Log:Sith: Long Live The Queen

Long Live The Queen

OOC Date: March 21, 2025
Location: Hapes Prime
Participants: Aitax Rendon, Aryn Cortess, Bors Thul, Lynoriel Thrace, Orvaine Strakke, Roan

For centuries, the seat of the Queen of the Hapes Consortium has been the magnificent Fountain Palace built atop cliffs overlooking the beautiful capital city of Ta'a Chume'Dan. The gossamer spires and arches of the palace catch the abundant light of the nearest sun and seven moons that bathed the world in light at all hours, framed at a distance as if from a fairy tale by cascading waterfalls. The shield dome that warded the palace from orbital bombardment would subtly distort the multi-directional light that saturated the Hapan sky, giving the palace a shimmering, otherworldly appearance from the city below.

A period or royal mourning to mark the death of a queen would typically last for a full month, observed by her heir. However there was no such somber mood following the coronation of Allurigant Chume, formerly the Ducha of Modus. In place of mourning the mood of the palace was one of jubilation as a grand revel was staged to celebrate the new Modan dynasty and its alliance with the Sith Empire. The new Queen had staffed the palace fully with her own trusted retainers, archons, and servants, which left no trace of the grief or bereavement that many within the Hapan civilization must have felt painfully.

While beauty was of course relative, by classical human standards the Modans were beautiful; taller than average humans and statuesque in build, tending toward narrow chins, large expressive eyes, and high cheekbones. The eternal light that bathed their world had left the race with a dusky golden-brown complexion, and hair so deeply black that it gained a bluish sheen in bright light.

There was no mistaking status among the Hapans as the revelers circulated. The newly crowned Queen wore a diaphanous gown of airy white and gold scattered with tiny sparkling gemstones and enriched further by vivid scarlet trim that pooled at her feet. Her black hair was shot through with rare silver and woven up into intricate braids that supported a tall headdress of gold, dripping with bright crystals that shone with a rainbow luminance. Arms were bare save for elaborate jewelry at the biceps, wrists and fingers. She was flanked by two guards: women in tall ceremonial crested golden helms and red attire that struck a balance between courtly ornament and functional movement. Both guards wore sleek pistols at their right side and a cup-hilted sword sheathed on the left.

Heavily jeweled and filigreed knives with a pronounced curve appeared to be cultural status symbols, as all Modans except the Queen and the servants wore them prominently displayed at the front of their waistlines; the richer the decoration, the higher the status. The large majority of courtiers and guards were women, though a few men were present among the nobility, as well as making up the serving staff of the palace.

The royal ballroom was the center of the evening's festivities, though manicured grounds, flowering gardens, and soaring palace walls were also open to the guests. Throughout, servants passed with platters for food and finest drink while Hapan music was played on light-harps, and unobtrusive songs of voice without words were sung.

Whites, golds, reds, and greens were the dominant colors among the Hapans, though every shade could be seen in some parcel among the grand aesthetics of the royal court. As it was a purely social function, members of the Sith Empire were free to dress however they pleased, but several officers had chosen to remain in their formal dress uniforms, which stood out starkly in the sea of bright hues for their black bodies and scarlet trim.

Aitax Rendon was one of those officers in black, clearly off-duty by the absence of his uniform cap. The captain’s familiar floor-length quarter cloak was worn over his left shoulder, its tasseled scarlet cord crossed his torso, tied into an elaborate knot. Further ornament was had by the presence of a decorative smallsword at his side.

One of the Sith Officers in formal dress uniform (also minus the cap) is dressed in a uniform of brilliant white: the uniform of the Special Assignment Division of the Imperial Army. She would be striking without the uniform, given her statuesque build, milky-pale skin, piercing blue eyes, and silver-white hair, gathered so tightly at the nape of her neck it's a wonder it doesn't cut off her circulation. Lieutenant Orvaine Strakke is -- and she makes no secret of this -- Hapan herself, although she lacks the inky hair and bronzed limbs of the Modans. There's no doubt that she's just as beautiful as any Hapan, however, although her beauty is stark and contained -- very much unlike the rest of her kin.

Furthermore -- she is an officer of the Sith Empire. So in that regard, she couldn't be more different. And she doesn't bother to hide the faint tinge of disgust that plays on her lips, pursed thin as she watches the whole affair. She is capless as well, but with her ramrod straight posture and that air of disapproval about her, it doesn't look like she's off duty. Quite the contrary.

Roan is on her best behavior tonight, since the last time she attended a coronation things got a bit... Well, anyway, Captain Lorraine Roan is here. She's not in dress attire, though--she's in a dress. A black dress, with pearls. She's also in the general crowd, not standing near the 'military contingent' of people in staunchly starched Sith Military uniforms. She's appears to be keeping a low profile for now, and if things go to Corellian Heck, she's super out of luck because there is no way weapons are hiding under that body-hugging dress. Not great for running, either.

