| abstract
| - Opening Ceremony is a multifaceted environment comprised of retail spaces, showroom, and gallery. They feature both established designers and emerging fashion designers. They host a new country in their space each year, and have locations in New York City, Tokyo and Los Angeles.
- Chianar Plaza -- New Alderaan: Ord Mantell A beautiful plaza is etched of white stone into a large plain nestled between the surrounding hills of New Alderaan. Spanning nearly a quarter mile in diameter, the plaza is framed on almost every side by rolling hills, where other districts of the city can be seen carved into the rich landscape. Beautiful buildings spot the northern and southern hills, with the more utilitarian structures of the starport and military base flanking the west and east, respectively. The plaza is landscaped with small gardens and art-inspired water features, meant to reflect various significant cultures in the galaxy. An information kiosk stands outside the central rail station, whose elevated maglev tracks snake off into the surrounding districts at various heights, meant to accentuate the decor, rather than obstruct it. A tall memorial structure, carved of synthetic Alderaanian marble, is the center point of a large, central garden, flanked by an open-air pavilion under a transparisteel dome. A tall theater, a wide museum, street vendors, and an open air art gallery are some of the cultural points of interest that mark the plaza. The sky is dark gray and misty. A single, purple mass moves slowly overhead causing the air to be wet and sticky. The plaza has been transformed into a secure expanse of festivity. The maglev station opens into a barricade, funneling all entries through four separate stations of weapon scanners and security personnel. Identical security checkpoints safeguard north, east, west, and south access routes to Chianar Plaza. Once inside, attendees are greeted warmly and handed a map of the city, schedule of events, and further information about local accommodations. A large stage has been constructed in front of the memorial statue, able to accommodate speakers and numerous performers alike. A line of marines, festooned in their dress uniform, secures a ring around the stage. A seemingly impossible number of chairs have been arranged in three colonnades, fanning out from the stage and into the central garden. The nearest dozen rows are reserved for various dignitaries and the like. There is amble standing room here and there, within range of hearing - thanks to state of the art speaker systems broadcasting throughout the plaza. A glorious food and beverage spread, numerous tables, and dance floor are all situated within the open-air pavilion, protected from the elements by a transparisteel dome. Additional food service, tables, and a larger, outdoor dance floor are arranged neatly throughout the gardens. The many water features provide soothing ambiance. ______________________________________________________________________________ Anticipation stirs the air, the ceremonial grounds abuzz with quiet murmuring and sporadic rounds of applause following the opening speech delivered by none other than Chief of State, Leia Organa-Solo. It was a bit predictable, pumping attendees full of the usual pride, preparing them for the exhausting few days of festivities ahead. She's taken a pause now, retreating from spotlight to confer with a member of security while the next scheduled MC takes over. From the side of the stage, a rippling of champagne silk emerges from its own, suffocating detail, and strides with soft rap-taps of formal shoe-wear. Matched panels of fabric flutter behind her, clipped to either shoulder, reminiscent of the tittering bird her codename’s been named after. It's Ambassador Delgard, and she fusses for a moment with some mic hidden in her meticulous wrap of braid on her way to the podium. While public attendance of such a festival might be a bit damaging to her more Imperial-leaning business contacts, Portia Vykos has perfected the bored look of a woman who is only here because it's business and, possibly, someone has drug her along. Whether she's excited or not, it's hard to say. She looks nonplussed. She also looks like a woman who is still drawing a lot of eyes, the red of her gown and the red of her lips nearly a perfect match. They offset her cream skin and midnight hair in sharp contrast. The gown is full length, only barely hinting at the spike heels she wears beneath. It's fitted to her upper half in an empire waist line that clings quite nicely to her breasts and reveals a generous amount of décolletage. The skirt is more flowing, moving like silken wind with any hint of motion she makes. Matching red flowers are built into the straps and waist line. A single set of tiny pearls rests across her throat to complete the simple but strikingly lovely look. She muses the picture by taking a drag of a long, thin stick of tabac. Gabi sits in the crowd, next to a burly looking bodyguard. The girl is trying to disappear in her seat, slouched, arms folded crossly while she watches her mother take the podium. The holoprojector switches to display: Presav Elana Tracer of the CDU stands, bent over a document lain upon a richly carved