Ask Anam Cara

[Reyna Vernize]

Not every planet in the southern regions of space found themselves at the end of the sword. A few were reveling in the freedom and opportunity the Independent Systems Consortium had granted them by driving out the Sith Empire. They caroused like the liberated, the ISC and even, in its own way, the newly-constituted Empire their liberators. Tibrin was such a world, a mid-rim planet covered in oceans, so that the cities of the Ishi Tib were built on reefs.

Tonight, the upper-echelon of the tropical world would play hosts to a lavish party, their guests only those hand-picked out of the upper drawers of neighboring and choice distant worlds, some of the same that the Sith Order had once terrorized, in a show of good will. That was what prompted the Princess of Onderon, adorned in a floor-length, vintage style dress and mask to accept the invitation. That and something else.

A masquerade. The theme chosen perhaps, Reyna imagined, to hide the identities of those hosts and attendants that preferred to remain anonymous and appear impartial should any practitioners of the Sith Order linger on the ocean world and decide to slit their throats in the night. Even the repast suggested this, all canapes and bite-sized food that could be eaten without ever removing the mask. The wide selection of edible seaweed and fresh fish alone was beyong indulgent and would given the impression that under the umbrella of the Sith, Tibrin's citizens had starved. One only had to look at their waistlines to know otherwise.

Tibrin's most opulent building had been selected to house this event, with high ceilings, a marble staircase, and attractive lighting. A chandelier hung from the ceiling over the dance floor. The only other source of light in the hallways and balconies that surrounded the dance hall were candelabras and tapered candles—one of which had already been knocked over by one of the host's sons, a pernicious boy of six that had escaped both bed and governess, tearing through the room with an Emryc Thorne action figure in one hand and waving his governess' stolen spectacles in the other. Only the action figure survived the collision, which shattered both lens in the spectacles and set one middle-aged woman's train on fire, before the young boy was carted out of the room by his father and an attendant.

With the night's one and hopefully only calamity out of the way, the festivities looked more promising than ever. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

This wasn’t Altair’s scene normally, but he was allowing himself more and more pleasures normally reserved for the wealthy. After all, he was a King. Even with the war and the split, he had his own claim to the worlds he had personally taken. It was a bit flimsy, and the Priamsta certainly called into question the legitimacy of his claim. However, his men remained loyal as ever, remaining as the elite royal guard prepared to quell any uprisings. If any happened, it wouldn’t be from the local populations that only thrived since he took the helm and saved them from Asminys.

He was here to mingle, but he was also here to observe. His presence wasn’t loud and obnoxious, but subtle and almost discreet. It was that light swish of a tail that people did a double take to notice. It was the silhouette of his horns that warranted questions of whether it was part of his mask. None of it was on purpose, he had simply learned to move with practiced grace. He didn’t always need to be the center of the room. He could instead command quiet confidence. He was comfortable with the legends surrounding him, and he didn’t need to profess them loudly for others to pick up that there was something about him. An intoxicating desire to learn more. He caught a few coy glances his way through painted masks and lips, through the tilts of heads, the twirl of an errant strand of hair.

As it had always been, his magnetism lay in the danger he presented. The folklores, the stories children were told to remind them to be good. He was everything bad, and it was exactly what made him irresistible to prissy women that spent a lifetime pampered and doted upon by princes and chivalrous types. It wasn’t long before he found a dainty hand in his, a practiced shy smile from a woman that was miraculously actually his age. Meaningless dialogue. Her soft giggle at a joke he made that wasn’t that funny. It was methodical and the same results, only one or two variables in the formula ever changed.

And then inevitable excuse he made to oh so reluctantly pull away.

The demon king found himself in need of a drink, practiced fingers soon curled around a whiskey glass. He stood near a balcony, rays of the moonlight illuminating his sapphire attire and a glint across the mask he wore. He quietly sipped from his glass, letting the fiery taste crawl down his throat. His tail lazily swished from side to side, right on beat with the classical number that was playing presently. Vivid amethyst eyes peered through the mask, the thoughts behind them remarkably opaque.

@llamallove

 

[Reyna Vernize]

Tibrin had achieved nothing less than modern magic, casting a charm over the entire room, invisible to the naked eye but so thoroughly spellbinding to all those in attendance that it was nearly tangible. Its effects were plainly seen. Every lace curtain socialite was showered with blandishments and promises from eligible—and sometimes ineligible gentlemen—made braver by the alcohol that coursed through their veins and the masks that guaranteed them limited anonymity.

