Atia
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Posts: 1,232 
Affiliation: Nightsisters of Dathomir
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Post by Atia on Oct 13, 2014 8:27:11 GMT -8
14 woke with a headache. Her head was splitting and she grimaced. The twilek got up and assessed the situation. Holding cell. Not good, but could be worse. First things first, check the cell. She started to tap her way all over. Check the bed, the matrass. She wanted to find where the bed panels were set together and how. Bolts? Welding? Was the matrass changable? How was the toilet fastened to the wall, how were the walls constructed. She was looking for weaknesses. Door, or power field held her closed in? Who were her neighbors? Could they hear her?
Once done, she would start training. Pushups, onehanded. Waiting for whomever would come for her.
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Post by Simon Monroe on Oct 16, 2014 21:29:05 GMT -8
The cell was clearly very old, lacking the force-field enclosures more commonly found in such locales, but nevertheless well built. Durasteel walls, floor and ceiling with a flat duracrete slab running the length of the back wall and a thin mattress laid atop it. There was a small 'fresher unit to the right of the door, welded to the wall that was shared with the cell next door, and no mirror or other objects that could be used as weapons. The door itself was solid durasteel but for the locked food slot and a single window at eye level, filled with reinforced transparisteel that would withstand anything short of a light laser cannon, and had been fitted with a magnetic seal to even further increase security. Her closest neighbor was Devlin, three cells to the right, but the magnetic seals would prevent any sound from passing into or out of the cells.
When he caught sight of the prisoner's face through the window, Monroe pushed off the wall and walked to the cell door, taking a look inside the room to find that she was now doing pushups. With a command that would be silent to her, the mag-seal on the door disengaged, followed almost immediately by the mechanical lock. He pulled the door open and stepped into the room, then closed it behind him as the mechanical lock re-engaged. "I'm sorry about the headache, but you didn't give me many options. Usually I try to be a little more gentle these days." He watched her continue her push-ups, giving no outward indication that she even knew he'd entered the room. Exceedingly good self-control, that. "Do you have a name? Or a designation perhaps?" The poise she'd exhibited so far told him she'd been through a great deal of conditioning in her life, though it was impossible to say whether that was at the hands of a military, a government, or some private individual. There were just too many options to choose from.
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Atia
Member
Posts: 1,232
Affiliation: Nightsisters of Dathomir
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Post by Atia on Oct 17, 2014 8:05:28 GMT -8
46 pushups...
47...
48...
The room was solid metal, and that would be their downfall. Even if she cant lift a metal slab to bash someones head in, the head gets bashed the same if that someone in question gets closer to it in high speeds. For 14, this entire room was a weapon.... but not against Mr Cyber-Rob-Otto. She would have no chacne in a hand in hand against him.
The room was soundproof too. That was not so good.
49...
She had choices to make now. Warn them? Possibility, but she may leave that card for later. Silent treatment? Not an option. She needed information as well as they did, and her chances of escape were always paralell with the ammount of times that door go opened. If she gave nothing, that door would stay shut.
Talk then.
Annnnd........ 50.
She sat up on the floor and leaned her back against the metal slab. The slab would hold her in place if the poh-lice would start to bang her head, not let the wall give seconds. With shrugs of her shoulders, her lekkus found place on the matrass, in safety. She pulled her knees up to her shoulder and hugged them, looking up at the metal-flash man. She could defend her vital organs, and stay alive would she get beatings. She DID kill one of theirs, hurting an other for life. She was ready for their retribution.
-14-
"Mora."
She now missed her slave collar. It would give comfort in hard times. Maybe she will make one from the matrass later, should she need it. She did not have a name, Mora was one of the name suggestions in the toolbox, should she be captured.
-14-
"Mora Rosher."
The datapad. They have taken her datapad.
-14-
"I want my datapad. You should not tamper with it, since you do not know the codes, and there arent much for you on it anyways. I on the other hand have a savefile with more then hundred hours of gameplay on Intergalactic Invaders Three. I would be very sad if I could not continue it."