table. Across the table stands the New Republic's ambassador to Caspar - Ambrosia Aderanne - and the Chief of State, Peshk Vry'lya. The Bothan faces stoically ahead at his Caspian counterpart while his fresh-faced, youthful ambassador is stealing a glance sideways at the camera. Her lips are pulled back into a smile, but she looks nervous as hell. Dressed in its full doctor gear, the Verpine stepped into the fray outside the tram and moved quickly on, getting out of the way as it pushed through the dense crowd. It listened for anything, communicating with its impromptu hive even as the crowd roared around it. It heard laughter and saw more than a few people with drinks. It kept its eyes out for anyone it might know, and was prepared for random passerby to talk to it, so it kept its demeanor approachable, but not quite friendly. Formal affairs. As a general rule since his teenage years, Drax Rendolen attempted to keep them to a minimum, but today he was actually on the clock. His own, apparently, had been shot by some unfortunate mishap on his own vessel and he was relegated to wearing what was handy to him at the time, something which he hadn't entirely selected on his own. A tall collar, and an upper edge of the two overlapped flaps are all that's visible of his white dress shirt. Over top, he wears a long, black, double breasted jacket with satin shawl collar, which reaches midway down his thighs and has a one foot long center vent at his back. Above it all is a black robe, made of a similar fabric, which has a matching satin collar along its entire opening, and a white lining. The Alderaanian arrives through a more discrete service entrance, which is predominantly used for the staff working the event. After a brief discussion with some security personnel in private, he exits of the staging area in the company of several attendants and breaks away from them to begin walking along the perimeter of the secure area, searching eyes rolling over the crowds as if he were looking for someone in particular to meet up with. "Getting into position now. Anyone have eyes on Pylat?" The holoprojector switches to display: Several Ghost Squadron pilots are assembled in front of a staggered lineup of their fighters. Most faces are turned to face front and center with a smile, but there's a couple of slackers too distracted by something happening off-camera. Looking more like a businessman, and less like some beer-chugging space-thug, in his semi-formal vest, shirt, slacks, and well-shined shoes, Jaspar makes his way into the party, offering nods to folks here and there, trying to blend in and make nice. He snags a drink off of a passing tray, and sips at it ever so delicately, his eyes wandering as he acclimates to the whole 'high society' thing. It's been a while, but the more he sticks around, the more he feels at home.. and it shows. The Csillian native is out of his normal environment. He is wearing a non-descript grey suit to draw as little attention as possible, his cerulean blue skin does enough of a job at that. He hands the marine at the security station a small flimsy plast card and is waved through security unmolested. Once inside of the venue properly, he adjusts the small comlink in his ear, sub vocalizing a check to make sure that he is communicating, "Wraith on station." He moves through the crowd, his attention drawn to those near him as he keeps on the lookout for anything out of sorts. "We thank our Chief for those inspirational words and reminder of why it is we're here. Our purpose over the next few days is to do more than congratulate ourselves and grow fat on wine and drink. It is to remember all those gone before who have made this freedom possible. It is to honor those sacrifices and to find strength to nurse our own wounds and carry on. I am told, the Commanders of our armed forces will be bestowing awards upon those due, who are present this evening, as per a previously-arranged schedule - you know where to be and when. Also to be included in that award ceremony, are our men and women whose lives we must honor posthumously, for their sacrifice during the recent Battle of Broken Teeth." Pausing, she wets her lips and flexes her fingers over the edge of the glossy, chrome podium. Her gaze aims to pierce through the overwhelming horde of faces below, scanning, searching. "However, there are a few to be awarded tonight, here and now, to the families of those lost defending our Caspian embassy - a symbol of peace, democracy, and for many years, my home. You are all owed my personal gratitude and love for the pain you suffer, for the bravery of the men and women who refused to yield, refused to retreat, and died protecting the values we uphold and this woman here." She points a shaken finger at herself and steps out from behind the podium. Her voice continues to carry, clearing amplified by something on her person. "I understand that not all are able to join us. Many others I would like to thank - those who came to the aid of Leo Corak and the little life he strove to protect, my daughter - remain on Caspar, unidentified and unofficially acknowledged, where sadly they will likely remain until our peoples can be again reconciled." A bit of a bitter note there, her glance