Clad in his armor, seconded by the butler droid walking just behind his left, the Old Man of the Imperial Starfighter Corps walked with his cane held in his right hand, the 'clack' of its contact sounding with every left footfall. But the reinforcement of the antiquated Katarn suit certainly helped. Reinforcements in the joints aiding the man who walked with the helmet clipped to his belt where hung two dueling swords with white-gold decorated guards and above a second, curious, looking sort of belt that looked like a scale chain.

The Lord Bors of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Thul, Black Knight of Alderaan, First Sword, Champion of The Queen of Alderaan and in the Hapes Campaign alone he stood as a three time Ace among the pilots who flew.

Monocle pinched before his right eye and a distracted look on his features he made his appearance in place of she who had opted to remain in Alderaan space during this particular event.

Quite proper. Even if he would have preferred to be home in the mountains of his House.

Does Thrace show up in a gown? Definitely not. The tall woman with the black armored robes is not far from the military contingent given she's not really big on crowds. Those are a 'no thanks' for the Sith alchemist. Her gloved hands are clasped lightly in front of her and it would be easier to read what exactly she is feeling if she wasn't wearing her helm. There is a length of crimson cord that is worn on her belt. For the moment she remains silent and vigilant.

Darth Kalus arrived at the ballroom from the outdoor arrangements. She was dressed as an Alderaanian, wearing an elegant cape fastened by an electrum pin bearing her royal house's sigil. Her cape only covered one shoulder and stylishly left near bear, save for the pin and fabric that kept it in place. The ensemble beneath was white, green, and gold; all colors of her house.

Kalus rarely wore dresses, she much favored stylish tunics and tall boots, looking the part of some noble adventurer or scholar from the days of old. The only thing that set her apart was the curved lightsaber hilt hanging from her belt, clear in view and within reach. Presently, she held no drink and had not taken to the food yet. She was adjusting her blonde hair from the slight wind outside and looking into the ballroom to see if any ceremony had kicked off.

Notably, the Hapans all showed several habits as they began to accept drinks, and speak: all would hold a cup for long enough to offer a brief few words, while swirling the liquids within. The words varied, but the subtle motions of a ringed finger holding the cup did not. Then, they would drink.

The music stills and the voices go silent at a discreet signal from the palace majordomo, and even without the call of a herald for attention, eyes begin to shift toward the head of the room, where Queen Allurigant has risen to her feet. She speaks in a voice accustomed to oration that carries easily to all corners of the room, and- by means of the holographic recording droids that hover nearby for the moment- to all corners of the Consortium:

"Unto all Hapans noble and common, unto Our distinguished guests, Our subjects and Our allies, Allurigant Chume bids ye all welcome. Welcome to the new and glorious future that lies before all of Hapes; no more shall we languish in backward isolation, beholden to the whims of short-sighted superstition, but we shall stride forth in step with a greater galaxy, and in that march we shall make a greater Hapes. To all Our Archons, soldiers, subjects.." her regal eye and a broad gesture of her hand moved toward the knot of black clad Sith with the next words, "And Our allies in war and peace, the Consortium owes Our thanks."

A hand is held out to one side, and a cup is placed smoothly into it, before the queen raises it to the chamber at large. "We go now unto a brighter dawn. So speaks Ereneda Allurigant Chume." The Hapans in the room raise their cups and recite as if by rote, "LONG LIVE THE QUEEN."

The Queen and her entourage began a circuit of the chambers following the toast, as the music struck back up.

Rendon raised the cup in his right hand with the benediction, though his keen eyes were more on the reactions to the Queen's words than the monarch herself. "There was no bomb at the coronation, nor any such menace at the speech. I'd dare to suggest we may escape this function intact," he noted with dry amusement to whomever among the Imperials was nearest.

Roan has her hands clasped before her, looking very much like someone who is trying hard to behave themselves. She looks this way... And that way... And shuffles her feet a bit, despite wearing three inch heels. She looks very much like she would love to fidget. Or grab a plate of food. And when the Hapani finally start to do so, Roan is off as fast as her long black dress will allow her.

As she passes Rendon, Roan shoots him a glare, "Don't jinx it! The Force might be listening!" Then she's off for some wine! Half the glass is gone after grabbing it, and she politely asks for a refill from a scandalized servant.

These words from Queen Allurigant, at least, bring...not exactly a smile, but something of a an aura of pleased acceptance to the otherwise rigid bearing of Orvaine Strakke, who stands at strict attention and with her black-gloved hands behind her white-uniformed back. She does not, however, raise her glass, because she doesn't have a glass. Perhaps on purpose.

