Royal Proclamation

[Bette Davis]

Agent Kyris in her 'drunk girl' guise melted away into the crowded ballroom, leaving a flustered Bette alone again with Baron Ketterzau.

"Gods, someone should speak to the bartenders about over serving the guests." She sipped her drink and tried put the incident out of her mind. "Sorry about that?"

Ketterzau waved it away with a gloved hand. He really was just as handsome as his posters claimed.

Small talk was awkward, but Bette plunged ahead and he was laughing about a stupid joke she'd made when all hell broke loose. Immediately her mind flicked back to the rally, years ago, with Chancellor Anar and the explosion -- Bette ducked as shots rang out, grabbing for a blaster that wasn't there.

Above her, plaster rained down as the chandelier rocked, and Bette grabbed Ketterzau's arm, yanking him forward and out of the way as the ornate light fixture fell to the ground.

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

"Bloody hell!"

The Baron almost fell as he was pulled out of danger, turning at the sound of a deafening crash of crystal behind him. Like Bette, his hands also moved by muscle memory, and he noted with a frown that he was unarmed.

"I'm afraid I'm a little overdressed for a firefight!" He said as the two pilots scrambled behind an upended table. There were at least two gunmen, one of which looked like he was firing wildly at targets of opportunity. The other - much closer to the Empress, was being engaged by one of her Knights.

[R. S. Esalis]

The shots that had exploded into existence were so unexpected, yet Esalis felt her body move as muscle memory took over. On the periphery, with Schreiger, the Director could do nothing but ensure her own safety... and his as well.

Though, she had a healthy notion that he too was reacting in much the same way.

Reaching out to grab his hand, the Director whirled about to pull the both of them behind a pillar for temporary safety.

"We have to get to the Empress," she growled out, her hand tightening its grip on his own.

[Wulfgarn Schreiger]

Schreiger pulled his arm free once under the cover of the pillar.

"To do what, exactly? Be a human shield? We're armed with stemware and canapes."

The Director pushed up his jacket sleeve, jabbing a gloved hand into buttons on a wrist comm.

"My guard squadron can be here in minutes. In the meantime, the less we're shot at, the better."

[Rigel Bismarck]

Rigel glanced to Tatiana as further echoes of blaster fire sounded on the opposite side of the support column they'd both taken shelter behind. "Apologies, Governess," he frowned. "It seems the rest of our conversation will have to wait. Duty calls."

Despite the random blaster fire, Rigel craned his head out to observe the action. Most of the event attendees were either fleeing for the door or taking shelter roughly in place. Two figures stood out. One, a human female relatively close to the stage whose hand no longer held a weapon; the other, a human male firing chaotically in what appeared to be a mad scramble. The Imperial Knights assigned to the Empress' guard clearly had the woman at a disadvantage. Rigel dismissed her and focused on the man.

Who no one was trying to stop.

This struck Rigel as curious until shouts of "Protect the Empress!" and "Save her!" filtered through the din. Of course the primary concern of anyone with nerve would be ensuring Miranda's safety. As an unfortunate side-effect, the man scurrying around the room like a rabid rodent might actually get away.

A pair of guards were running past the support column to the stage. Rigel deftly tugged a holdout blaster free of the nearer guard's belt holster and brought the weapon up to firing level, scanning for a chance to use it. Though several seconds passed before Rigel found his opportunity, find it he did.

A moment's careful aim led to a pair of shots. Not far from Dashiel Starborn's location, a table supporting a grandiose chocolate fountain, gold-colored and with elaborate trim, and several tubs full of berries titled downward and pitched to the ground as as one of its legs blew out. As Dash scrambled from beneath a table, he found himself confronted by several layers of melted chocolate flying through the air.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

It was a flaw of his, the lack of empathy that came so readily to others who could claim attunement to The Force. A certain degree of understanding was necessary to perform the practiced requirements of blending in to society, but he hadn't quite picked up on nuances that could be felt through the Force. Perhaps if he had, Jensen could have reacted faster, detected the rage that was now so clearly emanating from the blonde insurgent and prevented the death of the Empress' spouse. A lesson to learn, then, but not in the moment. In the moment, rather, Jensen had to admit that while he had joined Vissica in defending what was left of the Royal Entourage, his mind was conflicted.