SHe gave them a weapon, something they could take away from her, and something she held dear. A fake weapon.
Not THAT fake.... Playing games was a privilige, and something the slaves in the Crucible liked to do. Besides martial arts and service, gaming was one of the most competetive scenes amongst the Banshees. Sitting in this room, she might just get a highscore worthy to mention, and get up on her PT.
She will need a lot of PT to get out of here on her own.
-14-
"I would not suggest cracking it. Can have bad sideffects. I dont know what, I am not a tech person, but Someone may loose fingers, or entire data stores. It is better in my hand, and I am guessing this room has no communication capability, so it will be safe."
She was also fishing for reactions. See what her value was.
Plus.... the datapad was military issue. Nasty things... really high tech (Imperial) defence mechanisms both software and hardware. Scans would show a small explosive device inside just enough to blow someones hand up holding it, but it wouldnt handle the lock. Not impossible to break, but one would need a REALLY good hacker to not get infected with a nasty virus yourself, or have the data on it removed permanently.
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Post by Simon Monroe on Oct 17, 2014 21:54:04 GMT -8
He watched her as she settled back against the duracrete slab, huddling herself up as though expecting an imminent attack, and let her ramble on about her datapad and the games it contained. A toy to pass the time while she waited, as unconcerned about her predicament as if she'd arrived in a motorcade seven cars long and walked into the cell of her own free will. All this meant she'd been trained in interrogation as well as combat, and trained well. Though it did give away the fact that she was experienced, which told him that he needed to play this smart. Beatings and threats would get him nowhere with someone like her.
As he watched, his vision cycled through several different modes ranging from thermal to EM to ultraviolet, searching for any signs of concealed technology or weapons the previous search might have missed. Implants, false scars hiding small blades, anything that might be useful to know later on. When she finished speaking, he exhaled softly, then inhaled, then exhaled, then inhaled before finally speaking. Silence could sometimes say more in four seconds than any amount of words in ten minutes. In this case, it said that he was still processing everything she'd just told him, said that he was indeed an intelligent man, but perhaps not the most intelligent one around, taking that much time to run through the possibilities. A truly clever man would have done it on the spot and without delay.
"What about your target? Why attack this precinct specifically? Was it me? Has the overseer finally decided to shut me up for good?"
A lot of questions all in a row, with no pause to wait for her answers. A sign of desperation to anyone who knew what to look for, even though the tone and cadence of his voice remained perfectly even.
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Atia
Member
Posts: 1,232
Affiliation: Nightsisters of Dathomir
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Post by Atia on Oct 18, 2014 8:53:53 GMT -8
Devlin, it was Devlin... and she would say it. They should know, but it should not be too easy because then it would feel like it is not true. They will have to work for it.
Overseer? Sounds like a bait. lets bite and see where this goes. She nodded.
Plus, if her bluff DID actually work (with a spice of MIRACLE and DEUS EX MACHINA) she might just unreviel a new and unmet agency that the banshees should keep an eye on or eredicate.
-14-
"Not shut up, meet. The Overseer wants a meeting through an intermidiery in town. I was sent here to make sure you take it... serious."
She said, looking up at her captor with difience in her gaze.
Meanwhile, in the hands of crime investigator labcoats, were the items found on the scene. The Sniper Rifle was a given. It was taken from Devlins arsenal, and no change went to it, scope and everything. If it can be tracked, then good luck, but it would be tracked to devlin, thus linking her to him.
Most likely same for the headless Nautolan.
The shield generator belt and the stealth generator belt were imperial stock issue. A Stealth Field Generator strapped to the belt. It was clear that it came from imperial factories, and lacked serial numbers. As for where it was made, it was impossible to say. Old but reliable disign, could have been bought used on the black market, or bought anew, or even given by an imperial handlers.
The shield generator was among devlins gear.