When Aitax speaks, and Roan then chimes in, Orvaine looks at the both of them. "I would not trust a word out of their mouths." Her voice is quiet, but not at all weak. "They are all liars and manipulators to the last."

And lo, when he thought he would be representative, Her Royal Majesty appears and Bors nearly pops his monocle in surprise. Left hand extending and a wine goblet is placed in it, another pair of L7's hands pouring a sweet Alderaanian blue into it.

No need to sully his palette with Hapan attempts at wine after going through with what he had with Bespin's excuse for wines.

Bors's voice drifts among the Imperials, brows lifted faintly, "Words ne'r stranger found tumbling from the lips issuant and the aegis claimed as part."

Sipping his drink, he leans his weight some on the cane, quieting once more as L7 issues a drawn out rumbling sound.

And the jinxing was the reason Thrace was in armor. Because people say stuff like that! "The Force is indeed finicky." Thrace's vocoded voice muses as Roan wiggles by in her dress. Then her head turns to regard Captain Rendon from afar. Paranoia is the name of the game for the moment...and by the gods she's going to win it!

Without a goblet to carry out the toast, Kalus observes the others who react to the Queen Allurigant's words. Meanwhile, her hands clasp at the small of her back whilst standing to one side, quiet in her observation and vigilant for the moment. Her mind is left to hitch its ride upon the cosmic current of the Force. Through its influence, she begins to pick up the surface thoughts of those near her, each requiring but a moment of eye contact for her to delve in and listen.

From her position, she had little trouble (aside from concentration) in achieving these connections. From what she could sense, so far, none but the Empire had trained force sensitives present. This was good.

Roan stares after Bors, left with an owlish look on her face as she tries to dissect what the heck he just said. She shakes her head a bit. "But..." she murmurs quietly to herself, "Never stranger... words? Are the aegis claimed? That... That doesn't make any sense."

A Hapan servant bows slightly and offers, "Would madam like a translation?"

Roan nearly jumps out of her skin and stammers, shaking her head at the servant, "Oh, n-no, no thank you. I'm quite fine, thank you."

The servant carrying wine smiles graciously, with the eye-creases that say 'You idiot' nonverbally. "Of course madam." Roan fumes quietly, turning away and narrowing her eyes as she sips half of her wine again.

Aitax Rendon quipped to the hastening Roan, "Firstly, the Force is *always* listening, and secondly-" whatever he'd been about to add was lost as Roan mugged a servant for food and a decent wine. "Fair enough. It was a long campaign," he noted dryly.

He arched a brown brow, the corner of his mouth following in smiling suit as Orvaine offered that harsh insight. His eyes flicked to the unfamiliar officer's rank pips and back up to her eyie level to reply, "Why Lieutenant.. they're nobles. I'd expect nothing less. Wouldn't you agree, Commander Thul?" he quipped, including the armored nobleman in the conversation directly. "That gentlefolk of noble occupation are so oft prone toward dissembling?" Back to Orvaine he offered a cup of wine, rotating his wrist outward to show the toxin sensor discreetly secreted in the cuff of his uniform's wrist. "One must be prepared. Have you yet become acquainted with Wing Commander Thul? It was by his expertise in encryption that the late Queen's fleet was put to rout at Sargon Two."

The unfamiliar officer is totally wearing a black and red uniform, incidentally. Still Imperial Army, however. "They're not just nobles," Orvaine points out, her lips pursing even more. "They're /Hapan/ nobles. They have no conception of honesty. Their lips are not capable of speaking it." She looks at the wine, and at the toxin sensor, and then accepts it with a gracious bow of her tiler-white head before turning to look at Bors. "I'm afraid I have not had the pleasure. I have heard much of your sharp and valiant efforts, Wing Commander Thul. I can only thank you for your efforts on the Empire's behalf." After a beat, she adds: "Orvaine Strakke, Lieutenant, Imperial Army, Special Assignment Division." She half-turns to Aitax and anyone else who might be around to extend this introduction to them.

Roan nods to Orvaine as she rejoins the group. "Captain Lorraine Roan, pleasure to meet you." She is keeping her voice down, so as not to announce to everyone that she's a potential assassination target. Her refilled glass is now about two-thirds gone, and she sighs, looking a little red at the cheeks. "I never thought I would miss the 'relaxed' nature of Upper City Coruscant's soirees." The brown-haired Naval Officer shakes her head a bit with a light rock of her dress, looking utterly smothered by the aire of subterfuge swirling about her.

Thrace is approached by a woman in red with silvered hair and a softer smile who leans in to speak with the tall Sith quietly. And the armored woman leans down just a smidge to accommodate. There is a question that is asked and she shakes her head, "Not here. After things are taken care of in order we will do that." the voice states. "Plus this." the gloved hand raises to touch the helm. "Soon though. You'll get to fuss over things then." she chuckles. "Now go socialize, Murien." she shoos her back to her smoozing.

