The Art of Broken Pieces

Porgs Make New Friends

She'd expected the masquerade to be even more ostentatious than Madam Concierge's dinner—after all, it had cost so many credits just to secure an invite, she was fairly certain they could have covered the room in a centimeter-thick patina of gold and still had plenty left over for the charitable cause.

Instead, they rode up to a sedate gray building of massive columns, which looked like something made to house important documents of state, not host several hundred people in glittering, masked costume.

After the brief touches they'd shared on that hillside, Rey had almost expected last night to unfold into something that rolled quickly downhill and straight into bed. Part of her had hoped it would, but the rest of her felt too protective of the cautious new trust to make any sudden moves. Like a wild animal, just learning its feeders meant no harm, it felt like the feelings were still too wary to withstand a full physical encounter.

And despite what the hedonistic part of her said, she didn't think she'd be satisfied with just a chaste kiss. His nose against her ear had made her feel weak, the warmth of his breath puffing wet against her neck had made her skin tighten all over like one of their designer's strange suits.

But Ben had kept his mouth frustratingly to himself on the speeder ride home, and save for the light tangle of their fingertips, they hadn't touched. RD's immediate assault upon entering had broken whatever lingering mood remained. Ben went to make arrangements for transport and, more secretly, their escape route. Rey, on the other hand, had to work with RD to fashion some way to smuggle her blaster in beneath her dress.

Both her and Ben's lightsabers remained aboard the Falcon—too much a giveaway of their identity, should Aurelia's ample supply of wandering hands slide somewhere unwelcome. She missed its weight at her side, wishing there were some way she could have disguised it. But her blaster was good enough.

Or it would have been, if there had been an inch of spare fabric to hide it in. In the end, she'd had to strap the thing low on her one concealed calf and hope no one noticed its presence.

Their invitation was thoroughly scanned at the doors, and Ben had the impression that no one who was not vetted several times over was allowed to attend the event. Thankfully whatever scrutiny they had been subjected to, their carefully crafted identities had held up well and within a few moments they were ushered through the tall double doors.

The building was clearly an event hall, not a private residence, and the tall banners hung from the ceiling shocked him into immobility. Once inside, there was no attempt made to mask the purpose of the event, as the draped tapestry was boldly emblazoned with the red and black emblems of the First Order. He felt Rey stiffen at his side and his fingers tightened over her hand. Leaning down to her ear he whispered, "Well at least we know we're in the right place..."

The masked guests mingled and talked, voices low in the echoing space. The sense of entitled revelry that had permeated the dinner at Madam Congierge's estate was missing here, despite the pageantry of masks and costumes which surrounded them. All faces were concealed, voices muffled through the heavy masks. Ben's own was simple in design, a simple face plate of fractured mirrors. The irony was not lost on him, as he was sure the reflection now cast back the First Order decor that surrounded them.

Rey strengthened her hold on Ben's arm, feeling suddenly on edge. She'd walked into the viper's nest before, once even with Ben at her side, but it had never been a comfortable thing. None of the people before her were uniformed, and she didn't think many of them were armed, but those long red banners still sent a chill down her spine.

She peered around, though it was pointless to try spotting anyone in the crowd. She didn't know anyone's masks or costumes—even the white and gold of her own mask would have been as unrecognizable as it was heavy. She'd almost forgotten what it looked like before it had arrived that evening, in a silver box tied by charcoal ribbon onto an even larger silver box containing her dress. Shoes had come along with the garments, and of course they were heels. Towering ones made of silk ribbon and gold filigree that felt like they would melt if she splashed them with water. They put her only a few inches lower than Ben—it was a strange and unsteady world, so high up.