The blaster fire that had suddenly interrupted the merriment and revelations of the Empress' state had been familiar. Though Jensen had not been present on the day his sister was murdered, gunned down in a chaotic firefight, screams that he had never actually heard were a haunting presence that now wanted to take their place among the cries of the Imperial Elite. It was distracting enough that one of the male terrorists' stray shots managed to catch the cadet in the shoulder, scorching through the fabric of his uniform and the flesh beneath. This too was problematic, not for the injury, which was slight, but that it threatened his calm. The Citadel had been tutoring Jensen in the ways of many aspects of bettering himself, becoming a more proficient adept - but his own ire that continually boiled under the surface was a fire that he oft struggled to contain.

The urge to rush the female who had so brazenly attacked was strong, the desire and will to utterly dismantle her pounding in his thoughts; but surprisingly, Cadet Par'Vizal's Loyalty was stronger. The edge of his vision caught sight of the chocolate fountain upending as those of military prowess began to come to their senses and attempt to apprehend the more seemingly disorderly of the two shooters. Which left him and his fellow Knight staring down the woman...

... Who seemed strangely unfazed that the Lady Vissica had dealt with her weapon. Who wasn't even attempting to flee like her counterpart. Jensen knew the look she gave them as it was one he had feared to find himself echoing before the Empire had taken him in. It was one of an individual who had nothing left to lose and cared little for what happened to themselves so long as they could simply spread their misery to others. Something told him the blaster that had been removed from her was not the only trick this incendiary had and so with barely held restraint he awaited orders, either from his Knight superior, the Baroness of Bespin, or the Empress herself.

[Dashiel Starborn]

Panic lanced through Dash, an instant of pure fear borne of the uncertainty of what was about to literally hit him. He jerked back under the curtain of a tablecloth as something splattered against the ground. For an instant, the madness of the moment made Dash think it was blood - dark and viscous - but no, it was… chocolate? Cursing to himself, Dash rolled out to the left of the stain and stole a glance towards Charlotte.

Everyone was converging on the Empress, the well-heeled and the well-armed alike. It didn’t seem to matter to her, as she charged head on into the path of a lightsaber-wielding Selonian.

A blaster bolt scorched the sleeve of Dash’s jacket and he hissed through clenched teeth at the sudden burning in his upper arm. As he tried to duck into cover, another shot came in quick succession. This time, it was his lower arm that took the hit, the muscles in his wrist spasming in pain.

“Frak. Frak, frak, frak.”

As he caught a glimpse of the well-dressed man who’d taken aim at him, Starborn whirled around, barging into a group of shrieking socialites. They lurched back away from him, creating a hole for him to bolt through as he tried to reach the edge of the hall.

[Nelaa Kyris]

Of all the people at the gala, there was really only one person that Kyris had cared to bump into. Having bumped into that person, she really couldn't find a compelling reason extend her evening any further. With her bag in one hand and heels in the other, she'd barely made it out of the building when she heard a commotion inside. Even with the architecture of the building muting the sounds inside, she instantly knew what she'd heard.

Blaster shots.

She froze for a fraction of a second, careful to maintain control as a jolt of adrenaline hit her system. Her immediate instinct to rush back inside was quickly overridden by training. Instead she moved to the shadows, finding whatever concealment she could. It was at that point when she heard footsteps pounding down the hall heading directly toward her. She crouched low and held her breath. As the man passed by her she sprang from the shadows, keeping her body low and sweeping the man's legs from underneath him. He hit the ground in a sprawling mess, sliding to a stop face down a few feet away from her. As he tried to get up, he felt a knee digging into his back, keeping him on the ground.

"Who are you?" Her question was calm but direct, and the tone of her voice made it clear that she wasn't messing around.

The man was having trouble catching his breath, fear and pain playing tug of war with his mind. "Please...don't kill me...I...I just serve drinks...I have a family...."