The datapad... now thats a hard nut to crack. Outside, it looks like an illegally upgraded version of the phone/datapad the kidds are using nowdays. A smartphone that would make a teenager wet their pants at brithday giftopening. It looked expensive, and with further scans, the expensive brand and model would only become a clear disguise. This was an operatives handbook, notepad, GPS, electro-lockpick and comms unit. It was also rigged with explosives, and several layers of codes needed to get it to even start up its OS.
It was also clear that not even the inside was made by the company that the outside advertised. It was some deep spy gadget.
As for the womans mugshot? No records. DNA? No records. Fingerprints? No fingerprints. Burned off. Painfully.
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Post by Simon Monroe on Oct 18, 2014 16:25:11 GMT -8
He very nearly laughed out loud when she mentioned the overseer wanting to meet through an intermediary, but managed to suppress the reaction to no more than a small grin. "Does he now? Was there something he wanted to say that he forgot to mention this morning?" It had become clear that he hadn't even been on a periphery list of targets for her the moment she'd made this latest attempt at misdirection, as anyone with holonet access could find Overseer Sykes' personal biography with just a choice search term and a few clicks. It wouldn't take much more than that to find the connection the man had to Monroe. Whoever had sent this woman on this mission had been trying spectacularly hard to make her fail. He knew there was something in that revelation he could use, but so far he was unable to see exactly what. All good things to those who wait.
He squatted down in front of her without moving forward. "Lets try this again, and this time don't try and pretend you know more about my planet than I do. What was the target of your attack?"
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Atia
Member
Posts: 1,232
Affiliation: Nightsisters of Dathomir
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Post by Atia on Oct 19, 2014 8:06:38 GMT -8
She ignored his last question blatantly, and without disreguard.
-14-
"The overseer forgot to mention the fact that when you meet an adversery that outmatches you in every side of the arena, you better pack up, and choose an other."
She articulated clearly, like telling a child that they should not play with fire. She made it very clear whom was the outmatching adversery. Seeing their fight before, this did not seem to be the case. That may have raised questions. she did not leave his gaze.
-14-
"My suggestion to you is that you bring me my datapad, my dinner, or breakfast, or whatever the meal of the time is, and when someone comes to pick me up, you give me to them without question. Copper."
Instigation. She wanted to see what he would do against defiance and rudeness. Testing the bounderies.
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Post by Simon Monroe on Oct 19, 2014 9:51:20 GMT -8
He raised a hand to his temples as she just kept right on playing her games, rubbing circles to try and make the inevitable headache go away. All she did with her persistence was continue proving how little she knew. Sykes wasn't a boss, he was an underling. If he wanted anything, it was because his puppeteer had pulled a string and made him squawk. He also wasn't the type to order melodramatic hits on V-sec stations just to send a message. He wasn't smart enough to think of that. Monroe dropped his hand and looked at her again. "Suggestion noted and discarded. You get one more chance to play nicely. What was the target of the attack?"
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Atia
Member
Posts: 1,232
Affiliation: Nightsisters of Dathomir
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Post by Atia on Oct 19, 2014 11:37:02 GMT -8
They did not know. That means, the analisis from her weapon either did not come back as Devlins, or it was not traced to him.
She will have to say it, because it would further Batemans cause, and also make her valuable enough for a rescue mission. Nobody rescues a useless tool. But, she cant give it easy. She will not. They will never believe it. So, here came more games. Police stations have evidence lockers. They have a tendency to hold packadges, packadges of whatever. Most likely spice, since those things are not legal in most civilisations. If she manadges to hit right, she might earn some time.
-14-
"You give me my datapad, and I tell you. WITH dinner."
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Post by Simon Monroe on Oct 22, 2014 19:11:18 GMT -8
Monroe sighed heavily, then stood. "You'll get a meal regardless, but the datapad isn't on the table. You have until I close this door to change your mind." With that, he turned and stepped toward the door, taking her last chance at willing cooperation right along with him. Sure, she could try and play it tough, try and work the angles and gain some intel, but that wouldn't get her out of here, and it wouldn't end well.