A glance to Roan, left brow higher, "Duty nary calls to me so I am remiss if I sully words with the common tongue." The faint flicker of a grin at the corners of his mouth before the one whom he had been introduced to speaks. A flicker of something in his monocle, possibly faintly scrolling text, before he addresses Orvaine next.

"I am My Queen's arm, be it the mailed hand or open palm, a courser on whatever theater she beckons I attend." Both hands resting on the head of his cane as he stands with feet parted as if at parade rest, joints in his suit clicking as reinforcement supports engage.

"Bors, Lord of The Most Noble and Ancient House of Thul, brother of Uypiia, Countess Thul, First Sword, Black Knight of Alderaan and Champion of Her Most Royal and Gracious Majesty, Aryn of The Royal House Cortess..."

Apparently if titles are being given, he was going to sprinkle a few out there.

Aitax Rendon names himself, "Captain Aitax Rendon, of the Ravenous," for the sake of introductions. "Fortunate to be present for four great battles of this last campaign." He quips aside to Roan, "I must admit, the room has the unmistakable air of home." With a glance aside, he summons a servant, and accepts another glass of his own, having passed along that which had been his, moments before. A discreet glance down found the sensor at his wrist blink blue, once, and he raised his cup for a less grandiose toast, "To the victorious peace," before drinking again. Apparently he did not share Bors' more refined palatte, and found Hapan efforts at wine quite acceptable.

Roan's eyes instantly snap open when Bors responds to her, looking like she might die as she realizes he overheard her. "How are the acoustics in here so good?! Are people using cyber-implants? Audio-enhancers??" She grumbles and grouses, hunching down a bit as she tries to make herself a little smaller in the Force. She doesn't know how to do that, but she can try, darn it.

But then Roan gets to thinking about what he said. "Duty... nary--hardly ever... So... Wait." She glares at Bors, "Hey, I know what those words mean, and that sentence doesn't mean anything!"

"The pleasure is mine, Captain Roan." Orvaine nearly smiles at Roan's observation about Coruscant. "At least on Coruscant, even the deceit has noble aspirations. In the Hapes Cluster, it all comes down to vanity and selfishness. Nothing more." She swivels her perfectly postured form back towards Bors, inclining her head slightly again at his explanation and many titles. "Then we are much honored to be in your presence, Lord Thul, much as we would be honored by anyone of House Cortess."

When Aitax toasts to the peace, Lorraine raises her glass as well. "Hear, hear." She takes a small sip from the goblet, watching Roan for a moment with the slightest raise of her pale brow.

"Dear Captain I sprung in full among the wiles of the Courts and bloomed in the fields of battle, clandestine and open... despite my will to only charge forth upon a steed within the stars. Mine ears are honed to call and whisper. But those utterances that find thine ears mean much and little per the ability of what catches them."

Still smiling, he sips the fizzing blue wine brought all the way from Alderaan. Caring little if he offends a lesser nobility with a proclivity for assassination by many methods it seems.

"I assure you, Miss Strakke, that there is little of much honor and more and many irritants to be contended for those whom are not of The Throne. A scalliwag with a record to rival Antilles is all, swaddled in the Crimson and Blue on one world, and scarlet with black on others." Knuckles lifting to rap against his chest, causing a small fizzing, hissing, sound and an energy ripple. "Or black and silver white as the case ere this eve."

Aitax Rendon translates aside to Roan, "It means he rarely gets to speak with such ornament, so he'll not miss the opportunity, for the ones worth speaking to will understand." In the next breath, he notes on the gowned captain's behalf, "It was Captain Roan's magnificent handling of her carriers which gained us fighter superiority in the last battle. Had she not been present, then the Army may have yet had to fight through a ground invasion of Hapes Prime. Whether you see that as a blessing or curse I leave to the listener," he noted with a dry smile to Orvaine. Content with her observations to this point, Kalus abandons her post and draws closer to the Imperial gathering. She arrives quietly, a small smile forming after she says, "I have always wanted to visit Hapes. It is far more beautiful than what I have read. A shame our stay must come to an end."

Roan closes her eyes with a pinch of her eyebrows like what Bors just said is giving her a stroke. "...This is why I joined the Academy, you know." Then Aitax is complimenting her and Roan just blinks at him. "That is...not true at all. The battle was a vicious brawl, its punches and kicks bloody and lacking in elegance." She shakes her head ardently, "There is no point in dressing it up in the clothing of--" Roan stops herself, looking appalled at herself. "Now *I'M* doing it." She sighs, looking drained already.

When Kalus arrives, Roan turns to her and bows formally. No curtseying in this dress. She's doing her best to behave after Onderon, and she clasps her hands behind her back, falling silent in the presence of the Dark Lady.

