Date 12: Harvest Day Ball

originally posted in late March 2011

"The only one I've learned is the mirror dance, I'm afraid. You should look up the Princess," Vanya suggested. She glanced halfway across the ballroom floor at an elegantly twirling figure in white. "That's presuming you can dig out an empty space on her dance card, o'course."

Davish followed Vanya's gaze. "Leia does seem well-equipped with suitors tonight," he agreed. "But ... princess?"

Vanya grinned, turning away before she could draw either of the twins' attention. "Her mom's a former queen, you know, and I gather the nickname settled into place around age two. Somehow Luke escaped a matching 'prince' tag, more power to him."

"It suits her, though," Davish observed, letting his gaze wander across the rest of the dancers. "So. Since you only know one dance that'll be played this entire night ... why are we here?"

"You asked; we hadn't tried this; and while I hesitate to ever consider using the Death Knell Phrase, even one of the third-string Capital Season parties has built-in decent security, its own emergency crew, a mandatory weapons-check with scanners built into all the doorways and windows. And, hey, weird little food samples on sticks!"

"Medical staff on duty, and two other Force-sensitive persons on site if something should come up," he added to her litany. "I have to say, I am very impressed with the catering. Remind me to find out who arranged it at some point?"

Vanya hmmed in agreement, collecting a blue-stemmed glass from a passing servitor droid. "Vorboccioni will probably know. He's over there by the funky pastry sculpture, pretending to eat fried mystery plant and doing politics."

Davish glanced at her, leaned sideways against an ancient stone pillar. "Intriguing how you say 'doing politics' in the exact same cadence I've heard you say 'committing crime'."

"Pah. Probably not a coincidence."

After another moment's thought, watching the ebb and flow of the room, Davish added, "I can find fault with one piece of your analysis. I hope you aren't offended." At her inviting raised eyebrow, he continued, "About that weapons-check: you do, of course, realize that I've a weapon on my person?"

Vanya smiled crookedly in reply. "Just one? I've got three. Four-century-old scanners don't care about energy sources attached to personal communications devices, or blasters with NO power pack, or for that matter a bundle of lightsabers neatly rolled inside a ... that's really odd." She straightened up, all amusement fading, and studied something near the buffet table intently. Davish stole a peek, but wasn't certain what she'd meant: her friend Vorboccioni stood with four other men, listening intently to the shortest one speak; two servitor droids refilled their trays, while three human servants in House VorCadriaan insignia (instead of the Vorwennel colors to which they were accustomed) replenished supplies or otherwise maintained the table.

"Now, why would that older fellow be removing the antique flower bowl?" she continued under her breath, in reference to one of the Vorwennel servants. "He's not stealing it, and he's certainly handling it with respect for its value...."

Davish frowned in focused concentration. "Thoughts are rather garbled in this old hall, but I sense ... something about preserving a heritage from blast radius?"

"Yeah, weapons time," grumbled the Jedi padawan. A heavy blaster appeared in one hand, its charge pack in her other, as if by magic; she started walking toward the center of the dance hall, absently sidestepping past interweaving waltzers as she scrutinized the upper balustrades, the curtained windows, the hanging boxes of brightly-colored flowers, the inset angular skylights with their faint shimmer of forcefield screening.

Davish had just gotten the ear of a Vorwennel Armsman, and begun speaking urgently, when he felt Vanya's search through the Force tighten abruptly upward in a spike of pure certainty. He turned toward a skylight between her and the banquet table, saw two dancing couples at different points in the room abruptly spin to face the same unshielded opening, as Vanya raised her gun to fire.

"Khun!"

Count Vorboccioni swept one of his companions behind his own bulk instinctively, hand jerking into his formal jacket's pocket to shoot through the fabric with some sort of holdout pistol. The live music jangled to a halt, drowned out by a media droid blaring out United Confederation of Peacekeepers propaganda.

(Until Leia, cool as always, shot it with an Armsman's freshly confiscated carbine.)