, especially playing on his own field. The hoops moved but there was only so many configurations possible. Roy and his friends were very fond of slacking off and day drinking, and thus spent a lot of time on this field. It was a choice better than the hobbies he'd participated in during his more seedier years.

Taking the shooters box he was immediately tempted to shoot high but there was something to be said about working your way up to it. Holkum's text on Gentlemanly Ringer said as much; that the progression up the rings gave for better control and accuracy bred with smaller successes to calm one's nerves. Rotating the disc in his hand he found the familiar groove worn in it from a thousands pitches that he could dig his fingertip into and, with a cock of his arm, he let the disc fly, and it sailed straight through the 30 point ring. It was not as impressive a throw as Rai'faani's, but it was a quick, straight forward ring to get the points evened out in his favor. The angle of the hoop had offered some challenge, but curving in a disc was his strongest suit. A straight shot, he found, was far more difficult.

Turning he gave a slight bow of his head and wide gesture of his hands to simulate the end of his turn and surrender of the box.

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

The moments with Royston's attention focused on the rings allowed Rai'faani to keep unfettered attention on him. He had a fit physique without looking overly-so. The sharpness of his features combined with the aristocratic posture and demeanor that suited a man of his station. For someone so accustomed to having whatever and whoever she wanted, there was something so appealingly rare about this specimen in front of her. It would be easy to be distracted, save for a larger understanding of why she was here. But as long as she didn't lose sight of that, why not entertain an indulgence?

Rai sipped her drink, and noticed the attention of the other well-birthed gentlemen wasn't so much on the man in the shooter's box, but was instead on her. She paid them a glance only, her expression polite but not engaged. Her mother's lessons on Taltimant seemed absurdly on point. When hunting game, focus on the one you want in the herd, and don't get distracted on the ones who are simply there.

Royston's form and technique were every bit as good as her own, but he also didn't expose himself to more risk than he should. He too played for the best points he could near-certainly take. Taking the thirty point ring was the best value for a single shot currently on the field, given the chance to net points, leaving Rai'faani to play at a slight deficit.

They continued to trade rounds. She took 25 points, he took 20. He took 40, she took 35. In a virtual dead heat, Rai mopped up the easy five points at the fore of the field, almost as a dare to see where Royston would play next, given the two choices. 45 was easier to hit, but taking 50 would put the game out of reach. If the field ended in a tie, the win went to whoever took the largest ring.

It was a good moment to step back from the precipice, and Rai again gestured for drinks service. A Namana Buck was a drink better suited for refreshment than intoxication, allowing a pleasant respite and a chance to gauge the situation.

"jI ssee jI wassn't able to wajit jyou out. jYou plajy qujite carrefulljy, jyourr Grrace?" she ventured, curious how close to the mark her estimation was. He'd played coy in their introduction. She wanted to take his full measure.

[Royston Basillie]

"I prefer to employ just the right amount of calculated risk. Not so much that it becomes boring, sterile, but also not so emotional that I risk unforgiveable self destruction. And please, Royston will do."

It did him in every time he was referred to by his royal title in any capacity. He never let it get to him but there was something all together dehumanizing about having one's entire worth be placed exclusively on their biological connections. His father was a Prince and a Duke, and that naturally made him a Prince and a future Duke. He had done nothing to achieve that status save for being born to it. His own attempts are self sufficiency and fame had not gone the way he had hoped. The whole situation was... infuriating. That was the pleasure of the Ringer pit, here they were almost equals and what he won was because of his own skill and practice. It also allowed for day drinking and goofing off with his friends, which if that was a part of academia then perhaps he would have studied more.

"You are doing very well yourself, Rai'faani. Strong. Confident. Like Queen Galia going to war."

There was a fierceness in her eye, right as she threw her pitches. If he did not know better he would think the rings and discs were conspiring together for fear of disappointing her. It was certainly a breath of fresh air to complete against an unknown, and one that was capable of keeping up with him. Killain and the others were great for a laugh and companionship, but he was quite sure they let him win more times than not for fear of falling out of his good graces, and away from his purse strings. Not this creature. She dominated the scene. Everyone was looking at her. He'd never had that sort of draw, not even while sprinkling credits from both hands. It piqued his interest. He wanted to know just what created a person like this, and how this magnetism could be replicated.

For that to happen he would need another gambit. Winning the game was his way in. Losing gracefully may have been a tact for gentleman of old. It would not be sufficient this time. Taking his disc he walked back upon the pitch. He took even more time now, feeling the disc for the best hand position. Feeling for the breeze, thinking back on hundreds of pitches on this field. A tie was not going to cut it. A few locks had fallen and were stuck to his perspired brow. A quick flip of his finger smoothed them back into place. He needed all of his vision for this. Eye on the ring. Don't look where you are walking, where you hands are. Breath in. Hold. Step. Step. Throw! The disc sailed, sweeping out wide. Passing by numerous other rings before curling in. The throw was solid. No wobble. He didn't take his eyes off the ring until the disc passed through it uninterrupted and skipped out the other side. 50 points.

Letting out the mother of all held breaths he turned and composed himself, pulling his tunic down and planning out his next moves and words as he walked back to where she was waiting; a friendly grin on his full lips.