Thrace makes her way over towards the Sith naval officers as she has ran out of statuary to imitate. Plus they should be social. She's still keeping her senses on high alert though. No reason for the Sith Empire to suffer for a botched assassination attempt if one were to occur. She reaches up to remove her helm once she is closer and stands quietly with it under her arm. Not interrupting for the moment.

"Lieutenant Strakke, Lord Thul," Orvaine gently corrects, although there's little that's soft about the severe silver-haired officer. "You do yourself a disservice." She glances between Aitax and Roan, nodding to the latter with approval. "Then you are a gift to us all, Captain Roan." Orvaine then turns to take in Kalus as she approaches. "Alas, the beauty is merely skin deep." The lieutenant then also bows and gives her introduction over again: Lieutenant Orvaine Strakke, Imperial Army, Special Assignment Division. Perhaps she already knows who Kalus is, even though they haven't met previously, one assumes.

"Deeds may be at once magnificent and brutal," Aitax returns to Roan. "And it's entirely true that without your eight squadrons we'd not have forced a retreat. Just as it's true to say that we needed the Merciless, the Modans, and the interdictor. No use hiding from the glory, Captain." He stills his words and offers a bow at Aryn's approach. In the wake of the last time he greeted the Alderaanian queen with her title, the Delayan affects a rueful smile and doesn’t speak any title in greeting. Lynoriel catches his eye sidelong, and receives a shorter dip of the head and shoulders.

"Commander Thul." Bors counter corrects Orvaine, when she opts to enforce rank... perhaps letting it air that she is offering such to a superior.

"Captain Roan showed her pedigree, assured you must be of that and it authors sonnets to her personage that she denigrates her contribution is testament to her worthiness of rank and title."

There is a -look- in side eye towards Aitax at something the ignoble Alderaanian says of his words, left brow flicking again. Turning when Aryn approaches and speaks, his arm movement a little more flamboyant than needed, the tip of his cane striking the toe of the man's boot with a crackling blue spark and the faint whiff of ozone, "Oh...! My foible..." Offered before he turns, re-adjusting his canes position, so that he might kneel before Aryn.

Addressed by the group, Kalus dips her head slightly, and motions for Bors to rise. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant. May I ask -- Has anyone spoken with the Queen since the coronation?" Kalus looks between the members of the group quietly, her gaze resting on Strakke longer than the others, but it was her first time seeing the officer and she was taking the measure of them.

Kalus was not a tall woman, or intimidating in presence. She had a narrow build, fair skin that bordered pale, with bright blonde hair. She did not wear make up, and there was no attempt at hiding the scar she had over one eye; those studied in Alderaanian culture would understand why. Kalus appeared to have good bearing, though, her expression intentional and stolid.

"No!" offers Roan, maybe a little too quickly and a little too guiltily. She shakes her head, hands still behind her back. "I mean, I have not yet had the pleasure, your grace." She bows again, a little less deeply than before, but not less respectfully.

Lynoriel's crimson gaze goes to Aitax and there is a smile given to the man, "Captain Rendon." the unmasked woman greets him. "I see that the wine is not poisoned." she states with an amused look around. Maybe an inside joke. Then back to the others. There is a bow of her head to Aryn in greeting. Then she is silent as she listens to the conversation.

Orvaine might just be a little too attached to being a soldier. Perhaps being called a civilian title just makes her uncomfortable. But she bows her head quite respectfully at Thul, at least prior to Kalus showing up. "Thank you, Your Grace. have not spoken with the Queen, although as someone who hails from this world, I could address her in our native tongue if need be." She doesn't seem particularly proud of this. It's simply a fact, and she likes to be of service.

Aitax Rendon jolts slightly when the tip of Bors' charged cane strikes the toe of the captain's boot, though his composure flickers for an instant it does not slip. The flippant apology was answered and accepted with a tight, "Tis naught, sir." Sip that wine, Aitax. Sip that wine. Aryn's question was answered with a shake of his own head, "Nor I. Though I'd suspect your Majesty's presence may soon draw her near." Lynoiel's approach earned a dry sniff. "It's not. Or if it is, then Hapan artifice has exceeded imperial precaution, and we are all doomed. Thus, I'll drink."

"Poison is it not? Tis Hapan if it isn't Huttese for all the bouquet offered." A rejoinder regarding the local spirit offered, Bors himself sipping from the goblet attended to by his butler droid.

"Ku'lay?"

A figure, very near Lord Thul's own age, seems to materialize from thin air to stand at Bors's right arm. Ku'lay De Mahn, loyal valet to the pilot lord.

"M'lord."

"Drink for our most celestial grace."

