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Sylvan Varain
Mortal-King
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2018
- Location
- Princehome.
The Sith walk upon Coruscant once more.
"This is the only time I shall beg for mercy from you, my beloved nemeses - leave the politics for our masters, and drink and eat your fill."
Those that had started drinking before they arrived raise their cups, laughing easily and not entirely alone. There's sixteen Senators for every Jedi present, and they see them give in to little treacheries by allowing the Dark Lord of Strength to tempt them to laughter. Darth Marr stands atop a podium ill-fitted for his immense stature, a fidgeting and pampered committee member standing beside him to further draw out the absurdity of the sight.
They can't laugh. Neither can the most experienced of the Knights and their Masters; as much as Marr may conceal his aura, the rippling dread that curls around him is thick enough to choke a gibbit. It's enough to force three of the less well-composed of the Order to leave the room without shame, for as much as their stomach curdles beneath the pressure that barrels down on them from every direction, it must be truly unbearable for the Force Sensitives that they stand beside. Only the members of the SIS stand unphased by the Dark One's presence, watching him with a that practiced psychopathy of theirs.
Twelve Dark Lords. There are twelve of these monsters that ford the stars, and, supposedly, he was the best suited for this occasion.
Marr's gaze does not turn from the crowd. It's impossible to see whether he fails to recognize those slipping away from him out of respect for their condition, or disgust for their weakness.
Or . . .
Why did it feel like he was staring them down, even through the slab of metal that guarded his face?
-=-
Their body isn't ready for the liquor that passes through their gut. When it first touched their tongue it was impossible to tell if it was the most foul or delicious thing they'd ever tasted; they'd been warned time and time again by their mixed escort to be careful around the food they ate, that their biology still needed study before it was determined what was safe for them to consume. Its effect is immediate, making the distant lights in the corners of the room buzz noisily if they focused on the room.
"Hiya."
The one speaking to them wasn't there a moment ago. Slight as he was, they were good at watching things, people most of all, and this man was pretty and expensively dressed enough that they wouldn't have dared to miss him. Especially one with eyes such as those.
Like most Sith they're a strange shade of yellow they could never place a name to. No set of eyes are quite the same, but his are strange in that they carry no hint of slaughter or cruelty to them. Like the shade their homeworld's sky takes once Domir reaches its zenith, they swirl pleasantly, drifting nonetheless with the same madness of the rest of his kind, complimenting the carelessly warm smile on his face that stretches out the broad strokes of paint and Sithari that permeate his skin in beautiful tattoos . . . and the small feather that pokes out from above his ear. It does not look like it was placed there. This one is not entirely human.
His strange form of greeting finally register, but not before he makes a face, waving his hand in front of his face – why? His breath hadn't . . .
"Sorry. Buy me a drink? My breath reeks of cock."
(Hi! Looking for somebody interested in a bit of tongue'n'cheek Old Republic short term smut. 'Their' and 'they' is your character. Gender doesn't matter, and I'm open to a lot of different backgrounds. Another Jedi (classic), a Senator, a representative of a third group of unaligned planets. Kinks would include bad humor, stupid vulgarity, drunken sex, enthusiastic consent. Open to spankings, flowing sexual dynamics, verses, general roughness, multiple positions. The Sith in question here can have whatever you'd like going on downstairs, but I'm not very interested in playing heterosexual stuff as a woman. Open to swinging this into the usual 'corruption' angle, but it's really mostly just supposed to be two unlikely people fucking now that they've been given unintended permission. It's meant to be a new page, after all.)
"This is the only time I shall beg for mercy from you, my beloved nemeses - leave the politics for our masters, and drink and eat your fill."
Those that had started drinking before they arrived raise their cups, laughing easily and not entirely alone. There's sixteen Senators for every Jedi present, and they see them give in to little treacheries by allowing the Dark Lord of Strength to tempt them to laughter. Darth Marr stands atop a podium ill-fitted for his immense stature, a fidgeting and pampered committee member standing beside him to further draw out the absurdity of the sight.
They can't laugh. Neither can the most experienced of the Knights and their Masters; as much as Marr may conceal his aura, the rippling dread that curls around him is thick enough to choke a gibbit. It's enough to force three of the less well-composed of the Order to leave the room without shame, for as much as their stomach curdles beneath the pressure that barrels down on them from every direction, it must be truly unbearable for the Force Sensitives that they stand beside. Only the members of the SIS stand unphased by the Dark One's presence, watching him with a that practiced psychopathy of theirs.
Twelve Dark Lords. There are twelve of these monsters that ford the stars, and, supposedly, he was the best suited for this occasion.
Marr's gaze does not turn from the crowd. It's impossible to see whether he fails to recognize those slipping away from him out of respect for their condition, or disgust for their weakness.
Or . . .
Why did it feel like he was staring them down, even through the slab of metal that guarded his face?
-=-
Their body isn't ready for the liquor that passes through their gut. When it first touched their tongue it was impossible to tell if it was the most foul or delicious thing they'd ever tasted; they'd been warned time and time again by their mixed escort to be careful around the food they ate, that their biology still needed study before it was determined what was safe for them to consume. Its effect is immediate, making the distant lights in the corners of the room buzz noisily if they focused on the room.
"Hiya."
The one speaking to them wasn't there a moment ago. Slight as he was, they were good at watching things, people most of all, and this man was pretty and expensively dressed enough that they wouldn't have dared to miss him. Especially one with eyes such as those.
Like most Sith they're a strange shade of yellow they could never place a name to. No set of eyes are quite the same, but his are strange in that they carry no hint of slaughter or cruelty to them. Like the shade their homeworld's sky takes once Domir reaches its zenith, they swirl pleasantly, drifting nonetheless with the same madness of the rest of his kind, complimenting the carelessly warm smile on his face that stretches out the broad strokes of paint and Sithari that permeate his skin in beautiful tattoos . . . and the small feather that pokes out from above his ear. It does not look like it was placed there. This one is not entirely human.
His strange form of greeting finally register, but not before he makes a face, waving his hand in front of his face – why? His breath hadn't . . .
"Sorry. Buy me a drink? My breath reeks of cock."
(Hi! Looking for somebody interested in a bit of tongue'n'cheek Old Republic short term smut. 'Their' and 'they' is your character. Gender doesn't matter, and I'm open to a lot of different backgrounds. Another Jedi (classic), a Senator, a representative of a third group of unaligned planets. Kinks would include bad humor, stupid vulgarity, drunken sex, enthusiastic consent. Open to spankings, flowing sexual dynamics, verses, general roughness, multiple positions. The Sith in question here can have whatever you'd like going on downstairs, but I'm not very interested in playing heterosexual stuff as a woman. Open to swinging this into the usual 'corruption' angle, but it's really mostly just supposed to be two unlikely people fucking now that they've been given unintended permission. It's meant to be a new page, after all.)
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