Festival and Dance

'''Organa Park -- New Alderaan: Ord Mantell'''

A one meter high cobblestone wall surrounds this beautiful complex of gardens, watercourses and walkways. Organa Park is nestled between the Government District and Business Nexus of New Alderaan. Roadways for ground and foot traffic pass through the inner edges of the park, but more beautiful are the footpaths that wind in and out of the landscaping. Most of the speeder traffic is muffled by lush vegetation and tamed jungle fauna, providing a peaceful atmosphere. Some of the watercourses are traveled by boats of ornate Alderaanian design, used mostly as a tourist attraction.

The park is filled with the chirping of birds, the gurgle of water, the soft murmurs of muted conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from carefree children. Scattered throughout the park are honorariums constructed in respect for the influential House of Organa.

The sky is dark gray and misty. A single, purple mass moves slowly overhead causing the air to be wet and sticky.

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Wandering into the park, the doctor notices Ambassador Delgard and sighs. It isn't pleased at the interactions they had so far had, and there wasn't anything telling it to go make things right. Still, it was stuck on this planet for the time being, so it decided to ask the mini hive spread out throughout the city. After some silent deliberation, it walked toward her, taking special notice of the attitude of the guards. Stopping a few meters away, it greeted her politely. "Ambassador," it said.

Colorful banners representing all NR member worlds of past and present flutter high upon the stone wall encircling this park. The presence of security is felt as heavily here as other areas of the active festivities. Lots of activities are afoot in Organa Park today. Endless booths and tents display cultural arts, foods, demonstrations, and games for the kiddies. Small stages cordoned off around the park mark points of theatrical interest, where performers will showcase their talents.

In the center of the park, a large dance floor has been constructed, illuminated at night by suspended globes of ethereal light.

Donning formal attire was perhaps a poor choice, given the weather’s soggy chill and day’s potential for catastrophic mess surrounding the hands-on art demonstrations, but Ambassador Delgard has forced herself into another fancy outfit befitting one of her station.

Tonight's dress - a stormy teal - is a little better designed for dancing, at least. The V-neckline drapes low enough to reveal modest cleavage (equal to the cut in the back), over which a small, pink crystal pendant dangles from a golden chain. The shoulder straps are wrapped with braided cord, matching the band that draws an asymmetrical line along the fit-to-flare seam from below her right hip to the crest of her left (complimenting her derriere). The skirt of the gown is gathered at that high point by a glossy, gold leaf brooch, soft pleats fanning outward and downward from there to create some voluminous layers that her legs can easily maneuver about in. It by no means resembles a giant bell, however, and allows her to sit comfortably in any chair. Glossy, pink shoes cap her feet, toes peeping beneath the sweeping hem.

Her hairstyle today is a blend of fine weaving and loose curls. The topmost layers are pulled tightly back into a complex plait which then curls into a nautiloid spiral. The bottom layers cluster in loose, entangling curls. A strand of green glass and crystal beads are woven into the braid.

Turning from her present company - a gaggle of children examining one another's artwork outside of a colorful tent demonstrating a small scale version of Gungan sling painting - Ambrosia takes a steadying breath as she sees who addresses her. She offers a courteous bow of her head. "Doctor. I hope you and your device have recovered without much trouble?"

The Verpine was silent for just a moment before answering, "I'm fine," very calmly. Its antennae pulled back a bit, and it stood stiffly as it addressed her. "We've decided that I should talk to you and see how you're doing."

The word 'we' draws a brief puzzled twitch of her brow before Ambrosia figures it out. "Ah. Well, I'm glad to hear Mr. Oppenhiemer's indiscretion did not do permanent damage," she murmurs, keeping her voice low in present company. Though honestly, the kids seem to have forgotten her presence there and are chattering on towards the next booth to play with some interesting musical instruments, fashioned a bit grotesquely from scrapped droid parts.

Maintaining an even smile, she flicks a glance up to the clouds. "I'm quite all right, thank you. A little tired, perhaps. Hoping to the farthest start that the skies don't open up on us tonight. Already delayed the Corellian Cavorters Troupe's rendition of "Uhl Eharl Khoehng," she laments, tapping into a touch of fluent Corellian. "Gabi was disappointed, but...I'm sure it shan't traumatize her long." A knowing smile, there.

"While we haven't decided that I should leave, I look forward to the day when I can go home." It folded its arms behind its back and stood uncomfortably in the open area, glancing this way and that, wondering which human had a bomb in them. "Mammals have screwed up priorities," it stated, finally.

"Oh, I'm sure there's a few we could do without," the Ambassador sighs, turning her head to check in as squeaky strings between to pluck next door, to the tune of maddening giggles. "But we're as flawed as any creature. Of course that's what this morning and afternoon's festivities have focused on - cultural differences. I can understand longing for comforts of home and familiar ground, but surely you've found some worthy occupation of your time here? I'm told the chefs have catered to /quite/ the diverse array of tastes."