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Atia
Member
Posts: 1,232
Affiliation: Nightsisters of Dathomir
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Post by Atia on Oct 29, 2014 13:22:14 GMT -8
-14-
"Yauh hath untwill Ei chlohsh tha dour"
She imitated him with a mock voice, like children argue. Then she changed into a helping tone, a mothers advice.
-14-
"Deary, my door will always be open for you, should you need it."
Said the slave locked in a cage. It was likely he would need her advice sooner, then her answers...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 15, 2014 19:37:39 GMT -8
Siroun is reviewing her notes from a session with an officer that had been required to undergo a fitness for duty evaluation in order to better prepare for writing her recommendation when a blue-green skinned Duros V-Sec officer raps on her door and pokes his long, noseless face in. "Need you at the 2nd precinct, the Duros says without preamble when Siroun looks up, explaining, One that was assaulted. Some genius thinks it'd be good to have ya on hand if any of the officers involved in the mess wanna talk about their feelings or whatever," the officer continues, not bothering to conceal his low opinion of either what Siroun does or perhaps of those that would need to ask for her help.
"Thank you," Siroun says with a nod, never having felt the need to defend her profession to those that hold it in contempt for whatever reasons they might have for doing so. Standing and taking her black suit jacket from the back of her chair, Siroun puts it on over the blue, high collared blouse she is wearing and, after putting her datapad into the side pocket of the jacket, walks from her office.
A pair of V-Sec officers are hauling a large, irate Trandoshan through the lobby as Siroun enters it on her way outside. Giving the officers a wide berth, Siroun is almost to the doors when she hears the Trandoshan's steady flow of cursing suddenly stop, giving way to an inarticulate roar. Turning from the doors, Siroun sees the Trandoshan succeed in freeing an arm from one of the officers and then shove the human roughly away. The human that had been shoved backwards manages to keep on his feet, but bumps into a chair beside a young, pale human male with shaggy black hair that had been sleeping in one of the seats in the lobby. As the two arresting officers, joined by three others that rush into the lobby, get the Trandoshan back under control and all but carry him back towards the holding cells, Siroun approaches the youth that had been sleeping to make sure his presence has been noted by the officer at the desk and that he is waiting to be helped rather than to be spoken with.
Noting the worn cloak, crooked nose, thin braid, and the pack beneath the boy's chair, Siroun concludes that her initial tentative impression that the youth was a street urchin or addict of some kind is likely to be proven incorrect; the braid and cloak suggesting he is more probably a Jedi Padawan, and if the dark circles beneath his eyes and overall disheveled appearance are any indication, an exhausted and weary one at that. When she is within a distance she gauges sufficient to avoid violating most humanoid's personal bubble, Siroun asks him in a tone that contains equal measures of politeness and concern without either being in excess, "Have you been helped?"
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Miras
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Affiliation: Watchmen
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Post by Miras on Nov 16, 2014 18:33:32 GMT -8
The Padawan's sunken eyes snapped open as the officer impacted his chair, sending it back on two of its legs. An incoherent stream of curses pouring from his lips, he flailed out of the unbalanced piece of furniture and into a standing position. Blinking stupidly, Miras watched the V-sec officers wrestle the Trandoshan back under control and into a pair of heavy-duty binders. As they lead the alien away, he realized he was gripped his lightsaber. His fingers were white around the hilt. The blade hums as it descends, and as a shriek splits the air a spatter of superheated blood blisters his chest and neck- Miras grimaced and replaced the weapon on his belt. Can't believe I fell asleep, the Padawan groaned inwardly as he pulled back his sleeve to check the chronometer on his wrist. When he saw that he'd wasted nearly an hour his lips parted around another muttered curse. He smoothed down the front of his stained cloak and turned to check in with the officer he'd spoken to earlier.
Instead he is confronted by a woman.
"Yeah." His reply was distracted and he was already looking past the woman. His intention had been to pass her by before she had a chance to delay him further, but instead the Corellian found himself rooted to the spot, watching her with somber gray eyes. After a long moment he blinked. "On second thought, would you happen to know when Master Deveaux is due to return?"