"Of course, m'lord." Heavy moustache seeming to smile in place of his mouth - the blue tinted wine poured from the bottle L7 maintains and a goblet taken from the droid's torso storage. Set upon a tray and held where Aryn might access should she wish.

Lynoriel's gaze narrows when Aitax jolts. But she didn't see what caused it. "For all their poisoning ways I doubt they'd try to poison one half of their party and not the other. Or it would go poorly." she states. "I'll drink back on the Herald." she muses as she watches where people are going. "Do you all get a break between campaigns?" she asks the Navy officers.

Roan nods to Lynoriel. "I'll probably hit Baatu on the way to Scarif, personally." She smiles faintly. "The surfing there is pretty good, and the Mandalorians are having a festival of some sort on Baatu. I was told there would be corn, whatever that means."

"I am not aware that they know we have one who knows their tongue. A useful trait should we continue to feign ignorance," Kalus offers, quietly, to the Lieutenant. "Should the Queen approach, I would have you at my side, Lieutenant."

Roan's initial response had brought a brief smile to Kalus' face, but she made no comment beyond nodding to acknowledge. Captain Renton's input, as well, received a nod. And Thrace, a slightly deeper nod.

When addressed by Sir Bors' droid, Kalus held out a gloved hand to accept the Alderaanian vintage in a cup deemed safe. Like Strakke, Kalus held little trust with the Hapan society. Murder was common place in their court. "My gratitude, sir." Said to Bors and Ku'lay alike. She sips the chilled vintage and closes her eyes a moment; thankful for the taste from home.

\\"Surfing," Aitax echoes, clearly unfamiliar with the word when Roan speaks it. A slow breath in through the nose as he tries without success to deduce its meaning, before turning words to the acolyte: "Not always, nay. However, the Hapan campaign was particularly trying, given our weeks of isolation from resupply and reinforcement, so it appears a small measure of leisure time will await us, ere the next campaign orders are given. Or perhaps by saying it aloud, I've jinxed us, again." A shrug and sip. "Surfing," Aitax echoes, clearly unfamiliar with the word when Roan speaks it. A slow breath in through the nose as he tries without success to deduce its meaning, before turning words to the acolyte: "Not always, nay. However, the Hapan campaign was particularly trying, given our weeks of isolation from resupply and reinforcement, so it appears a small measure of leisure time will await us, ere the next campaign orders are given. Or perhaps by saying it aloud, I've jinxed us, again." A shrug and sip.

Orvaine bows with the utmost respect. "Certainly, my Lord." She straightens again to her full height with the air of one who has been given a mission of utmost importance. But really, she might just be like that all the time. Dutiful to a fault. "Appearance is everything to the Hapans. The illusion of strength is far more important to them than actual strength. It is that very weakness that drives them to great acts of deceipt. They do not take well to a blunt turn of phrase." She definitely sounds disapproving about that.

Turning to the Naval officers, she says: "Perhaps fresh air is more valuable than leisure time, even, when one spends so much time on Star Destroyers."

L7 rumbles ascent when the glass is taken and Ku'lay sweeps into a courtly bow before he fades back once again. Bors ponders, his brow beetling before he announces, "My Queen, your Grace. Would that I be champion to find the eye of this so called monarch to test their mettle before you might be made to stand before inequal personage."

His wine-hand moves widely, yet with practiced hold to keep his wine from stirring let alone spilling, towards Roan, "I would take me with the Captain and we be aegis against inferiority if it be thine wish?"

Orvaine's descriptions of the Hapans striking something in the writings he had been studying in anticipation of having to meet with them, stating aloud, "A sector of lesser Rist. As I've said..."

"Is that where you try to ride the waves on some plank of wood?" Lynoriel asks Roan. She grew up on Csilla, so actual oceans were still a mystery to her. Then she looks to Aitax and she listens to him. Though his dryness makes her sigh, "I would hope that you are not jinxed. I know that the fleets need their resupplies. Though just avoid any dark planets with vicious plants." she muses to that.

Roan stares at Bors when he volunteers her for meeting the Monarch just after she had gone to such lengths to avoid causing any diplomatic incidents. She nods briefly to Thrace and starts to answer when her wrist comm beeps. Looking to it, Roan blinks again. "...I need to return to my ship. Sensors are picking up anomalous readings at the edge of the system."

Bowing formally--and acting with a lot more decorum than before, Roan casts off the floofy floozy persona and is back in Captain mode as she starts to make her way to the exit, talking into her comm. "Keep me updated on the diagnostics. Returning to ship now."

Aitax Rendon :lifted a glass to the departing Roan with the word, "Captain," before he answered Orvaine, "Quite the opposite, I'd say: fresh air is rather overrated, one can survive indefinitely on filtered shipboard air. But there comes a point past which no soul can endure combat readiness without relent. Battle standing for weeks on end will erode the discipline of even exceptional crews." He did sniff sharply, lip curling at mention of dark worlds with vicious plants. "Sage advice, indeed."