Compared to their last encounter, this Ambrosia seems as serene as sunset. Maybe it's the booze. She takes a sip from a steamy cup of something. "What stands in the way of your return?"

Gabi gets bored after a few minutes of toying with the instruments and turns her focus on where to ditch the little wooden droid she'd splattered with paint. It, as well as the paint speckling her hands and smearing an eyebrow are fortunately dry. Deciding that it'd be most safe with the keeper of all things, she trots back over to her mother and takes hold of Ambrosia's elbow. "Mom?"

The Verpine just looked at her. "We are scared of the bomber," it admits to her. "I personally have been without sleep for days, just walking around town listening. I got some sleep after Mr. Oppenhiemer's stunt. I'm not here because of my choice, I'm here for the good of the hive. We cannot believe this party is going on with all this in the background." It stretched a bit. "Your party means nothing to me. It is opulent, self-indulgent fluff. I want to go home, we want to make these people safe before I do, and I--" the Verpine swooned slightly. "I really want to rest peacefully."

Ambrosia rests a hand atop Gabi's head, scrunching the kid against her briefly with the bend of her elbow. It seems to suffice as a 'yes i see you gimme a sec' form of silent communication while she listens to the Verpine, lips twitching faintly. "If months of hard work were cast to the wind for the sake of indulging the morbid desires of every monster who makes a threat against us, we would never accomplish anything. There is always danger lurking in the shadows. Twenty years this alliance has stood against fear, and brought hope. That is what this opulent fluff stands for - hope. Courage. Even if it means baring our throats to a yipping whelp."

Casting a downwards glance to the urgent stare of her offspring, she shrugs. "Your goals here are more similar to ours then, than you perhaps realize. Intelligence has already been hard at work. I suppose there's no way for you to tune out the chatter of your hive and give yourself a moment's rest while they carry on?"

Gabi sighs, rolling her eyes at this 'fluff' of adult conversation. Freeing herself of her mother's grip on her chopped curls, she stashes the droid in that same crook of Ambrosia's arm, leaving her to deal with it, then tilts her head up at Vophsi, expression quite studious. "Did you make those yourself?" She points to the clearly inorganic antennae atop its head. "How do they stay on?"

"That's the difference, I suppose," it said, kneeling down next to Gabi and running its fingers along her hair. "I had help," it said to her. Reaching back, it switched one side and gave a tug, the antennae freeing itself from the base's pull. It offered the end to her, which had neither connector nor plug. "Hmmm," it said, tapping its mandables with the other hand. "It might be magic."

Gabi quirks a brow at Vophsi's assertion of magic and squints at the offered antennae for closer examination. Ambrosia, meanwhile, is staring at the thing her daughter's dumped on her. It gets stuffed into her bag. "Magnets?" The eleven year old hazards a guess and reaches to touch it.

Without looking up at Ambassador Delgard, the Verpine simply held still and let the girl indulge her curiosity. "Isolation is hellish. I don't think a non-Verpine realizes when they hurt our antennae what they're doing."

"The galaxy is full of sinister souls, Vophsi. Perhaps they did." Ambrosia sighs gently and takes a quick study of their surroundings again. Security or not, this crowded park provides amble ambush opportunities, and damned be if she lets her guard drop for long.

"What alloy is it made from?" Gabi inquires further, rapping the detached antennae with a finger.

Standing and replacing its antenna, switching it back on, Vophsi faced Ambassador Delgard. "I told you before, I don't want to play war with you people any more. People are still afraid. That's the only reason I'm still here." Turning back to the girl, he said, "I'm sorry for ignoring your question."

"Well, that makes two of us," Ambrosia mutters and taps Gabi's shoulder. "I'm going to find something to eat. You may stay here if you'd like." Leaving the girl to do as she will, the ambassador follows the tempting aroma drifting out of a nearby food cart. It's fatty, it's fried, it's good enough to satiate the urge to put meat on her bones.

Gabi watches Vophsi reattach its antennae. "That's okay. I get ignored a lot. People are always stopping by our house to speak with my mother and she usually makes me go to my room. Grownups are weird." Planting her hands on her hips in imitation of the very woman she rolls her eyes at, she watches Ambrosia go in quest for food. "We were supposed to watch a play before the dances tonight, but Mom says it got delayed because some rain made the stage unsafe. It was a play about the Trickster King. It's one of my favorites."

