The Republic has fallen.
In the final days of the Clone Wars, Chancellor Palpatine died under mysterious circumstances. With the Senate struggling to retain a sense of unity, it was the perfect time for the Separatists to strike. And strike they did...
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Three hours into the gala, Lux was beyond glad he'd worn his favorite pairs of boots. He'd spent so long on the dance floor already that his feet were growing sore; he couldn't imagine the agony he'd be feeling right now had he gone with shoes so formal he hadn't worn them enough to break them in.
He also suspected he was a little drunk, which wasn't helping matters. Not enough to impair him all that much, thankfully – or at least not enough to turn making the same small talk over and over again into a real problem – but he was definitely laughing easier, he had to use the facilities something fierce, and the flush on his cheeks refused to give him a moment's peace.
He cursed his pale skin in every language he knew as his wrist comm spat out the next name on his dance card. As if on cue, a light touch traced from his shoulder down his arm, and his partner for the impending waltz sashayed around to face him.
The face was right, and the smile definitely struck the right balance between cold and conniving, but the body was not. Lux started, his eyes flying to the place he'd only ever seen obscured by a scarf. Lady Noronessa had... lekku?
The change was remarkable. Without her scarf, she went from a Human or near-Human burn victim to visibly half-Twi'lek in the blink of an eye. The pink splotches decorating her face and neck and hands weren't scars or some sort of off-color vitiligo; they were the mark of a heritage she'd never seen fit to show him.
Lux stared at her blankly for half a moment before memory flooded over him, awareness born along the waves like sediment that quickly settled in the riverbed. The red Twi'lek man Lux had overheard Noronessa speaking with in the mining tunnels a month past must be her father. But what had she meant, when she'd said her father put her at risk of being disinherited? Lux hadn't caught enough of their conversation to draw any conclusions, and he'd been forced to file the tidbit away for when next he saw them together – if he ever did.
Gods above, he really did have too many things on his plate, didn't he? He was starting to lose track of things that had the potential to become important.
"Does my appearance displease you, my Lord?"
Realizing he'd been quiet too long, Lux scraped up a charming smile and tried to will himself back to sobriety. "Hardly. You look ravishing, Lady Noronessa."
"Not so ravishing you gawp at me for the whole dance, I hope!" She gave an overly bright, tinkling laugh – a politician's laugh – as she tossed one lek over her shoulder. "But I will permit slurred words. We have much to discuss, and the less you enunciate, the better. There may be lip readers and cams watching us."
"My father wouldn't allow cams inside," Lux said as they took their places. "I doubt certain nobles would want their... activities here tonight being made public."
He glanced meaningfully at the dark corners of the Great Hall where he knew a number of pleasure slaves were waiting, praying all the while that Alynna wasn't among them; he hadn't had a single moment to himself to check. Noronessa snorted, but he could tell her ire wasn't directed at his rushed attempt at delicacy. " 'F anyone were to commission cam operators to watch you, believe me, it'd be him."