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

"Magnjifjicent plajy." Rai praised her opponent without fawning, knowing that he'd sealed the match with that shot. She twirled the disc she'd intended to use for her turn if he'd played a safer track, and surrendered it from her grasp, letting it fall to the grass below as a symbol of capitulation. A small gesture summoned the grounds staff with her satchel, and she drew a blank datachit, which she authorized for her wager without a second thought.

"That sshot'ss djiffjicult to make once, let alone two matchess jin a rrow. Lookss ljike jI've djisspelled luck asss the culprrjit."

She offered Royston's winnings to him as her tail flipped in what seemed to be a mood that was anything but perturbed over the outcome.


"Would jit be forrwarrd of me to sset the terrmss of mjy ssurrrenderr afterr the fact? jI could usse ssome asssjisstance jin ssalvjing the sstjing of defeat."

She glanced briefly over her shoulder at Royston's friends, and a little smile formed.

"jI'd jinvjite them alsso, but that would be unkjind of me. jIf jyou came wjith me, jI'm afrrajid thejy jusst couldn't hold mjy attentjion."

[Royston Basillie]

There was something to the way she spoke, the way she played with words. He knew there was a game being played and he knew they were pieces but the board and win condition remained elusive. It was the way his father spoke. It was very political, with an almost military edge to it with her choice of words. Just who was this woman? Should he ever find a moment alone he would have to search for her on the holonet, if even to just find an edge to fight his way back into the conversation. His prepared invite to dinner as reparation in lieu of the credits was blown from the sky before he could even begin to form the first word, and already she maneuvered to a similar end in her own way. Royston was no fool. Out of his league, perhaps. However, he knew that there was more going on here and was wary of just what outcome she was aiming for.

He was used to being the one in charge of the situation. The sapping of power in this dynamic was unsettling yet almost relieving. It was exhausting to always be in the spotlight.

"I am your humble servant, my lady." He replied, his smile persisting through it all. Looking over his shoulder at Killian and the others he jerked his head to the side and pointed his eyes. They got the signal. They were used to being dismissed suddenly. Rai'faani would not be the first woman to stumble across the Ringer field to investigate the fledgling prince. They did play a lot worse.

"Defeat can be so debilitating on an empty stomach; perhaps dinner would be the first step toward recovery?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

"Verrjy grracjious." Rai slightly canted her head with a smile. "Hopefulljy jI can make a betterr jimprresssjion once jI have mjy sstrrength back."

There was something appealingly perverse about playing the opposite role, and the Baroness contentedly let her royal companion take the lead.

"jI haven't been on Onderron jin two cjycless, jI trrusst jyou know of a place that'ss ssujitabljy jin fassjion forr a vjictorr to take hjiss sspojilss?"

[Royston Basillie]

"The Raskjivan." He replied with a snap of his finger, an answer preloaded and waiting to fire. It was, after all, one of his favorite haunts. Being positioned just down the street from the Congressional offices meant it was often the place for luxurious meetings of politicians, which naturally attracted many other moves and shakers within the city. It was not an exclusive establishment, but there were certainly areas of it that were.

"Great food, and even better wine. From King Targon's own vineyard, they say." He made a wavering motion with his hand to imply a varying vagueness, "Two thousand years old. I'm afraid historical records can be uncertain in Iziz. Too many civil wars and insurrections."

History had been one of the few subjects to catch his attention as a child. Onderon had a steeped and very dark history that was so drowned in blood that it would be impossible to ever dry it out; and no one even bothered. Instead it was paved over so the new generation could live without looking back. However, every now and then a brick in the wall would come loose and it would be another thousand years of cruel dictators or Sith cults until another civil war reset them back to zero. It was the Onderon way, after all. At least they no longer had to contend with the Beast Riders. Just those disgusting Mandalorians.

Motioning once again, but this time toward his speeder and waiting driver, and offered her his other arm. "Come, let us begin the healing process."

Leading her toward the speeder he kept a civil pace despite the excitement in his soul. Rask, his driver, had the doors opened for them before they even arrived, and Roy helped his new lovely companion in before turning to Rask and instructing him to call ahead and get them a table at the Raskjivan, and he particularly stressed that he wanted the balcony table. There would still be sunlight for some time and the view is magnificent. It could not be missed. Slipping in to the speeder he took his position beside Rai'faani on the Corellian leather seats.

"You've been here before, you say. What do you think of the City?"

[Rai'faani Meorrrei]

"jI know of jit," Rai commented on Royston's venue choice. "Loveljy."

In her first travels as an expatriate, Rai had longed for something familiar. For lack of a Cizeri aesthetic, she could at least find solace in something opulent. That Royston had suggested trodden ground wasn't a disappointment. It was familiar, but still foreign. A happy medium.

He then probed her on her past experience on Onderon.

"jI wass lasst herre sseverral cjycless ago asss a trrade envojy frrom Carshoulis. At fjirrsst jI hated jit, orr morre to the pojint jI hated bejing awajy frrom home." She grinned, "But jI found enough charrm durrjing mjy two jyearr posstjing to be prroven wrrong. jIt'ss the juxtapossjitjion between the old orrderr and the wjild. We've long-ssjince tamed anjythjing dangerrous on Carshoulis. jI can apprrecjiate the rrjissk and the rrewarrd."