Gabi, only mildly spotted with paint from her Gungan paint slinging adventure, is busy talking Vophsi's antennae off while her mother wanders a little distance away, drawn by the aroma of some seriously fatty goodness sizzling on a traveling cart. What she cannot see yet, is that said the next batch of said sizzling goodness is still wriggling around in its spicy marinade in a compartment with a vented lid.

The vibrant atmosphere of the park is taming down for the evening, many of the performing artists calling it a night and art galleries beginning to pack their wares. Musicians, on the other hand, are coming more alive, especially the bands preparing their equipment around the outdoor dance hall. The lively beat of Wartaki Tunes can still be heard pounding and rattling away in the background.

For the past seventy-two hours, Drax hadn't had a moment to sleep. It wasn't entirely out of the ordinary, or even detrimental to him, given all of the fiddling that had happened to him over the years and his extreme dislike of what he found when he did it, but the mental strain of going full bore for this long was starting to get to him. Zoning out an hour or so ago, he hadn't even realized that he'd somehow wandered back into the celebration. It took a group of screaming children nearly mowing him over for him to snap out of his walking daze, causing him to stop in place and look around him with renewed interest. The long dead carcass of a nicostick falls from his mouth and he pulls his hands from his pockets, not pondering the idea of what sort of carnival food to procure.

The raucous tree drum band beat starts to peter out, possibly at the behest of tonight's gala coordinator, as the more 'sophisticated' talent was nearly ready to begin. The occasional toot of a horn or whine of a string announces their progress. As nature's light also begins to wane, a lovely network of solar globes and smaller strings illuminates foot paths, food tents, game booths, table arrangements, and of course - the dance floor. A few costumed and tagged bodies inhabit it already, warming up to compete.

Watching with a twinge of envy is Ambrosia, instead of watching what she's about to put in her mouth and blindly making the exchange. The first crispy Drutash grub goes in with a soft pop-crunch, boiling her tongue with a spew of boiling warra nut oil. Squeezing her eyes closed and rejecting (as discretely as she can) the morsel back onto her plate, the ambassador gasps her regret.

Gabi's attention is stolen away from the Verpine and to her mother's plight. A broad grin forms. "Bet she wishes we stopped for gamby berry cream earlier..." she mutters to herself and runs over to assist. Probably by taking the food off her mother's hands and eating it herself. Spice and all.

Clearly the whole galactic palate was represented in some form or another and Drax makes a rather safe choice of a set of miniature bantha burgers. Each of them disappears rather swiftly and he is now left with a tall glass of Elomin Ale in one hand as he continues to wander about. The Agent is only on the move again for a minute before he recognizes two familiar faces and he adjusts his course to head towards them. "The ceremony yesterday was perfect, Madame Ambassador. The music selection was excellent as well." As he says it, his face warms with a smile for each of them, and a small wave to Gabi.

"Neat!" Gabi declares, identifying the fat, crispy critters curled up on the plate. Not phased by searing heat of temperature or spices, or the wormy nature of the 'delicacy', the girl happily munches her way through a few. Gotta fuel the latest growth spurt. She waves back at Drax with her mouth full, a little grub juice dribbling down her chin.

Ambrosia's face appears as though it's trying to turn itself inside out and she works very hard to get a grip on her gag reflex after seeing what her child is consuming - what she herself tried to. Keeping a hand cupped politely over her mouth, she turns her gaze with wide, apologetic eyes to freshly arrived company. She replies, muffled, with some gracious word, surely. At last, her stomach quits its lurching and she sucks in a deep, fresh breath. A fan to match her gown snaps forth from her wrist, deftly snatched off her hip, and she fans the flush away from her face.

"I'm so sorry...um, yes. Yes I thought it ran rather smoothly. Not too big of a hiccup...I trust?" Slyly cocking a brow on that note, she sweeps a look around for unoccupied tables.

Seeing what she's going through causes his smile to turn to a grin before he stifles it with his beer, bringing his glass up for a quick swig. Pulling it back away, he nods his head in agreement, "Very smoothly, indeed." It's as he's in the process of agreeing that he catches the latter part and added emphasis therein, "Hiccup? No, I didn't notice anything like that along the way. I think it was all clear space and smooth hyperspace jumps." Catching the glance over the tables, he locks onto one and motions toward it while moving forward to snatch it up quickly. "We do have some potential leads we're working on in the recent mishap you were snared in, however."

"Do tell," Ambrosia folds the fan together again with another snap of the wrist. Locking it into place behind the brooch on her left hip, she swishes after the agent. Gabi follows obediently without prompting, still enjoying her pilfered snack. "I'm a fan of smooth jumps, but I am also a realist. I find it difficult to look upon any face here without wondering what lies beneath. Of course, that about sums up a day's work for you, doesn't it?"