cast sideways at someone hidden in the shadows off stage. "But I ask those who /are/ in attendance to please rise when I call the name of your brave marine, and join me on stage to begin this celebratory evening." Another drag is taken of her tabac stick, hiding even the faintest twitches of Portia's red lips as she sub vocalizes over the channel to the other's around, "Meltdown present. I've got eyes on Pylat. About fifty meters to the east side of the platform she's on. Even visiting dignitaries couldn't get closer." And then she's exhaling the tabac smoke, her hand dropping as she leans towards the alien at her side, cooing out several words of Sullustese in almost perfect accent, translating the woman's speech for her cover and date for the evening. She still looked bored. It was a way to keep her eyes on both the stage and the crowd around, like she was searching for anything more interesting than award ceremonies. Gabi fidgets in her seat, running a hand through her shorn hair and trying to undo the last-minute, desperate styling her mother had done. Casting an ornery glance up to her guard, who's splitting his attention between her and the speaker, she inches half a seat to her right, risking the closeness of some other diplo brat's elbow, but testing her guardian's awareness. Her subtle move seems to have gone unnoticed. A handful of other agents check in on the secure comlink channel, sounding off with their own positions and reports. As Drax is walking, he continues to scan over the crowd and runs into an old colleague he sees the Ambassador at the podium. Almost looking through the other pilot as he does so, the Alderaanian's expression warms with a smile and he shakes the others hand with both of his own. "Hey, it's good running into you. I've got to get over to my seat, but I'll catch you later in the week at the reunion, right?" An assertive nod accompanied by another smile are dished out before he continues on his way, reaching a security checkpoint for the front area. Pulling a holocard from his pocket, he displays it for the guards there and then pushes forward. "Gentleman here, getting into position now. Skies are blue on this side." The holoprojector switches to display: Ambassador Delgard, Chief of State Solo, Lord Kizuka and his Shistavanen son Prince Ullan, stand in rigidly formal formation before the camera. Several Praetorians stand guard in the background, one row of embassy steps higher than the posing dignitaries. Kizuka seems unimpressed by present company, staring grimly ahead with flawless posture nonetheless. Ullan is likewise facing forward, but he seems to be watching the petite 'Princess' Leia who stands on the other side of his father. Leia, meanwhile, is wearing a somewhat sly smile, hands folded neatly at her waist. The taller, blonde ambassador has less poise in this moment, eyes closed and toothy grin betraying a laugh while her hands rest atop an extremely pregnant mound of belly. Galin is amid the civilians, families, and lower ranked government officials from all around New Alderaan. He slips a small recording device from his pocket, slipping it onto the back of a chair, before moving on to another area, repeating the process, "Eyes are in place." He makes his way towards one of the bars, slipping a datapad from his belt, powering it on and letting it start running facial geometry software, scanning the civilian crowd for known trouble makers. "Corporal Jin Tullum. Corporal Dane Farsky. Cadet Ian Briggs. Lieutenant Misha Ferring. Lieutenant Lars Farsky." Pausing in the summons there as bodies begin to collect, she bends gingerly at the knees and picks up a box from the floor, setting it atop the podium. Her hand dips in to fetch a gold medallion one at a time, delivering them to each familial group present. A firm handshake for the first man, a gentle pat and whispered words of gratitude for the next - a woman - which is followed by an impromptu hug from the small child at her knees(causing one of the shadowy security figures off to the side to flinch, momentarily). Soft mutterings between the ambassador and those she addresses play out over the intercom faintly, interrupted by the occasional sharp sniff or muffled sob from a recipient. And so the emotional display continues from body to body until all are served. Jaspar casually makes his way around the room, his gaze casting this way and that, until finally it settles upon a familiar Verpine. He raises his drink in polite, silent acknowledgment, before resuming consumption. He keeps his gaze on the stage for a while, watching the solemn display, finishing his drink by the end of it. He exhales slowly, and shakes his head. Gabi gnaws on her lower lip, debating a next course of action. The stage is just a few rows ahead, past lots of overly decorated, pompous hats and fancy people, which means her mother /could/ catch her in the act, even if Mr. big guns here didn't notice right away. Then...idea strikes. Tapping the arm of the fancy-robed kid next to her, she whispers with a conspiratorial grin in her ear. The other girl shrugs and after what seems an eternity, the two have swapped seats. Gabi supresses a laugh with her palm before slipping all the way off that chair and sizing up the