"All work, nary play, makes J'aq... something something..."

Bors notes with a passing airs while gazing out among the crowds in the gatherum, glass held out and L7 pouring before his hand has even finished moving, with not a drop misplaced.

"These planets... No wonder they're all..." He gestures vaguely as if that expresses the fullness of the disparity, "No sunset, no sunrise, no moonlit vista. Nary a wonder they manufacture beauty..." A glance between his fellow Alderaanians, "Their immediate vicinity lacking of its own."

"That will not be necessary, Sir Bors, though if you wish to accompany, and that goes with everyone else, please come along." Kalus had already spoken with the Queen when she was Ducha, and helped orchestrate the political maneuvering that took place to see this day come to fruition. Sharing the Empress' regards were all that remained. Kalus was eager to leave the cluster lest all this be too good to be true.

"Equally true of ground troops trapped in underground holdings, Captain Rendon," Orvaine says to him with a nod. She turns back to Bors, apparently not wanting to miss another chance to take a potshot at her homeworld. "Worse than this, the constant sunlight makes the Hapans night blind. Were we ever to rob them of their independence, the darkness would be the way." This time, she does not include herself among them.

With a formal nod to Aryn, she immediately snaps into place behind her like they're marching across a battlefield.

Roan's departure isn't any offense to the tall Sith. Lynoriel just looks a bit amused, but then she gives a nod, "Captain Roan." she nods to her. "Do you wish to accompany her Majesty?" she asks Aitax.

"In that balance, I'd more pity the ground troops," Aitax returns to Orvaine, with a rueful lift of his brow. To Bors, he notes, "Though perhaps I'd grow weary of it, the novelty of a sky lit in pinks and pale purples is certainly striking. I've not beheld a full canopy of black void since first we crossed the Transitory Mists, everywhere is one nebula or another. There is elegance to a black void, but I can't say Hapan space is without beauty of its own, sir." To Lynoriel he answers, "I am of course at Her Majesty's summons, but would not presume to place myself at Her side until needed."

A soft *click* as Lord Thul twists the head of his can while it remains planted against the floor and then he is at Aryn's right arm, walking proudly, even with the slight drag of his foot. The armor he wears catching and dazzling the light it catches, commenting to Aitax's assessment,

"The space perhaps, but the worlds are found wanting... Natrual, versus crafted..."

The faint flicker at the corner of his mouth before he is looking fully ahead once again, keeping his pace.

"Best to be about it, or we will be the last they visit in their rounds. Home awaits me, and I dare not put it off any longer." Kalus gives a nod to all before addressing Lynoriel. "Of course. It is probably for the best we are all seen together anyway." Kalus steps off to find the Queen and have their part in this arrangement come to its close. Wine in hand, she hazards another sip (for the promise of home), and they're off! Her pace is easy to keep.

Lynoriel gives a nod to Aitax, then she straightens to her full height as Kalus is addressing and she gives a bow to the comment of staying together. She moves to put her helm back on her head and breathes in deeply before blowing out a soft vocoded breath. Then she moves to follow the others, just moving with the group.

The gathering around the newly crowned queen is by expectation the center of the evening's festivities. Royal Guards and courteous courtiers might discreetly direct some supplicants away until a later time, but the approach of the Sith contingent suffered no such delay. There was a parting within the crowd and the former Ducha of Modus turned her amber eyes to regard the approaching Darth. The two women could not visibly be much more opposite: Allurigant was tall and dark where Aryn was short and pale. The Modan monarch never the less turned from her conversation with a small word and motion of dismissal to the Hapan noble she'd been speaking with in order to face Aryn and greet her as, "Our sister of Alderaan, and Her excellent company. We are glad that you join Us on this most victorious day." Both hands were held out to Aryn in front of her, palms up to offer a formal handclasp. The exchange between the two was observed with utmost attention by all those assembled.

A small sniff at the Hapan Monarch's address, a faint twist of his lips but nothing said while the Queen and the Ducha... Duma... The whatever these sunlight soaked knife-happy, two-faced, daisies called their monarch.

There was only a single Queen as far as Lord Thul was.

Not an elected official named Queen.

Not a slithering silk swaddled serpent in the brightest vipers nest in space.

Bors watched, listened, and his monocle flickered again with characters in faintest blue scrolling up the lens.

Kalus draws near, participating and accepting the mutual embrace with a formal smile. "Our sister of Hapes," she responds, her tone and pronunciation as practiced as Allurigant. When they part, Aryn's hands clasp before her. "I have come to offer my congratulations, and wish you good fortune in your rule. The Imperial Empress is pleased to have a worthy and formidable ally in her court. I am pleased to have made a good friend."

