The word ‘unfortunate’ passed quietly between Atra’s lips, disguised as a sigh. It wasn’t exactly surprising that Uji hadn’t noticed Kordath there, despite the fact that the Ryn had served them shortly after they had arrived. After all, no one noticed the help. That is, of course, except those with a particular dislike for said help.
The Umbaran had quickly performed some mental arithmetic to factor in the Arconan Consul’s presence and his impact to the mission. It had not been an improvement, to say the least. And now, that change was making itself known in the worst way.
Atra eyed the crowd around him and made to excuse himself, nodding a farewell—similar to those he’d seen others doing nearby—and turned leave. Instead, he found a man almost as tall as himself blocking his path. A quick glance told the Praetor much. The man was older, wrinkles falling around his eyes and tugging at a jagged scar running from above his left ear and down his jaw. There was a vibrancy to his blue eyes that didn’t match his squared features and his hair was tightly cropped. A smile pulled at the man’s lips but never reached his eyes and a quick side to side flick of the eye brought Atra’s attention to what was quite obviously a guard detail.
“Dakarus Thorne,” the man offered by way of introduction, leaning slightly closer. “We haven’t had a chance to speak just yet, though I am saddened Mister Taelyan was unavailable.”
"Unfortunate," Atra offered again, disguised as another sigh.
Meanwhile, Kordath was continuing his rapid pace towards the exits, not knowing they were blocked. His short stature was a detriment in that regard, unable to see over the crowd. What the Ryn did know, however, was that he was being tailed. Kriffing great, he cursed mentally. He had to be just greedy enough to screw the whole thing. What’s worse, he would no doubt hear about it from—
The Arconan Consul stopped in his tracks, having first spotted Atra—pale as a ghost, tha’ one—and then Thorne and his detail. A quick flick of the Ryn’s eyebrows accompanied a low whistle and an about face, bringing him eye to eye with one of the plain-clothes guards. “Pay no mind tae th’ wee nyaff now,” Kordath mumbled while frozen, as if the stillness would disguise him.
It didn’t work.
The guard pointed straight at him, riot batton in hand. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Kordath’s tail immediately twitched and he offered up an embarrassed grin. “Abou’ tha’…” The Ryn wasted no time doing the exact opposite as he was ordered, and he wasn’t exactly subtle about it. He was already caught red handed, so to speak, so there would be no harm in making a bit of a scene. A distraction, if you will. And that’s exactly what he did. The Consul swiped a bottle of what appeared to be a particularly expensive wine off a nearby tray and tapped into the Force. He felt a surge of energy course through the musculature of his hands as he swung the bottle around and squeezed in one smooth motion. The glass gave way, shattering and releasing its contents across several patrons while a sizeable chunk of shrapnel gave a sudden and rather impactful kiss to one of the male guests. Kordath winced by way of apology. He wasn’t done just yet, shoving through those he had just harassed and driving an elbow into the slack jawed fellow on the way past for added measure.
“Dammit, Kordath,” Uji sneered as he picked up his pace, his cane clacking loudly against the steps. The man was sorely tempted to suppress Bleu’s abilities before they got him into even more trouble. That, however, wouldn’t really help anyone at that point. Uji watched from his descending perch, seeing the cascade effect of Kordath’s efforts with several patrons falling to the floor, others tumbling like so many dominos. Still, the Consul continued onward in a sprint for freedom. Towards blocked exits. Like a fool, Uji thought.
The kitchen exit was nearing view as Kordath weaved through the slowly exciting crowd, heads turning this way and that. A wave of relief threatened to wash over the Ryn. That is, until a large, red-skinned Devaronian stepped out with more muscles than he had a right to. That made Kord skid to a stop, almost tumbling over himself as he fought to halt his momentum.
“Frak! Tha’s a big—” The Devaronian chose that moment to heave a large power hammer into view. “—hammer. Oh hell.”
At the same time, air shot heavily through Atra’s flared nostrils while he tried to navigate the unravelling threads. Dakarus, the whole reason they were there, stood right in front of him and now the Praetor was going to be left with what would surely be a migraine. Thorne had only just started to discuss the particulars of his more noteworthy collections when the disturbance had begun. “Apologies, it seems we have some unexpected entertainment,” Dakarus started with a hint of sarcasm. He didn’t get a chance to say anything else as what could only be described as a high pitched squeal rapidly approached. The source unceremoniously landed on Dakarus himself while bringing down the pair of guards.
Atra stared straight ahead for a moment and merely blinked, as if weighing if it was worth acknowledging what had just happened. With his black-gold eyes half lidded, his jaw worked from side to side slowly, then the Umbaran tilted his head down to look at the Ryn currently contemplating his life choices.
"Kordath," Atra said, offering nothing more.
"Hammer," Kordath rebutted, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
The Ryn winced, feeling at least one broken rib, and gave a couple quick kicks to the heads of the guards he had landed on just to make sure they didn’t get up. Then, inhibited somewhat by the pain, he managed to climb to his feet on the third try. Uji pushed through the crowd at the same time, planting his cane in front of him with both hands pressed against it and exuding an air of disappointment. “I suppose it’s time we leave,” Tameike suggested as he correctly deduced there was no more to be gained by their presence.
The Consul winced again, this time from regret. “It’s not like I meant ta—”
“Huh…that is a hammer,” Atra interrupted. Both of the other men followed the Praetor’s gaze towards the oncoming large Devaronian, the patrons parting like a curtain ahead of him. Kordath winced, not wanting another taste, as he glanced between Uji and Atra. Then between the cane and Atra. Then just at Atra.
“Well, go get’em,” the Ryn said with a pointing gesture.
Atra tilted his head to the side and then turned slightly to look at the Ryn. Kordath merely repeating the gesture in reply. The Praetor sighed and rolled his right wrist, clenching the fingers and causing his own knuckles to crack loudly.
Then a nearby chandelier came crashing down upon the oncoming thug.
"Huh," Kordath said with a half-chuckle before looking at Atra approvingly.
The Umbaran’s lips were drawn thin with one eyebrow raised. His quick shrug clearly said, “wasn’t me.”
Before any of the three could formulate another though, a commanding voice boomed out over the crowd. “I simply cannot stand for bad manners at my party,” the familiar voice declared, yet it was distorted as if multiple voices were in unison. Turel walked confidently out of the passage he had first disappeared down. One hand was extended outward, Amaya’s bracelet now firmly affixed to his own forearm. There was a bit of a saunter to the Jedi’s steps as his hips sashayed from side to side. As he came completely into view, Turel jutt his hip out to the side and planted the knuckles of his right arm firmly against it while surveying the crowd. “Now then, who wants to have some ‘fun’?!”