hurdles of legs to her left that she's going to need to navigate by to make her break. The Verpine would sigh, if it were a mammal. It saw the captain that had brought it, as well as the bomber, to New Alderaan. It briefly considered ignoring him, but upon silent recommendations from the hive, it walked over to the drinking human. "Good day, Captain," it said just audible over the din of the party. "Are you enjoying the festivities?" "Very much so. And yourself? I hope you're finding things to your liking." Jaspar nods in reply, swapping drinks with a passing waitstaffer, and raising the fresh one to his Verpine companion, continuing to watch the festivities. The holoprojector switches to display: Han Solo, the famed smuggler-turned General, sits reclined in his captain's chair, arms folded languidly behind his head. His trademark smirk is offered in lieu of a smile, eyes turned up and over to exchange a glance with his best friend and co pilot, Chewbacca. Chewbacca is ignoring the Corellian in favor of striking a 'handsome' pose for the media. That smoothly voiced Sullustese comes again as Portia leans over to the diplomat she's been escorting and continues to translate the most recent additions of the speeches. She keeps up just enough that he can understand when what is being said, without totally overshadowing the voice of the person speaking, so he can get the original inflection as well as the meaning of the words. As a translator, the woman in red is expert, it seems. Her ice blue eyes now remain a bit more focused on the platform, but that could be because of the changing holoprojections as much as anything. If asked, Drax could hardly describe what he was looking for. It was the out of place, the wrinkle, or something that just felt hinky. Calm and methodical, he continues to look over his surroundings, moving with service members who were being called to the stage in order to get closer. Reaching the base, he displays his holocard credentials for the guards stationed there and discretely moves up a set of stairs on the side to remain in position there. Aids from the diplomatic corps stand nearby, coordinating upcoming tasks while watching the proceedings, and Drax leans in to exchange a few pleasantries with them, his attention fading as his eyes settle on a group of two guards coming down toward the stage. "East side. Eyes on two guards heading toward the front. Someone able to check them out?" There was something about their uniforms that the Alderaanian just couldn't put his finger on. "Not hardly," the Verpine said, matter of factly. "Mammals focus on death quite a lot," it said. "And on individual gain," it added. "And on drinking," it further added, the distaste in its voice growing slightly with every point it made. It bowed its head politely as a pair of teenagers greeted it as they walked past. Galin's fingers brush over the datapad screen, re-tasking the small sensors with tracking the guards mentioned by the 'Gentleman'. The screen in front of him begins flashing through thousands of images as it works its way through military databases. Every service member currently active or retired should be in there, if they are uniformed members of the Republic military, they should show up, but it is a matter of time. "Tracking them now, but I may need help with the intercept if they aren't detected." As the first hailed procession left the stage, Ambrosia began to call out a second set of names. "Corporal Killian Lance. Officer Avery Jenkins. Captain Liles Bestido..." After all is said and done, 18 names have been called, 18 medallions awarded to what must be fifty or more stand-ins. The expressions worn by those receiving the award ranges from gratuitous, warm, proud, to stoic, hateful even as they regard the woman offering them shiny baubles in exchange for precious life lost. The ambassador took it all in stride, maintaining graceful demeanor all the while, but she made no attempt to hide the tears glistening in her own eyes as they left the stage. "Thank you, for your support of their service." She last quips into the mic, then fades back, away from the lights as Leia returns to the podium. Meanwhile, behind the illumination of spotlights, bodies are assembling in rows, amid a rustling of robes and whispers. The petite Chief of State beams a charismatic smile once more over the heads of the crowd. "Thank you, Ambassador, and thank you all for your contribution in tonight's opening affair. I know there was some speculation, some dissent, on our committee, regarding the choice of location for this Gala. It's true, hosting such a dynamic event under open skies comes with an inherent degree of risk, but I find it more important that all peoples of the Republic, not just a chosen few officials, be granted access to participate. It's difficult to accommodate so many bodies in enclosed spaces, so...here we are!" Clearing her throat, she glances to a member of the security detail, hovering /very/ close by. "It is not in our nature to cow away from adversity, to hide in fear of the unknown dangers lurking in shadow. So in the spirit of courage, I invite the Covenant College Choir to kick off tonight's celebration, by challenging that darkness we all strive to