Callum Attar
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Jun 18, 2019
- Messages
- 80
- Reaction score
- 33
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A Man of Wealth
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and Taste
A Man of Wealth
.
and Taste
Coruscant. Home sweet home. Dressed in the usual, semi-formal attire he often wore - its colour scheme favouring Sith black - the Acolyte stepped out of his airspeeder, and promptly handed the keys off to an Imperial who seemed to work as a glorified valet. It might've felt a little odd to some, but Callum had experienced this so many times by now it was normal.
The pureblood found himself before a rather austere-looking building, with no small amount of security, all of which seemed to be very well armed and - he presumed - equally well trained. This was one of the Empire's many footholds in the Ecumenopolis, a building in which Imperial assignments were issued, Intelligence was processed and, in his case, Reports were provided, in person, to be logged in the Imperial Database.
To one as exalted as a Sith, even a simple Acolyte, this process was nothing more than a formality. By sole virtue of being, he stood above them, and they - bureaucrats - would not question his methods, period.
Callum calmly moved past security, weaving past endless halls, his motions suave and practiced, until he found himself at the doors of Conference Room 35-C, of section 3 of the building's east wing, on the 52nd floor. Though it was none's right to complain, the man was not tardy. Despite his general dislike of doing any form of work, he made it his business to be on time for these meetings. Keeping up appearances should be a top priority, after all, for one of his particular... disposition.
A quick glance at his watch told him the time had now been right. He opened the door and calmly strolled in, the uttering the words "Good afternoon, gentlemen." An action he had made countless times before. He knew what to say, when to say it. His story had been prepped and he was good to go. This would be over in a couple of minutes at most, and then he would finish the job, go home, and enjoy a little free time, for a change.
Though cordial in every way, as per usual, his eyes only now bothered to scan the room, and were promptly horrified by what they found. The nagging feeling in the back of his spine, that had been irritating him ever since he'd waited on the other side of that door now had a name that went along with it. A source: Darth Tagus.
The last time he'd met this Mirialan, he'd wound up so tired he could barely speak, literal sweat pouring down from him after he'd been commanded to slay a woman with Force Lightning, something they both knew was out of the Human's league.
For the briefest of instants, thoughts like Why is he here? flooded the man's brain before he remembered: This individual had read his emotions like a book. Only this time, this was a meaningless report. Here he stood, a man with nothing to hide.
And if he was to get out of this in one piece, he needed to sell that particular lie like there was no tomorrow.
So, the first rule of business was: He knew this Darth. Tagus had wished him no ill will when last they met. And an Honest Sith would have a moment of surprise, followed by fear - this was a terrifying Near-Human after all - and would then Calm. The Kriff. Down.
A breath was all it took for the Coruscantian to lower his heart rate and though someone like Tagus might've caught something, no bureaucrat would've seen so much as a crack in his composure.
"Lord Tagus." - he said, offering a simple but respectful salute, his tone steeled and his lips sporting his patented, ever-charming smile - "A pleasure to see you, as always." Simple, short phrases. Though empty pleasantries he knew the Darth disliked, they were surrounded by non-Sith, and therefore they were things he could not do without.
What he would not ask, was what the Sith Lord was doing here. That much was plainly obvious, and Tagus did not suffer fools, or their questions.
@Nefieslab