Their host, red-faced and recently returned from the same bedchambers his son had escaped from, did not let a little thing like a woman's gown catching on fire put a damper on his evening, swirling a glass of brandy in one hand and smoking a cigar in the other as he rejoined his friends. Even the string quartet, confined to their designated corner and denied alcohol and dance appeared to be content. The second violinist, as high as a Ssori on spice, more than the others. His blood-shot eyes strained to see the sheet music propped up in front of him. With sloppy, uncoordinated movements, he lagged one to two notes behind the others, but what he lacked in precision he made up for with enthusiasm.

No one seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn't say anything. No one wanted to spoil the fun. A smile graced the lips of every guest. There was a bounce in the step of every dancer. Alcohol flowed freely. Compliments rolled off every tongue. Well, not every tongue.
"Who left the back door open and let a Tiefling slip in?"
"Shh," the woman's silk-stocking friend urged her, "Don't you know who that is? He's the one that—"

"I don't care what he did," the first woman rejoined, all too eager to have a scandal that she could sink her teeth into and give a good shake. "I don't care if he's the Skyborn Supreme. They're all devils. Every last one of them."

This exchange Reyna overheard in passing, and she didn't linger long enough to listen to the woman's first hand account of a "devil with glowing red eyes and a laugh begotten of chaos itself that had swindled her father out of his fortune and tried to soil her dignity with his advances." The princess' attention was drawn, instead, toward the subject that had unknowingly sparked this conversation. A flash of blue. The swish of a tail. Four horns that stuck out in the crowd. Her heart skipped a beat.

Reyna found him alone, standing on one of the balconies circumjacent to the dance hall. "I almost didn't recognize you behind the mask," she said, walking up behind him. She didn't know if he would recognize her, and she didn't know if he knew her only as Zelle or as the Princess of Onderon. She couldn't even be sure he would respond. A lot could change in a few months. A lot had changed. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair was perfectly content where he was, one elbow leaning on the railing while the other hand lifted the whiskey to his lips. Every now and then he caught a severe glare his way, and he responded by lifting his glass in cheers. After all these years, he was entirely unfazed by the suspicion. He found it far more tolerable than the clear opposite side of the spectrum.

He took a moment to gaze out towards the stars, his thoughts far away and across the galaxy. Perhaps it was time for him to start considering one of the many marriage proposals that came his way. He began to give up on the notion that he could ever have what his parents had - that simply didn’t work for royalty. He would have to marry some daughter of a Priamsta and probably keep a lover on the side like the rest of them. Altair scoffed bitterly at the thought, taking a deeper swig of his drink.

Altair was yanked from his thoughts as a voice spoke up behind him. He didn’t respond immediately, swirling the drink in his glass, “Isn’t that the point?” He replied before finally turning around. His gaze roamed over her hair, her stature, the way she carried herself and of course the ears. Even the mask couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes.

“Zelle,” He said calmly, “...Or should I say Princess Reyna,” Altair said, reaching up to remove his mask. The thing was beginning to bug him anyway. He knew he had disappeared off the radar, and he knew he hadn’t been honest about his identity. Hopefully she watched Holonet enough to keep up with what happened with the Sith.

“I’m surprised you came over,” He said. Though there was a familiar twang to his speech, she would notice he enunciated far more formally now, “I figured you’d want nothing to do with me after finding out what I am.”

@llamallove

 

[Reyna Vernize]

Reyna crossed the balcony in measured steps with a single-minded, immutable poise that betrayed nothing she did not wish to be seen. She was in command of her every move, if not her thoughts. No expression in her eyes, no inconstancy in her gait displayed the uncertainty she might have felt within her as she joined Altair with the confidence that had always been expected from her, as if this were her home, and she had walked its halls all of her life.

The night was warm, the dance hall with fires burning in the hearths and dancers pressed up against one another warmer still. This balcony was a breath of fresh air, balmy but not unbearable. Waves overtook Tibrin's sandbars and lapped at the bluffs beneath the mansion. A gentle wind tugged at the half-Sephi's hair, pinned and meticulously arranged at the back of her head, the smell of salt and sulfur carried up on its currents. Saltwater blended with the sweet caramel, buttery tang of the whiskey Altair held in his hand. A smell she recognized well, even if she generally avoided stronger alcoholic beverages due to her low metabolic tolerance.
"I wondered if you would be in attendance tonight," was the princess' hedged response, leaning against the stone railing and staring out at the ocean that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Tibrin was situated so close to Eiattu, after all, the planet she had recently discovered through holonet broadcasts he was the King of. "I suppose..." Her gaze settled on him, dark fingers idly playing with the engravings etched into the stone railing she leaned against. There was no 'supposing.' "It is what prompted me to accept the invitation."