fight." Sweeping her hands aside into a small bow of completion, Leia vanishes once more into her awaiting company off stage while the lighting shifts towards darkness, save for luminescent globes which light intermittently to cast an ethereal glow over faces emerging there, from the black. A single voice intones "Come the daaawn, come the caaall...Cooome, the beating air..." It's 'Pylat' who seems to have earned her codename fittingly. (song: to hear the song I'm totally stealing in spirit of the Republic) Being a diplomatic aid wasn't the best cover, as long as the diplomat was interested in what was happening. Portia nods towards the side of the stage, muttering in that same language, "Let's see if we can get a bit closer..." And she then leads the way a bit closer, trying to get in position to cut off those two guards if she needs to do so, but it's going to be difficult to do subtly. She'll be on hand as close back up, but the woman in the red dress is clearly not the first line of defense for this gathering. She subvocalizes in basic into her comm, "I'm closer, but if I need to act, I'll break cover." The holoprojector switches to display: Ornate, white marble statues almost blend into the equally blinding wall, serving as the backdrop for this photo op. General Mahon, acting Presav of the CDU stands stiffly alongside the NR's ambassador to Caspar - Ambrosia Delgard (formerly Aderanne). Ambrosia's right arm crosses over her midsection to clasp Mahon's hand firmly in agreement as they both face forward, smiles expertly painted for the Press. A small podium is centered in the foreground, containing a signed copy of their revised treaty. The holoprojector switches to display: The pilots of Falcon Squadron are clustered together around a crate serving as a temporary gaming table. The men and women offer the camera smiles of varying enthusiasm. It looks like they're using candy to place their bets. Jaspar glances over just in time to catch Portia's nod to the stage. His 'instinct' kicks in, and he excuses himself to grab another drink, and then makes his way over to Portia. "You look like you could use a drink.." He offers the second drink over, with a subtle nod to the woman. "Let's converge. Clean and quiet takedown here, no commotion, no headlines. Meltdown, try not to stay pristine, but can you distract them for a moment? Wraith, you think you can come up from behind? I'm coming from the front. Welcome wagon, get ready for a pick up." Drax's eyes move over to the center of the crowd, using his peripheral vision to keep tabs on the pair without alerting them. With a calm, casual pace he works back away from the stage along with several of the service members who had just been honored, slapping one on the back and offering him a handshake during the trip. Galin's attention lingers on the pad, "They aren't showing up on my scan, whoever they are, they aren't RepMil!" He sub vocalizes into his com, as orders come through he responds, "Affirmative, Gentleman." He stashes the datapad while stepping away from the bar, plotting an intercept through the crowd towards the approaching guards, his hands linger around his waist, ready to draw his blaster if things don't go as subtly as they hope. The last subvocalization that comes from Portia is a firm, "Got it." And Jaspar's approach is just *perfect* timing. There is a reason Portia is called Meltdown in certain circles. Because the composed, bored looking, seeming run-way star of a translator suddenly snaps in his direction and the SLAP across Jaspar's cheek is hard enough to be heard over the loud speakers. He's going to have a *welt* in the morning, "How DARE you.... DARE YOU even TALK to me after walking out like that?! I thought you LOVED me! I would have RETIRED for you, but you STAND ME UP on our FOURTH DATE?! We MEANT SOMETHING!" And she has gone full on rich girl freak out in his direction. The claws are bared and if someone doesn't duck in to scoop her up later, Jaspar's eyes might not be safe soon! "Chill the niiight, Soldier liiight, We'll be dancing there..." The rest of the choir then joins in softly for refrain as their forms brighten beneath the growing light. "And riiise up, rise uuup...Day stretching weary wings..." Ambrosia continues her sultry croon, but breaks formation to wander a bit off to the side, and up after catching sight of a familiar face in an odd place. And an outburst from a lady in red. Worried eyes, as her sung lyrics continue, could be misconstrued for simply soulful though. "Come the day, come the dawn, somewhere it lays..." Gabi is busy with her head down, bumping and excusing her way out of her aisle of imprisonment. At last...freedom! Standing, she spies a familiar 'duke' go striding by behind the sappy group of people leaving the stage. Hesitating before she follows, the child looks back to ensure her trickery has not been outed. One minute he's offering a drink, the next said drink goes flying into the crowd, and Jaspar stumbles back a half step.. maybe playing up the reaction a bit much? But yeah, definitely a welt in the morning.. and his bell's been rung but good. "What the hell? *I* stood you *up*?!" He fires back after recovering, though now he's slurring his words just a hair. "*You* called *me* and told me that night wasn't good for you, so we rescheduled! Are you saying that wasn't you?" As the Marine pulls off to move down the aisle for his own seat, Drax gives one more slap on the back and a nod before refocusing ahead. As his one hand had been active congratulating the serviceman, his other had been busy pulls a small silver cylinder from a pouch within his sleeve. Inside that billowy expanse of fabric, his thumb hovers over the trigger for the device, ready for the incoming action. In his head, he runs through the moves over and over, adjusting in each loop as positions change slightly. Meltdown lives up to her name and it takes everything that Drax has not to grin like an idiot as it all goes down. In the back of his head, he makes a note to pull up the security footage to truly enjoy it, especially given that a certain smuggler captain is on the receiving end of the treatment. "Shorty is mine. Start a three count. Mark." Adrenaline is kicking in and the Senior Agent feels it as he closes in, still mindful of keeping his eyes more on the action that is ensuing around the woman in the red dress. The guards, as well trained as they were, had been caught in a precarious spot. Not being close enough to execute their own plan, they still needed to remain in character for their current disguise. On the other hand, they couldn't get bogged down in the situation or risk being blow. They stand and hesitate before each raising a wrist to talk into unseen microphones, as if coordinating with other security personnel before carrying on. This is the precise moment when Drax bumps into the shorter of the guards, pressing the cylinder into their back and hitting the trigger to send a small needle in. His other arm hooks under theirs and slings it over his shoulder to begin pulling him away. "Woah! Looks like you got hit pretty good there. Let's get you out of the middle of all of this and get you checked out at medical, eh?" The holoprojector switches to display: A close-up shot of a few senators seated in their chambers, eyes focused ahead on whoever is speaking below. One of the senators - from Rodia - has spotted the camera and is casting a sly wink in its direction. Of course, Meltdown also isn't going to stop. Portia couldn't blow her cover, even if she's blown the translation job, and Jaspar was so good at playing along. As his response comes, she actually screeches, in that high pitched, awful way that only truly spoiled children know how to do. It's enough to make dogs whimper, it's so high pitched! "YOU KNOW IT WASN'T! That is the most LAME excuse I've EVER heard. I should rip off your balls here and now!" Instead, she jerks her arm forward in what should look like a violent punch to the solar plexus to anyone watching, but she pulls the blow a second before making impact as to not actually damage him. Hopefully he runs with it. She then spits on his shoes and turns on the ball of her foot, stalking in the direction of those two whom she was distracting but without any care or focus -- she's just a woman storming off after making a ridiculous scene. Galin arrives just in time, "Copy that." He whispers, slipping up behind the larger of the two guards, flicking his wrist to extract a small stun stick kept in his sleeve and taps the man on the shoulder, "Hey your friend there is in trouble." With that, he jabs the small weapon in the small of the man's back, knocking him senseless, long enough for Galin to join his colleague in getting the two troublemakers out of the way, while the party is distracted by the woman in the red dress. "Knooow my heart, know my liiife, Forget everything..." Ambrosia's voice warbles a touch and she lays a hand over her breast, glance thrown offstage to one of her bodyguards. A signal, maybe, but she makes no motion to leave the stage and instead back-steps into her original position there. "Cooome the day, thief of the niiight, Lifts its voice to sing..." The choir again chimes in, voices building very slowly towards a crescendo yet to come. Their combined volume, broadcasted overhead, overwhelms any audio from the little lovers' quarrel, save for the few unfortunate viewers seated nearest to it. Shakily, a smile forms on the ambassador's face as she inhales in preparation to belt a refrain. Jaspar does indeed know how to fake taking a hit, and he takes it well, clutching at himself and grimacing in (fake) agony. He manages to limp away from the altercation, trying not to cry, because good grief the woman can hit.. at least, he telegraphs as much. Gabi sees a tiny shuffling of bodies begin in the row she just vacated and grows pale. The gig is up! The girl makes fast tracks down the aisle towards the nearest refreshment stand, under the cover of dim lighting. At least she might be able to sneak some cake before she's busted. The sound from Portia seems to enter Drax's ears and travel directly down his spine, bringing back a memory of someone he had dated in his early days on Alderaan. It he hadn't been dragging a drugged and stunned man around as if he were perfectly alert and awake, he would be shivering and looking for a stiff drink to shake the horrible memory. Emerald eyes dart back and forth between Galin, to observe his own