"I think it about sums up life as a whole once you get into this sort of work..." Nearing the table, Drax draws his beer up and finishes it as a way to clear that general line of thought from his head and focus on the task at hand. "We caught two in the net and are sweating them now. Having two gives us quite a few more options as we can pit them against each other and use the information from each to help push the other along. We want solid information here, so we're not pulling a fast and dirty style most peope think of with this sort of thing." He pulls one chair out from the table, then another, and then moves over to a third for himself, standing next to it for a moment and looking over towards one of the nearby carts where he had gotten his Ale, hoping to draw the attention of one of the servers there while waiting for the others to sit first. Eventually, he manages to make eye contact and points to his beer and makes a gesture to say 'please' before he remembers his manners, "Anything for yourself?"

"Blossom wine, if it's there?" Ambrosia enters her request while taking a seat and mulling over this new development. She keeps her seat pushed out from the table, partially to make room for her volumous layers of skirt, partially to avoid that fully anchored sensation. Hunching her shoulders, she draws up a gold colored shawl, though it appears as flimsy as most 'vestigial' accessories a lady must tolerate. Oh, to be curled up in something sloppy and warm.

"How tough do you think they'll be to crack?" She presses, jumping a little in her seat as one of the band's instruments makes a godawful squawk. A light ripple of laughter passes through those seated nearest to the blunder, but it's applauded nonetheless. The 'leader' of this musical ensemble begins to test his mic. His voice sounds as prim as his attire when the Cerean announces the opening number to the crowd. The dancers take up their positions, poised for action.

Gabi finishes her plate and looks immediately hungry for more. Tugging playfully at a curl of her mother's hair, she whispers overly loudly "Can I go get more?" Ambrosia gives a half nod, at which, the child launches from her seat and is off in a flash, weaving between tables towards the grand tent of culinary awesome.

A quick nod is returned and Drax looks over the large holographic menu over the cart before signaling the number for the wine to be brought over as well. Finally having the essential matter taken care of, he takes a seat and leans forward at the table. With the first question, his head sways back and forth as he considers it carefully. "There's no way to say for sure. Things look promising so far and I think that in the next twenty-four hours we'll start to see results." Seeing Gabi go running off for more food to try, the Alderaanian can't help but grin a bit. As a bottle of blossom wine and a fresh glass of Elomin Ale arrive, his eyes light up and he extends a handful of credit chips for the cheery server. A moment of buffer time passes and he continues, "One of them had tattoos that I recognized from my time with my ex-wife... I have a strong feeling that we are dealing with the Olumi Osahn."

A distracted word of thanks is given blindly to the server as Ambrosia watches the partners strike out into a brisk waltz. Just as the nostalgia begins to seep into her expression, her face quickly turns to stone. Dropping her gaze to land upon the pearly hue of her drink, Delgard twirls its stem between forefinger and thumb. Back...and forth...back...

"' Mehl e mehli dhu Olum Osahn'.  Sons and daughters of the dark one..." Twisting her lips into a mirthless smile, she lifts her opulent glass in mock toast before pretending to sniff the contents. The memory remains, at least. A sip, then in a slightly strained tone "I'm sure they adored the lyrics of my song."

The feisty little brunette has found her prey. Somehow managing to balance two plates on her arm - Force only knows where she learned /that/ talent from - Gabi heaps them full of crab-stuffed creampuffs, roasted gornt, Taru mash, custard bread, and wasakaberry pudding. She ignores the warnings and stern looks cast from server droids and sentient staff alike and after snagging a passing cup of cider for herself, bolts back to their table. Only three stains suffered during the course of her expedition - not bad!

"Indeed. A little bit personal for both of us now, eh?" Taking the opportunity, Drax tugs on his beer and starts to look out at the dancers as well, this time recalling something that just curls the edge of his mouth in the very beginning of a smile and no more. "We processed them the moment we had them, running clothing and everything they had for any trace of what they've been up to. Found they were living in a nearby home that was up for sale. We're working that to find out more and walk this back. We have to assume there are others on planet. With Gabi returning, Drax manages a full smile and looks over her plates, "Quite the haul you've got there! Think you're going to be able to conquer all of that?"

Gabi stuffs a piece of creampuff in her face and almost swallows it whole. "No! But three of us can." She pushes the plates into the table's center and digs in for another pinch of crab, this time using it mop up a hunk of mash.

Ambrosia watches Drax closely across the table, thinking, but breaks the stare when her daughter returns and suffers a well-humored grin for her benefit. "You didn't ask Mr. Rendolen if he was hungry," but she obviously is, wasting no time in accepting the kid's offer - just not as messily. Speaking of... "Gabriana, where is the silver?" But no matter! A passing server is within reach and the ambassador delicately flags him down with a few fingers. "I'm sorry, would you happen to have a few sets of utensils, our table seems to be without?"