Kyris was busy checking him for weapons as he answered. He didn't seem to be carrying anything and his uniform certainly fit his story. She was still suspicious but lifted her knee off his back all the same. Instead she rolled him over on his back, careful to avoid any surprises he may try to spring on her as he rolled over. Instead he only rolled onto his back, his face scrunched up in pain. She knelt beside him, finishing her search. She questioned him again, this time more softly.

"Tell me what happened in there."

The waiter was wincing in pain, but had nearly caught his breath. His voice still trembled as spoke.

"They...they shot the Empress..." Kyris' eyes went wide as she felt a chill run up her spine. She managed to keep her cool, though it took all her training to do so. She helder her tongue let him continue.

"...I saw...I saw the blaster...I saw her falling down..."

"Is she dead?" Kyris' words radiated a calm that she didn't feel, and despite her training, her heart rate was beginning to rise. The waiter winced a bit and shook his head.

"I don't know...I only saw her fall."

His last sentence had fallen on completely deaf ears. Instead all Kyris could hear was another set of footsteps echoing down the hallway. As she turned she saw another man, dressed as a waiter and covered in what appeared to be blood, bounding out of the building. She stood quickly and started to give chase, stopped only by a thought that hit her right at the last moment. She turned to the waiter that she'd felled and quickly pulled him to his feet. Her eyes burned a hole into him as she spoke, letting every ounce of urgency that the situation demanded spill into her voice.

"Go back inside, it's safe now. Find Director Esalis. Tell her she's not blind. Go now, hurry!"

With that she snatched her shoes and her bag from the ground and chased the fleeing man off into the night.

[Tatiana Renkl]

There was little time to celebrate the joyful news the Empress shared about her pregnancy, given the mayhem that ensured.

Tatiana barely registered what Bismark said. From the moment shooting and screaming erupted, her attention didn't stay long on the Empress or the Tagge siblings who were by her side. Enough people would rush to them, ensuring that their leader would remain safe.

Earlier during the evening, the Moff had noticed the Empress's mother among the guests who had gathered in the front row by the time the proclamation was to take place. Even though she might have had a dire and utterly private fallout with her late mother, Tatiana knew and respected the importance of bloodline, as her deep affection and protectiveness towards her sisters was a testimony to, regardless of the "tough Renkl love" that could take place.

She didn't think twice, and opened a channel on the comlink at her wrist, encased in the decorative bracelet she wore.

"Kinslayer to Moon Fury. Deploy at South entrance. Have my speeder ready. I'll be out with a guest. ETA six minutes."

While she had left military life behind years ago, she had retained her callsign even when interacting with some of her security; and with the unfolding chaos it could come in handy rather than sort through too many higher ups and titles.

Moving through the crowd, she avoided cross fire twice. She had zeroed in on where Lise Tarkin was, and without hesitation, she reached her.

"Lady Tarkin, I'll get you out."

Taking her arm and nodding towards the opposite way from which the thick of the fighting was ranging, she identified herself.

"I'm Moff Renkl. Let's go."

She made used of the nearby pillars for as much safety as possible. While there seemed to be few terrorists, she wasn't going to let the Empress's mother be the next victim.

[Miranda Tarkin]

In the split second that Gallus had begun to speak, Miranda had sensed a sharp shift of peril that lanced through her heart. She didn't understand what it meant until Gallus' words were cut off and he was tumbling against her.

She felt the spark of recognized life extinguish immediately. What happened next was a blur of armor and weapons surrounding her peripherals, her screaming Gallus' name drowned by a lightsaber igniting against the one who had opened fired and killed her husband ... her childhood friend ...

Grief would have to wait because a fierce sense of protectiveness surged to the surface as she barked orders to the nearest guard. "Get Sanya to safety! And my mother's in the crowd and needs to be found too!"

Like hell would she lose Sanya during this nightmare and thankfully felt the familiar tug of her presence approaching closer in panic. She and her mother may not see eye to eye on a great many things, but Miranda didn't want her to due.