takedown, and Portia, for the entertainment factor of her distraction and to see what position she'd be taking up behind them. "Two for pick up, Welcome Wagon. Roll out red carpet." He had barely finished talking before two agents in guard uniforms emerged from the exit that the Chief of State had used for coming and going to keep the path clear, waving Drax and Galin forward. Portia has, no doubt, lost that translation job. She doesn't even look back to see what happened to the poor man she rough-housed ever so elegantly in her long dress. She just keeps cutting through the crowd, about ten feet to the side of the guards which have now been put to bed, so if anyone is still looking at her, hopefully they miss that spetacle. As someone reaches over to stop her, she growls at him, "Don't you DARE lay a HAND on me." For one last dose of distraction. Then she's disappearing into the crowd in a huff of red silk and black hair. The holoprojector switches to display: The subjects of this frozen moment in time are outfitted with rag-tag armor indicative of operating underground. The armed fighters are positively covered in sludge and slouch over to 'take a knee' while a team of medical personnel blur around them. The gaping maw of a sewage tunnel/storm overflow yawns in the background. The expressions beneath their forced, minutely-relieved smiles, leaves little doubt about the contents of that sludge. And the one on the left bears irrefutable resemblance to Ambassador Delgard. "Now riiiise up, rise uuup! Eeeever victooorious..." The singers' boom joyously before dying back a touch, "Knooow the tiiime, knooow the liiight, comes the suuun agaaain..." The glowing spheres begin to rise higher overhead. What they're suspended from, if anything, isn't visible. The robed figures are gently swaying, hands rising, beseeching to the skyward lights. The refrain repeats a final time, "Now riiise up, riiise up, eeever victoorious!" And dies rapidly to a low hum in the background as the ambassador finishes it off, voice hanging in the stillness of the air long after the last syllable's uttered "Knooow the time, know the liiight, Cooomes the sun again." Several beats go by before the lighting returns to normal and someone begins applauding. Stepping forward, Ambrosia bows her chin cordially and unclips the mic from her hair, laying it to rest on the podium. "Enjoy," she may as well just mouth, voice barely audible by itself. The diplomat turns on pointed heel and swishes offstage, exposing for the first time the daring plunge of her gown in the rear. It's party time! Galin passes his troublemaker off to the uniformed officers, "Have them taken to the detention facility." He wastes little time as soon as the woman in the red dress has exited stage right, the cover she had so graciously provided is no longer available. He motions to the 'Gentleman', "I wonder what these two will have to say when they wake up." Gabi looks back over her shoulder, watching her guard emerge from that row and flashes the server a charming smile while sneaking a swipe of the nearest cake slice with her fingers into fist before trotting off to the other side of that deep column of chair rows. Perhaps if she can intersect her mother before the armed help, it'll count towards lessening her sentence. Both of the troublemakers are taken by the greeting agents, who don't even so much as nod before moving them over to the waiting speeder behind them. Drax returns the gesture from Wraith with a nod and speaks with his mic open so that the full team can hear. "Let's all be at the facility tomorrow to find that out. Meltdown, one hell of a performance, as always. Wraith, great snatch." Jerking a head back toward the event, he starts to move in that direction and fires off a mock salute to Galin, "I'm headed back in to tail Pylat for the remainder of the night. Let me know when our friends are tucked in for the night." With that said, he drops into the crowd of people now freely moving about as the ceremony comes to a close. Maybe he could nab a piece of that cake along the way... "Thank you, I trust you've settled in comfortably?" Ambrosia delicately clasps hands with a Rodian minister and his wife. Continuing to move on, pretending to be swept by a few passing bodies, she cranes her head around, clearly trying to land sights on someone. And that someone is not in her seat. She freezes, momentary panic overriding what should be suspicion of her daughter's guilt in this charade. Looks like her pursuit of friendly interactions on the dancefloor is going to be put on hold. The holoprojector switches to display: A representative from Mutanda is engaged in audience with the Chief of State Leia Organa-Solo. Leia stands at the end of a long table - occupied by Senator Tokoga and Commander Cen. Her arm is gracefully extended, gripping two large, fuzzy fingers for a formal handshake. N'kosi K'tyyri Tarashabi, ornamented as per her status, is on the other end of the gesture sitting /beside/ a chair, on the floor, ceremonial cloth draped neatly betwixt her bent knees. It appears that this arrangement allows them to more properly look the other in the eye. A nervous 3PO stands just behind Leia.
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