The server stares, disturbingly vacant for a moment before offering a stiff nod. The young man turns, walking away, presumably to fetch things. Ambrosia recoils just a touch in her seat, hands folding neatly atop a knee. "Seems our staff may need a rotation. I imagine some of them have been worked far too hard?"

"Well, I'm never one to leave another pilot without a wingman!" The former A-Wing jockey laughs at his own statement and leans a bit further forward to look over the haul that the young girl had brought back. He's inhaling deeply and pondering the possibilities as he leans close to her and jerks a thumb over towards Ambrosia, "She doesn't know, but my secret is... I'm *always* hungry." His grin is quick to return as he sets down his beer and wiggles the fingers on his left hand over one of the plates, carefully deciding on where to strike. The expression on his face freezes a bit and his eyes trail along behind the servers before he nods his head. "Quite possible..." The tone of the question and his natural paranoia have him considering all sorts of other reasons for the behavior. He hardly realizes it, but he winds up resting his right elbow on the table and keeping his hand up close to his chin in an outwardly relaxed position close to an access spot for one of the concealed weapons he had on his person. This is why we can't have nice things. These are the nagging thoughts that ruin all nice moments.

"Yeah..." Seems Ambrosia's having the same thoughts, staring after the server's wake. Chuckling too belatedly at Drax's 'secret', she shakes her head and drains half her glass of wine before putting it down and snatching up a juicy hunk of custard bread before her daughter's fingers can reach it. Wagging her brows tauntingly, she shoves it neatly into her mouth and chews to the tune of a victorious food moan.

"Too slooooow. So tell me...all this talk of 'we'...when have you last slept and allowed your teammates on rotation to take over?" Coughing lightly as a crumb goes down the wrong pipe, she turns her face aside, stealing a glance at the remaining contenders on the floor as the waltz picks up speed.

Gabi 'HEYS' loudly at her mother's thievery, but can't argue with the truth. She was too slow. Pretending not to find Drax as entertaining as she did, she watches some other people go by with a secret smile.

Creampuffs. Drax was a sucker for them and his left hand swoops in and snatches one in a flash before bringing it back for him to eat half of it in one bite. It takes him a moment to work through it and he washed it down with a swig of his beer before replying, "I don't sleep very much normally and it's not too much to stretch it when I need to... I'm alright. Long story short, my head was toyed with a few too many times in a few too many different ways. When I need to, it'll happen, but I've been sneaking in an hour here or there where I can." The second half of the puff meets its demise before Drax points at its remaining friends, "Those are terrific! Nice pick." His eyes come up from the plate to the Ambassador, following her own gaze to the dancers before he throws a few looks for those servers. "You ever do this sort of dancing?"

"Mom, show him what I made!" Gabi suddenly remembers her painting exploits earlier in the day and takes a gulp of cider before doing the task herself and plunders her mother's little waist purse. A small, wooden 'droid' gets plunked onto the table's center. It's covered in splats of colorful paint. "The gungans were doing it," she explains, "so we got to try. I was supposed to see the Uhl Earle Khoehng play, but they didn't do it in time cuz of the rain..." Seeming a bit disappointed in missing out on a rendition of the ancient Corellian folktale 'The Trickster King', the little half-Corellian resumes picking at her food.

"Uhl /Eharl/ Khoehng..." Ambrosia corrects softly in the wake of her interruption, though the Corellian isn't flawless rolling off her own tongue, either. "Hmm," she sighs, concern deepening the wrinkles of her smile as she muses over his response. "Well, I find a good lullabye can put to ease even the most troubled of minds...so be sure you do, or I'll be forced to use one." Rolling her eyes over to land briefly upon her scarfing daughter, the ambassador swirls the few remaining drops of her wine. "As for the dancing, well..." a wink as she disappears the last of the blossom. "Like my life depended on it. And sometimes for pleasure. It's simple, really. All a matter of timing."

There are moments when the universe seems to laugh at itself and the absurdly improbable happens. That guy who won the CSA lotto twice, that poor Bothan who got bit by a shark and struck by lightning in the same day - in a big universe with lots of people, the odd happens, from time to time. Today it is Zeak Oppenhiemer's turn as he and his daughter Ara stroll into the party. Oppenhiemer's face hasn't been on wanted posters or much of anything save for the occasional business holoprogram for decades, as such he sort of blends in. Occasionally he gets a sideways glance, but with some many people, and such poor light who can be too sure? They seem to be looking for someone, or multiple someones as they move through the crowd. A plain paper wraped box, tied off with twine under sits under Zeak's arm. A careful observer might note he has a tight grip.