Another woman might have feared that such a confession would sound absurd. She did not owe him such an unambiguous peak into her thought process and motivations, not after he'd cut off all communication with her and stopped showing up to their training lessons without explanation or warning, but it was her way. She spoke her mind whenever she was not bound by propriety and public opinion and all of the red tape that came with being a princess. Right now it was just the two of them. Alone on a balcony. Away from listening ears. It did not answer Altair's statement, but she wasn't sure she had an answer for that yet. She had wanted to see him tonight. Right now. That was all she knew. All she could say.

She watched him remove the mask that concealed his face, that would've prevented this interaction entirely were it not for his signature four horns. Dark eyes studied his face in an unhurried manner, searching for something. She didn't know what. Remorse? Conviction? Anger? It was still the youthful face she had seen so many times from across a sparring mat, but it lacked that radiance that had already been dwindling when she had last seen him. Life, the galaxy, human experience—they had left their mark on him as they did everyone. Not even royalty, with all of their wealth and comfort, were exempt from that.

 

[Altair Din]

Altair was visibly surprised at her admission to coming here because of him. He wasn’t sure how to respond initially, so he used the age old trick of sipping from his glass at an opportune moment. He looked at her as she watched the stars, his gaze panning over her fluted ear. He remembered exactly how much they swiveled or twitched of their own accord.

Curiously she didn’t ask about his identity, though she knew it full well by now. This was an exclusive event and only the elites of the galaxy were welcome. She looked into his eyes and he wondered if she was searching for something. Probably an explanation of some sort. He had seen that look before in the eyes of many women, and he was always puzzled in the past. He wasn’t puzzled now, but he was not exactly forthcoming either. He simply took another sip from his glass, his tail swishing lazily from side to side.

“You look beautiful,” He said, his tone genuine. She wore the dress as if she always belonged in it, and now he knew she had, “I hope you’ve been keeping up with what I’ve taught you,” Altair said with a smile. It was a familiar smile, perhaps one of the only things entirely recognizable through this new persona he had now.

@llamallove

 

[Reyna Vernize]

Neither of them stood at the center of the ballroom, hand in hand as they danced beneath candelabras, every step in time with the music as they bended and swayed in and out of the crowd, but they were both dancing, nonetheless. Dancing around the elephant in the room. Around the wedge that had been driven between them, even now when they stood only a shoulder width apart.

Altair's identity. It was at the forefront of their minds, the silent dynamo behind every word spoken, that prompted each calculated gesture. He sipped at his whiskey, buying himself time, while she fell back on the training she had received ever since she was a little girl. It was second nature to her now, and usually it came easily. Tonight was an exception. Her ears were upright—alert and interested—but uneven. It was a subtle nuance, one of the many differences that varied from one Sephi to another. It would have been impossible to put all of the emotions and questions that swirled within her into words, but if she was, at that moment, to be summed up in one word—she was conflicted.

"Thank you, Altair," she accepted the compliment in a gracious, practiced tone, dipping her head. Dark eyes swept over the sapphire suit he wore, before resting on his smile. At least some things never changed. "I believe this is the first time I have seen you in anything other than sweat pants." She probably should've chuckled so he would know she wasn't mocking him, but she wasn't a particularly expressive person even under the best of circumstances. Were there any doubts as to her intention, it would be cleared up when she added, "You're quite debonair." That was a more fitting compliment, she thought, as he was handsome either way. Sweatpants or tailored suits. Reyna's gaze returned to the ocean after that, and the pair fell into silence as they listened to one wave after another crash into the bluffs below them.
"Some say they represent freedom," her voice came softly, almost smothered by the ocean. She was looking at the Venetian mask now, the one Altair clutched in his hand. "That they allow us to become who we truly are. The essence of our true selves, so often tucked beneath the identity we wear day in and day out but were never destined to live." One hand slid across the railing, index finger delicately brushing one of the black feathers of the Tiefling's mask. "Others believe they represent anonymity. A way to escape the reality that we live, the reality of ourselves for a little while. To become someone we aren't. Someone we have no intention of ever becoming."