The guard broke away and another took their place to shield Miranda as the group backed towards the edge of the stage while dragging Gallus lifeless body.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

She'd failed.

It had taken several seconds for that to sink in. Seconds filled with screaming, a white hot flash of a blade of energy before her that destroyed her blaster, and chaos unimagined that surrounded but did not penetrate her.

The Empress lived. Charlotte had failed.

A man lay dead. Two of the Empress' guard faced her - the large furred one who weilded a lightsaber and the redhaired youth who did not. Untold numbers of Imperial military personell were ready to strike her down. Still, she had failed.

Charlotte stared down the two who directly faced her. The one who had disarmed her with blade drawn... The weapon of a Jedi held in hands where it seemed almost blasphemous. The other... the youth? He seemed hesitant and she knew why. She was his mirror in a way, a pathway or two separated from fate. But he stood on the side of the Empire and here she was on the side of supposed Freedom, of Justice. Truly the two must have seen her as just as much as a monster and she did they...

And yet?

She didn't care. Let them know her as a monster. She hadn't come here to be a martyr, to become some saint of a failed Rebellion, or a Resistence reborn. Charlotte had wanted to destroy, to end lives, to cause pain and anguish to those who lead an Empire of corruption, to allow those within this room to feel even a speck of the agony that drove her towards all her loathing. Maybe it wasn't a total failure then. Maybe... just maybe...

Her thought turned inward and outward at the same time as her eyes left those who would oppose her, to focus on the Empress herself, her target. The Force was still a confusing tangled mess to her, an enemy as much an ally and it was time to make it as such...

She willed with everything she had for the Empress to feel. To understand. To know the suffering that Her people had caused. It was only one life's worth, but what a wretched existence that could be attributed to one such as herself.

But it wasn't herself alone. Charlotte's anguish wasn't enough, her misery, her entire loathesome experience wasn't enough.

I know you can hear me, you demon...

The plea came from within, tapping into that which she had denied, which she hated perhaps worse than the very institution she stood amongst and sought to bring down. The real Monster, the darkness that had crept within and corrupted her on a level few could imagine.

Eyes that shifted focus from the Empress to her entourage shifted in hue, slowly from blue to a tainted flame tinged edge.

You kriffing bastard, I know you are still here somewhere, I know you know me, I know you have watched and waited...

She felt the crackle at her fingertips before recognition came of what she was tapping in to.

Help me. Make them hurt. Tell them our story.

[Vega Van-Derveld]

Half a galaxy away…

“...you demon.”

Vega twisted and thrust a hand at the source of the whispering voice, pale fingertips outstretched, discoloured nails raking at… nothing? No, not nothing. The fetid gases that rose from the swamps of Taris seethed and flickered with strange lights, like storm clouds lit from within by flashes of lightning. There was something, someone, within the light. A phantasm, a ghostly figure stepping out of the shadows.

A figure, a woman with fair hair. The lightsaber on Van-Derveld’s hip sprung into the palm of his hand as his lips twisted into a sneer. He hissed through jagged, clenched teeth, and in that same breath the red blade of his saber snarled to life. It was her! Loklorien s’Ilancy. Darth Acera. The name of his former master was a ragged breath away from his lips until the image began to coalesce. It wasn’t Acera. There wasn’t a single, baleful yellow eye glaring back at him, but two blue eyes. She wasn’t looking at Vega, but through him. Not at the decrepit expanse of Taris that sprawled at his back, a bloated corpse left behind by the Galactic Empire, but at something Vega could not see.

Charlotte Tur’enne’s lips didn’t move, but her voice swirled around him like noxious smoke, the feeling of her presence somehow obscuring the real and tangible world of Taris around him, demanding all of his focus.

“...I know you know me…”

There was little of Vega Van-Derveld that had not been replaced by machinery, but what remained of his skin prickled and crawled, as if something were slithering through his veins. Alien and yet so familiar. When he breathed in, he could feel the flow of the Force between them. Charlotte’s agony, her anger, her desolation. Like a desperate parasite, burrowing beneath his flesh in search of black blood to sustain her.