As the wooden droid plunks down on the table, Drax's eyes widen and he snatches it up with a left hand to regard it. "Some nice work here! You name it yet?" He flips it over to look it over on all sides and then puts it back down in front of the girl. "I'm sure you can catch it on Corellia sometime. You might just enjoy a trip to their theater." With his left hand freed, it slides over to his Ale and he downs a third of what remains.

"Perhaps. Maybe I'll give it a try next time." The former pilot offers up a weak smile and he salutes his glass forward, knowing already that music just doesn't quite do the trick for him. His smile turns to a grin as he nods along in agreement with her general assessment of dancing, jumping in right behind her to finish what she was saying, "...and practice. I had this horrible teacher when I was young who absolutely ruined it all for me for a very long time. I always thought of her and that terrible voice screaming at me." Leaning back in his chair, he shudders just remembering it. "Life just never let me escape it. Work and everything else all seem to push back into it every now and then."

Feyd accompanies Jaspar into the busy park, his shadowy yet utterly unimposing figure slightly behind the taller man as gazes about with his golden hues behind the tech visor. A keen eye might note the steady feed of data flashing across the wraparound instrument as he surfs while walking, his arms folded so he can idley tap on the wrist console to navigate through whatever information network is taking up that particular aspect of his attention."So this is the home of the Temple I've heard about, interesting." He mutters in a silky smooth voice. He takes a break from tapping long enough to run a hand through his black number one colored hair, taming a few stray locks in the process. He cants his head a bit as he observes the carrousing that greets the duo,"Good to know partying isn't entirely against the law in the more civilized parts." He sniffs a bit, his expression an odd mixture of bored yet curious as he recrosses his arms to tap some more, data flickering across the interior of his wraparounds.

Ambrosia laughs, but her thoughts can't help turning a touch grim at the memory of her own 'teacher'. Elbows up...Keeping hers tucked tightly at her sides in defiance come decades too late, she nudges a plate closer to Gabi. "Well, I don't hear any screeching here, so I believe you're safe if you'd like to give it a whirl. And if there /were/ an old hag lurking about, she'd be shaking her cane at pair number two. Her posture's a wreck." Tone almost believably disdainful, she tsks lightly.

"There they are Dad," Ara exclaims pointing to a table where Ambrosia, Gabi and Drax sit. "Do you see them?"

"No I don't," Oppenhiemer replies, his voice trailing off as he looks in the indicated direction, the crowd milling about and obscuring the view. "But lead on, I'll follow."

"No, it's not real. Why would I name it?" There /is/ some disdain in Gabi's tone, there, but a sharp look from Delgard quickly adjusts it. "We have been to the theater before. That's where I first saw it. I don't remember it very well, though. Maybe we can take Gran next time." Stubbing a finger into the tuber mash, she fishes out a piece of skin and wipes it on the edge of the plate.

Finally, the dead-eyed server returns with three sets of silverware. Wordlessly, the 'gentleman' plunks them onto the table, performs a bow that's a few degrees off, and stalks back into the crowd.

"It's a nice place... One of the nicer places in the galaxy, in comparison to most places I've visited." Jaspar responds to Feyd. "Sorry for the rough ride back there.. I need to have the inertial dampeners eyeballed; it's been a good while since I've had a tech look at my baby." The latter bit is said quietly, so as to not draw attention, if possible. He glances around, looking for someone--ah, there she is. Jaspar fires off a discreet wave to Ambrosia, followed by a "need a moment" beckoning motion.

Jaspar's dressed in his usual boots, slacks, shirt, and jacket. A commlink is set into his right ear.

"Because everything important gets a name." Gran. The one with those piercing eyes that Drax had found so thoroughly unnerving. As the server returns, the agent's right hand twitches a moment under his chin and emerald eyes stay on him the whole way as if he were in the cockpit of his A-Wing keeping a TIE in his crosshairs. With a simple dumping of the silverware, the Alderaanian grins and nods his head, "Yes, I'd say they could use a rotation." His Elomin Ale is dealt with rather swiftly and he rises up out of his chair, both hands clasping behind his back. "Well, forgive me for being a bit rusty." Fighting back a smile as if he could hear his old teacher's voice in the back of his head just seeing it, he bows once for the Ambassador and then extends a hand. "If you would do me the honor?"

Ara pushes through the crowd. Once upon a time Jedi would routinely call upon the force to subtly clear their path - Zeak caught Ara doing that once and well, the result was far from pleasant. 'Your greatest asset is indirectness - always move unseen, always strike from the sun or from the aft. Position and surprise are everything, and that means you must practice misdirection and blending in,' had been something he said at the time, then of course his mantra for his children, 'practice your tradecraft until it becomes a part of you. Tradecraft is more valuable that all the special things your Mother teaches you, it will serve you when all else has fled or been taken and be the foundation for everything else when you have other tools!' The flashback enters Ara's mind as they move through the crowd, hiding in plain sight by not doing anything special at all. Zeak follows along, gripping the package under his arm.