Strakke stands there, as unmovable as a statue, staring at Allurigant with quiet contempt. Subtle enough that it might not matter unless the Hapan Queen were looking right at her, though, which she is not. The lieutenant is, no doubt, continuing to recall all of the reasons she's not only glad she escaped this sun-blasted pit of decadence, but ended up on the /right/ side of history. As it should be.

Kalus' choice of words draws a warm smile from the golden-brown Modan. Without looking away from the Alderaanian to whom she speaks, a summoning gesture is made aside, and a trio of handsome retainers approaches, arms full. "We are glad to hear as much. For while no gifts could truly reflect the gratitude of Hapes toward the Empire, We would offer these, unto a friend." The gifts are a rich diaphanous gown in the Hapan style, along with an ornate golden collar-style necklace inlaid with a single, luminous rainbow hued gem.

The Queen's majordomo approaches her and discreetly shares several words, before bowing and falling backward three paces. The words were in Hapan.

"My gratitude for these wonderful gifts. -- I know with your new purpose, tradition forbids you to leave this wonderous place. I would invite you to Alderaan, but alas. So I bring Alderaan to you." Members of Aryn's personal entourage arrive from the back and present a trio of gifts, each more expensive than the last; Toniray wine, a vintage that survived the doom of Old Alderaan, literally priceless. Jewelry etched from diamond remains of Old Alderaan, glittering blue like the blue mountain ranges from the old world. And lastly, a cape, crafted with the finest material; it bears the sigil of the new Queen.

Head turning to focus the monocle on the gift, studious of the gown and the gem as well, the old man watches with his expression otherwise fixed, resting his weight on his cane while he maintains his resolute silence. A shadow to the smaller queen he stands beside. Refusing to be pushed back unless Her Majesty bids him to do so.

The Black Knight of Alderaan simply stands, his normal foppishness having melted away now that Duty calls Bors.

The silver-haired soldier stiffens a little more at the Hapan words exchanged. Was she able to make out some of it? She remains silent, of course, but her dark blue eyes move to the jewel and linger there for a longer moment. Appraising it. Recognizing it, perhaps. But Orvaine remains still, and supportive. Another shadow to support their queen, like Bors.

The exchange of rich gifts were accepted with all proper grace by the two monarchs. With the public show of favor made, the taller Modan leaned lower to share a few smiling words privately with Aryn, the hanging crustals of her headpiece swaying in unision with the motion; she really must have well toned neck and shoulder muscles to bear that weight so easily..

Only Bors and Orvaine were near enough to hear, and even they might struggle to pick out all the words: "We have one more gift for you: a Hapan was just taken planting a bomb on an imperial shuttle at the port. We do not believe there were more, but of course, take caution. Would you like them delivered to you?"

Aitax is blithely out of earshot, occupying himself with looking austere and dignified while the two queens whisper.

Aryn gives a subtle nod, confirming that she would, indeed, like the bomber delivered to her. "Thank you." Aryn had no intention of revealing what she intended to do with the bomber, but no doubt the Imperial intelligence would want a crack. Aryn kept her stature, hands clasped and expression mostly neutral, save for the thankful smile that followed when distance was put between them again.

Another small click from Bors's cane now as a switch is flicked. Nothing drawn, nothing threatened. But he does not look quite too pleased judging by the stony take of his features.

There were words he had, many and likely to cause all the spirits of all Drill Sergeants to have lived to nod in approval; their Moustaches of Authority bushing in appreciation for such a dressing down.

A tirade so powerful that long into the future in a galaxy far far away... Robert Rudolph Remus would be born.

The Special Ops officer standing near Aryn would love to take a shot at that bomber, no doubt. There's just a little glint of pleasure in her otherwise cold blue eyes. She's no doubt thinking of all the juicy ways she could stamp out counterinsurgency on her homeworld, starting with this captured bomber. This is going to be a lovely evening, indeed.

Gracious gifts and warm words exchanged, the newly raised Queen of the Hapes Consortium takes her leave of the Imperial contingent, resuming the endless work of Court. All that remained were the servants bearing Aryn's gifts, and the Modan queen's Archon who remained to attend the matter of an imminent prisoner transfer in whichever manner and to whatever degree of secrecy the imperial guests preferred.

Aryn speaks to the Archon once the Queen departs, "This operative in your custody can be transferred to the Commander and Lieutenant," She paused to gesture toward Bors and Strakke respectively, "..here. -- The gifts can be loaded upon my Alderaanian craft. I will have a team on stand by to receive them. My thanks," She nods, turning away to share a look with Sir Bors and Lt Straake in passing. The look was to convey, 'they are all yours'. Aryn departed the affair followed by the servants bearing her gifts.