Tonight's remembrance is in honor of Leia Organa, but other souls lost in the war to-date are not far from attendee's thoughts. Or eyesight. A holo display set to perpetually rotate through the faces and names of the fallen sits atop a stout pedestal near the entrance /outside/, where all who enter or exit might give pause to pay their respects to the silent sentinels who (presumably) still guard their beloved leader in the afterlife. There are some new additions to that list, including Greeson Rais and Zonk. ALIVE guardians are also present, of course. Royal guard. Armed, dressed, ready to ensure that those gathered may do so without disturbances.

The courtyard is manicured stunningly and presently encircled by torches and a small symphony who's putting soft, light notes of an Alderaanian waltz into the air. Contributions for this evening's celebration of life have been generous. Verily. The memorial statue is still a work in progress in the hands of capable artists, but once Leia's likeness is rendered, it will be placed in a place of honor to watch over her New Alderaan.

For now, one must be contented to feast their eyes on the splendor of guilded halls, ornate floral arrangements, noble company, and an edible spread fit for royalty (The drink selection ain't bad, either). Inside this vast audience chamber, immense pillars support a magnificantly lofted ceiling from entrance to dais. Behind each colonnade, lengthy tables line the walls to accomodate assembling guests.

Large braziers flicker with eternal flames in front of each pillar in these colonnades, illuminating the way toward what /would/ be a throne but is, for tonight, a table is set with Alderaanian blue cloth and chairs for each of the designated speakers. Also atop the dais there is a podium. One brazier stands alone near the entrance, unlit, draped by an Organa white banner.

You can guess who that's for.

General Greystorm stands at table on the dais, waiting for the rest of her commanding fellows to join her before sitting her starchly uniformed rump in chair. Her face is clear of sweat. Makeup blurs the lines between real an synthe across the face mapped by war. A pair of delicate, gold hairpins hold her ornately twisted updo in place behind her skull. That, her posture, and a pair of tiny, teardrop earrings are small bodies of proof that she took Leia's many (many) etiquette lessons to heart. She might'n't be in heels, but she is presenting a most civil front. If unsmiling.