Ambrosia double-takes as the form of Jaspar Andromidas materializes from the crowd - and a buddy, it would seem. Narrowing her eyes past Drax's shoulder she twitches her head and holds aloft one polite finger, indicating the accomplished smugglers is invited to...wait. She rustles quietly out of her chair and stands to offer a gentile bow of her chin. Only little misses curtsey these days, right? "I suppose I'll give it a try. Just don't shake any of your rust onto my shoes." Laying her hand over his own, she steps out from the table and leads towards the dance floor as the dying song rejuvenates into a fresh one with a heftier beat. Her left hand tucks neatly against the low of her back, for now.

Gabi sulks, watching her mother get up and leave to go do mushy grownup dancing. What a bore! Knocking the droid over with a flick of her finger, she idly searches the crowd for something else to spark her interest. And there, heading her way through a part in the crowd, is a familiar looking man. No name, but that's a face she's seen before. The preteen stands nervously studying he and the older girl at his side. A desperate look gets cast towards where Ambrosia /was/, but only a wisp of teal skirt remains as a passing couple obscures them from her sight. Steely green eyes snap back onto the nearing Zeak and she fishes for something to say in greeting. The best she can do on the fly is "...I have food." A little hand flourishes to showcase the half eaten spread. Maybe it's an offering?

"What's the worst that could happen?" His mind could easily fill that blank in with thousands of horrible possibilities. Taking her hand, Drax bows his head once more and then begins to lead the way over to the dance floor. Emerald eyes roll over each of the dancers already moving with the song, judging their paths and pace to adhere to his duty of avoiding a collision, and then moves forward smoothly when the moment is right. Stepping onto the floor, his posture changes and almost rolls back closer to what it would have been twenty years earlier and could almost come across as a bit taller. Reaching a good position, he turns from walking beside her to release her hand, bow once more, and then bring both hands up, one to meet her own and the other behind her back.

"And I have a gift for your Mom," Zeak replies as he offers Gabi the box under his arm. "Could you hold it for her?"

"We liberated it!" Ara exclaims with an excited grin.

"Just tell your mom you saw us and that it is old okay?" Oppenhiemer then continues, "She'll find people to take care of the rest."

The young tech geek rights himself to his formidable four and a half foot full stature with a shrug of his shoulders. Feyd rolls his head about to loosen the tension before glancing about the small crowd, taking it all in as it were before glancing up to his partner. He's honestly curious at this point, the gesturing back and forth. His raven brows are slightly canted for a heart's span before its back to the surfing. Alderaanian cuisine...hmmm. No, that's boring. What's the local brew, too many rabbits around these parts. He glances aside to track down a waiter with that idea, his hand raising as he mutters, "These damned suits won't sit still, who I gotta stick to get a growler in these parts?"

Likewise, Ambrosia's spine adjusts to something less bogged down by worry and sleeplessness. Her head cants a coy degree to the side, chin held aloft, elbows settling into an erect posture as one hand meets his and the other hooks (albeit stiffly) around his shoulder. "Pride's easier to mend than toes, I find," she mumbles softly, swinging a leg aside and into the first step. She's perhaps cheated a bit in taking the leading step, but it can't be helped. Her feet could run on autopilot now, muscle memory old, but not forgotten, but she does make an effort to pay attention to /his/ movement and yield accordingly. Keeping in the moment, much less making eye contact, does feel a bit awkward at this proximity, but she hazards a smile anyway. "You don't have creampuff in your teeth, in case you wondered."

Gabi's brows lift with mirrored excitement, until she realizes she has no idea who this is, or what's in the box. Narrowing her eyes skeptically, she does take the box, but holds it like it might sprout a set of fangs. "But...aren't you staying for the party? Why can't you give it to her?"

''Pride is a burden to be overcome''. The Ambassador's words make the teaching of an old NRI instructor bounce about in his head instinctively and Drax pushes it away to the background noise before tuning it out and sending it away. As she takes the leading step, his eyes widen for a beat before he recovers and falls into sync to steal it back. It takes two rotations before he slips back into the old routine and is then able to work on refinement. His elbow adjusts to maintain the correct position, upper body locks in, and the movements start to slow more gracefully. The comment on the creampuff breaks his composure and a wide smile forms, "Well, that's always good to know!" The tempo of the song shifts and the Alderaanian gives a quick look to say, "Are you ready?" Barely waiting for a response, he begins varying the tempo of their own turns, speeding and slowing in turn before finally changing the direction altogether. "This isn't as rough as I remember. Still glad to have blaster with me, though."