Finally, with heart pounding in her chest, she lifted her eyes to Altair. She stared up at him out of the slits of the red and golden mask she wore. "What do you say?" It was obvious that she did not speak of the physical masks they wore that night. She spoke of the masks they had worn the night they'd first met amongst the ruins of Onderon's senate building, that they had been wearing ever since. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Debonair. If it had even been a year ago, he wouldn’t have even known what that word meant. However, he was hearing it more frequently these days, and especially in the new circles he ran in. Altair was silent as she mused about masks and their purpose. She was always the type to find insight and meaning from things he normally took at face value. He was briefly reminded of that greenhouse they trained in and all the hopes and dreams she had for that. Did she tend to those flowers? He hadn’t acted on his promise of helping keep it alive and he felt a pang of guilt.

“I took mine off, didn’t I?” He asked quietly, gazing at her. His expression was difficult to read. He had learned how to wear a poker face first from his ascension into royalty and then the lessons he had from Trelain. For all the ways she was calculating, she could never have predicted that Altair would be the cause for her end.

“I’m Altair Din,” He began slowly, “I was a Sith. I was there that day..” Altair looked away, unnerved at the thought of seeing the look of betrayal that would appear on her face, “...I was at those ruins because I led a mission there. I ran across a Jedi that saved my life,” He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head, “Pain in the ass Jedi. I found her lightsaber and I’ve been visiting those ruins every few months or whenever I pass through the mid rim. Maybe she’d go back one day and I’d just run into her or something stupid,” He shrugged vaguely, looking back at Reyna, “I have a lot of blood on my hands that can’t be washed away. I just didn’t want to smear it all over you as well.”

Altair laughed bitterly again before he looked away, resting his elbows on the railing, “I started to like you and that’s never turned out well for me or anyone involved,” He said flatly. He was done being the person that constantly breezed past topics. He had hurt many people and they hurt him, and he gained nothing from trying to keep himself guarded or pretending he had no emotions.

@llamallove

 

[Reyna Vernize]

I was there that day.

Conflicted didn't even begin to scratch the surface. Reyna repeated those five words over and over in her mind until she could no longer think straight. Until all of her surroundings—the carefree laughter that echoed from inside the mansion, the lighthearted music, and the roar of the ocean waves—disappeared. Tibrin dwindled and faded until all that remained was she and Altair. To discover that her guardian angel, sent by the gods when she had need him the most, had actually been a Sith the entire time had been a gale. To learn that he had not only been compliant but had actually participated in the invasion and violation of her homeworld was a tempest. Maybe Cassian had been right all along. She was too naïve. If the gods do watch over you, Reyna... it's with loaded dice.

Only the gods were privy to her thoughts at that precise moment, though Altair could wager a guess. Raw emotion flickered unbidden across her face, still concealed behind a Venetian mask, but for a brief, passing moment her eyes served as the window to her soul. The princess vacillated between disbelief, betrayal, and anger as she stood there, swaying in place in spite of her training and Sephi instincts.

"I see," was all she could manage, her etiquette training not completely abandoning her. It demanded that she say something, even if it wasn't very intelligent. There was a distinct pain in the back of the throat that she just couldn't shake, and the warm night air that she'd eagerly welcomed only moments ago was suddenly, inexorably intolerable. The designer dress she wore, which fit like a glove, was incommodious, and the mask... she felt as if she would suffocate.
Lightheaded, Reyna pitched forward until she reached a section of the railing two or three feet away from Altair. She just needed some air. Needed a moment to think. Trembling hands reached upward, toward her face, where they struggled to remove the red and golden mask. It fell to her side, clutched loosely in a limp hand, and she breathed freely again.

Freedom. That would've been her answer. She'd never been anyone other than herself with Altair. She had been Reyna Vernize in everything but name. Could he say the same? She supposed he had. He had given her an answer, just... in his own way. He said he liked her. Or, at least, he had. Surely that mean he hadn't just been playing a part?