Help me.

The snarl on the Sith’s lips curled by slow degrees into a horrid grin as he stalked forward. While he crossed the short distance between them, her fingertips began to twitch and tremble. She was searching for the strength to destroy whatever lay before her, for the power that he had first awakened in her. The Dark Side.

“Show them what you really are,” he said, in his hollow, mechanical voice - and smacked the blackened hilt of his lightsaber into her waiting grasp.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

In the span of seconds, what had been nothingness bloomed into form and violence in the force. Intention, purpose, and hatred roiled from Vissica's opponent. It wasn't focused on her, or the Empress, but instead cast indiscriminately for anyone to feel. It was that lack of focus and disorder which unsettled Vissica's senses. Despite the indiscriminate hatred, it appeared to pour without limit.

Then, what appeared to be a trick of her eyes placed a threat and a weapon squarely in her hands. Rationality told Vissica to disregard it, but her instincts spoke of something deeper that she couldn't readily explain. Her guarded stance deepened.

"Guard the Empress and her family with your life, comrade." She spoke to Jansen as her tail thumped testily against the ground. "Get them to safety."

[Sanya Tagge]

A hand grabbed her Sanya the shoulder.

“Baroness Tagge!”

She twisted, trying to slip free of the grasp of whoever had hold of her, but that only made them grip her upper-arm all the more tightly. Her expression contorted in a mixture of almost feral anger and fear, as she glared at the person trying to pull her in a direction that she did not want to go. Trying to stop her from going directly to Miranda and Gallus.

It was one of the Miranda’s guards.

“This way! Come with us, Baroness!”

They were trying to guide her past the familiar, formidable shape of Matatek Sel Vissica - away from the menacing red lightsaber - and towards another of the Imperial Knights. There was a matter of feet between Sanya and the Empress, Sanya and her brother, but the sudden swarm of guards made it felt like they were star systems apart.

[Bette Davis]

After the burst of blaster fire followed a dearth of sound, a jagged hole of held breath underpinned by the signature hum of lightsabers.

Bette kicked off her shoes and hiked the silver skirt of her dress up over her knees. She edged up to look over the table she and Ketterzau were sheltering behind.

"I can't see shit from here." Bette crouched behind the table and glanced the other way, toward possible escape. The socialites had scattered, crowded at the exits and completely clogging them with their panic.

[Rigel Bismarck]

The male intruder scampered off through the crowd at the door, sliding through a gap in the crowd that closed almost as quickly as it had appeared. If nothing else, Rigel could say that the slippery little loth cat was practiced at oozing through obstacles.

To catch the prey, the way would need to be emptied.

Deliberately switching over to the stun setting, Rigel fired at the people in the doorway. "TO THE SIDE!" he bellowed, infusing his voice with the full authority of his command. It took five shots and two figures slumping to the floor in mid-hallway, but the evacuees at this particular exit quickly got the message. A path cleared.

His quarry was nowhere to be seen.

Striding through the gap he'd created with steps that were half-stomp, half-stalk, Rigel plucked a comm cylinder from his breast pocket. "Palace security, alert station Zero-One-Two, Code Five emergency message. Respond."

A precise and clipped voice came on the line. "Station Zero-One-Two responding. Please provide your rank and status"

"Admiral Rigel Bismarck, clearance seven-gamma. The Empress' husband is severely injured, possibly dead. I count two active intruders: a human female and a human male, both dressed as event staff. The female is in the main hall, possibly contained but additional forces should be dispatched for crowd control and medical assistance. The male has fled the hall and is attempting escape. I am in pursuit, but have lost track of his whereabouts, so exits need to be secured until he apprehended. He may be injured in the arm - I'm not sure if I got him or not - but should be considered armed until detained."

"Thank you for your report, Admiral. We already received a preliminary report from guards on-scene and are in process of securing the palace. Further details are not available at this time."

Rigel clicked the comm off and stopped to get his bearings.

"If I wanted to blend into the crowd long enough to escape," he asked himself. "Where would I go?"