After a glance to the dance floor, Oppenhiemer replies with what could only be described as a playful twinkle, "I think we'd be a distraction," His voice then changes to be artificially stuffy, "A dour, sour soul who sucks the joy out of every situation."

Ara then continues, clearly amused at the secret irony of the day, "Remember old and liberated okay?" Liberated apparently has a special meaning to her from the way she accents it.

"And liberated means no card, and while she can know where it came from, no one else can," Oppenhiemer continues, "Think of this as your first diplomatic mission, and your first diplomatic pouch Gabi."

Ambrosia's footwork keeps pace accordingly, knees slightly bent to accommodate for sudden shifts and twirls. She casts a very obvious glance up and down, seeking to locate said blaster. While the rest of the scenery spins around. "I'd best watch my step then!" And on that note, as a heavy twang of string strikes, she plants the ball of her foot, hip rotating to halt the forward momentum of his advancing leg and pushing back to reverse the steps as the pace picks up for a racy finish. A sly, if not slightly cruel smile breaks her perfectly poised expression of feigned disinterest. Not often this old skill is put to use, but she may as well enjoy it while it lasts.

"Old and liberated," Gabi repeats, looking a mite confused yet as she glances between the two. Her lips twitch into an amiable enough smile nonetheless and she nods, extending a hand for the shaking. For a kid, her arm is quite steady and self-assured. Grip firm. "I'll tell her who it's from when we go to bed. That way no one else will hear."

Zeak and Ara both shake Gabi's hand before walking past her into the crowd and the chaos. When they get some distance away Ara asks, "Do you think the Ambassador will tell her how valuable that is in time?"

"Probably, the real question is, will we get an earful for leaving it with a 10 year old?" is Oppenhiemer's reply.

Zeak gives a Stolen Holosculpture to you.

"I would say so, that one doesn't have a safety." The finish of the song is incoming and the spins of the pair pick up pace until finally all of the dancers stop in unison, their hands separating from each other's backs. No different from the rest, Drax pulls his hand from the Ambassador's back and turns to face out towards the crowd beside her. It's the halfway mark for the finish before the truly tricky part and it is here that his eyes lock onto Zeak and Ara talking to Gabi. Like any hiccup in the heat of battle, Drax accepts it, processes this, and moves through the priority list of next steps. He pulls Ambrosia back in, lifting his arm up to spin her repeatedly before sliding a foot forward and moving his other hand back in behind her back to end in a dip. He holds it as the last note is played out and then smoothly brings her back up, takes a step back and bows once more. "Thank you!" Emerald eyes flick back to the side to try and track the former Imperial Admiral, but he's lost him now. "I hate to be so rude, but it looks like I need to dash. Work calls." Firing off a wink, he takes two steps back and pivots on his heel before heading into the crowd. "Thank you for a lovely evening!" Moments later, he is consumed by the mass of other beings gathered for the dances and merriment.

Left a touch breathless by the unanticipated, but much respected final flourish, Ambrosia manages a little salute to his departure, holding it together long enough till he’s gone from sight. Then the posture slumps back a touch into old habits, hand reaching to quiet the ache in a knee and bump-shuffling her way free of the growing dancer crowd. She’d managed to pull off a little flare of her own – rooting one foot to the ground while the other knee drew scandalously up as both pose of completion and balance aid – but is paying for the sudden twist now.

“What is that there? Who were you talking to?” She grills her daughter through gritted teeth upon return to the table and sags into a chair. A man, that much she’d seen, but as ground interchanged with sky so abruptly her vision was understandably skewed.

Gabi pauses before reply, stuffing a sudden spoonful of mash into her mouth to buy time. Lying was not something she oft got away with, but maybe that big goblet of wine her mother had polished off would work in her favor, yet. “Merk!” she fibs cheerily after smacking her lips clean. “It’s a present. For my half birthday, that you said we’d celebrate since we couldn’t…you know.” Cue crestfallen doe-eyes, wielding the memory of this year’s horrendously-spent birthdays like a pro.

“…Hm.”  Ambrosia tries not to read too deeply into Merk’s alleged gift-getting, but it’s difficult not to question it. She had just kneed the man’s family jewels less than two weeks ago, and he buys her kid a birthday gift? Maybe that’s why he’d slipped it to her on the sly.

Casting a suspicious glance around, she nods her head. “Well, I suppose we ought to check on your Gran, soon. Maybe she’d like to see you open it.”  Tucking an errant curl behind her daughter’s ear, the ambassador places a hand behind her back and stands, nudging her forward. “But first, I think Capt Andromidas wanted a word. Shall we?”

As the two Delgard women press on to other evening adventures, some one is left abandoned to endure the night alone. The nameless, wooden droid, staring lifelessly into the misty night sky.