She asked in a small voice, more inarticulate that Altair would have ever heard her—sober, that is—before now, "Did you... were you among the men that stormed the palace?" That killed her father? Cassian? Had he been with Raze? She didn't remember him being there, but it was all... It had all happened so fast. She couldn't be sure. He said he'd been at the senate building, and that gave her hope that the answer was no, but she had to ask. She had to know. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Altair wasn’t surprised at her reaction. He calmly watched her walk away to compose herself, his own face largely impassive. He had been through this many times before. The utter shock at realizing what he was, the inability to cope, the slow acceptance that he was a monster, and then the permanent severing of trust and contact. None of this was new to him, and this was going exactly as he expected. She would turn and walk back into the ballroom, leaving him on the balcony, he just knew it. It was for that reason he said everything in one go and got everything off his chest. There were no unspoken words left and his conscience was clear.

Her back still to him, Altair simply turned to face the stars again, quietly sipping from his drink. His tail was lightly curled, calmly swaying from side to side. He made no move towards her, nor did he leave the vicinity. She had come to him, and she would make that call. To his surprise, she spoke again, her voice fraught with emotion. Altair took another sip of his whiskey, still gazing ahead, “No,” He said almost flatly.

“I did my mission, the building collapsed from an unknown source, and I left the planet,” He said, his tone genuine, “I wasn’t aware of what else happened until several weeks later,” Altair couldn’t have imagined that the Sith would ultimately fail.

“I’m never gonna ask you to forgive me,” Altair said, some of his usual accept slipping in, “But I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve been living through a lot of lies and I’m done with it.”

@llamallove

 

[Reyna Vernize]

Honesty. That, at least, was something. No one had coerced Altair to make this confession, to inform her of the reality of his involvement on that fateful Onderon day. The day that had sealed the fate of so many Onderonians, including the fates of those two beings most precious to her. He had done this willingly and of his own accord.

Altair had laid his cards on the table, and they had both been dealt a bad hand. Destined to serve on opposite sides of the conflict. Convicted that they were on the right side of history, no matter the final hand. No matter who stood against them, but the last thing Reyna had expected was for the face of the enemy to also be the face of a friend—the face of her soul friend. Now the future of that war was uncertain, with the Empire and the Sith splitting. Reyna wasn't sure where the Empire and the FWA stood now, or where the Empire and the ISC stood for that matter.

The Princess of Onderon manfully strove to suppress any visible signs of suffering, effecting to stand with the calm indifference that she was supposed to maintain on any occasion when the public eye might fall on her, but it was all in vain. The crack of her father's neck snapping and the blood trickling from Cassian's lips—she remembered it all like it was yesterday. She relived the nightmare over and over in her mind, waking and sleeping. She turned her face toward the ocean at last, the warm night breeze tugging on her hair as she watched the waves roll in and wishing she were out there amongst them.

There were a thousand questions that sprung to life in her mind. Would he have killed her father? Cassian, if given the chance? Would he have trained her, taught her how to fight the enemy if he had know who she was and who it was she was planning to fight? Would the Empire invade Onderon again one day? Would he have ever reached out to her again or would he have gone on evading her, just as he had for months? Was it the war that had kept him away from that last scheduled sparring session, or was it more than that? Some questions she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answers to, but they nagged away at her, nonetheless.

"What of Darth Raze?" she asked, her slender frame still and tense. The monster that had wreaked havoc across the galaxy for decades. The red, lifeless eyes that stared back at her out of the shadows of nightmares when she she laid her head on her pillow at night. The creature that would have slayed her, too, had her guards not drug her away. Did the Empire—did Altair— know his whereabouts? Would they track him down, too? Surely... surely he wasn't amongst their number. @Sreeya

 

[Altair Din]

Likely to her surprise, Altair simply scoffed at her question, taking a sip of his whiskey, “Hasn’t been seen in years,” He said nonchalantly. It wasn’t entirely surprising. Darth Raze always followed his own agenda, and Altair wasn’t convinced he would have aligned with current Sith ideals. For all he knew, the man was dead or posing as wolf in sheep’s clothing like a real Sith would.

“I think you’re wasting both our time asking about things that have passed,” Altair said dryly, “The Empire is open to negotiating peace with anyone that wishes,” He finished his drink, grabbing a second glass from a tray carried by a droid. Altair wouldn't tolerate her putting him on the stand when he also had his share of suffering. He did his due diligence, but he wouldn't grovel or apologize for anything beyond disappearing on her. It was clear she was trying to deduce just how terrible he was.

“If you’re only here to quiz me about the Sith, you can schedule a formal diplomatic visit and work it through my aide, princess,” Altair said, “I’m here to enjoy myself tonight.”

@llamallove