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 17, 2014 15:57:03 GMT -8
The young man's distracted glance and the accompanying somewhat impatient body language indicate that he has more likely than not already been helped, and is seeking whomever had initially handled whatever it is that has brought him here. Siroun is about to turn and leave when the youth asks whether she knows when Master Deaveaux will arrive, and in lieu of taxing his patience by simply answering in the negative, she shakes her head and then turns to ask the Duros officer at the reception desk, "Do we have a 20 for Master Deaveaux?"
Looking from Dadurian to Tinup brings a dim light of comprehension into his red eyes, and the Duros says, "Oh yeah, you, before looking from Tinup to tell Dadurian, He hasn't checked in Doc, and we haven't had any luck getting him on comms either, but with everything going on at the 2nd there's a good chance he'll show there eventually. You're going there to lend a hand, right? Why don't you take the kid with you? He's here to report to The Big D. Shrugging as if it doesn't matter to him one way or the other what the two decide to do, the Duros concludes, Or he can wait here until we can establish contact with the Big D."
"Thank you Sergeant," Siroun tells the Duros, then looks towards the youth and arches an eyebrow inquisitively, implying that she is willing to take him to the 2nd precinct if he so wishes, and then waiting for him to decide whether or not to remain here or travel with her.
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Miras
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Affiliation: Watchmen
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Post by Miras on Nov 24, 2014 19:15:41 GMT -8
His eyebrows arched in amusement as the woman promptly turned away from him, passing his query on to the officer he'd spoken with earlier. There was a calm, quiet authority in her voice that made Miras rethink his initial assessment of her. He'd assumed she was a secretary for one of the sergeants due to her civilian dress and the fact that she wasn't carrying a sidearm, but now it seemed likely that she was a bit higher on the pay scale than that. Part of him was sorely tempted to reach into the aether and allow Ashla to show him what his eyes could not, to use the force to ferret out the essence of her being. There was something highly intriguing about her aura, something he hadn't encountered before.
Instead he snorted in exasperation. "Oh man, The Big D? And I thought Master Adieumus was full of himself. Please tell me that's not his official title."
The Corellian brushed his thumb across his scarred cheek and shrugged. The Duros had failed to give much insight on what might be happening in the second precinct, but he would take the possibility of action over certain monotony any day. He stooped to retrieve his bag from where he'd stowed it, looping the strap over his shoulder and straightening his threadbare cloak before he spoke again.
"No offense sergeant, but I think a change of scenery might be nice. Besides, idle hands and all that." Pale gray eyes shifted back to the woman.* "I'll ride with you, if that's alright."
Slowly, Miras raised his hand. The pale appendage hung there as his eyes found hers, searching. "Padawan Tinup, at your service."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 24, 2014 20:41:48 GMT -8
"That's just what we call him," the Duros sniffs as though offended by the fact Miras does not share the high opinion of Deaveaux common among many on Vandelhelm, and then, after waving a long fingered hand dismissively when Miras expresses the desire for a change in scenery, apparently puts both the Padawan and the shrink out of mind as he becomes enthralled by something on his dataterminal.
Siroun takes the hand Miras offers and shakes it, her grip cool and firm, though not a firmness that suggests she has anything to prove in the way some shake hands in order to demonstrate strength, nor so firm that it could be mistaken for anything more than a greeting. Many sentient beings find prolonged eye contact uncomfortable, but Siroun's grey, almond shaped eyes meet Miras' gaze evenly and hold it as she smiles and introduces herself, "Siroun Dadurian. I'm a psychiatric consultant for V-sec. Her tone is conversational, informative rather than indicative of a desire to impress anyone with her title or position, and after she has made the introduction and released his hand, the Lorrdian gestures towards the door, inviting Miras to follow her in lieu of stating the obvious by vocalizing he is welcome to accompany her. The Duros had not explained what has transpired at the precinct to make Deaveaux's eventual presence there likely, and so as they walk towards her speeder she tells Miras, The 2nd precinct was assaulted earlier, for reasons as yet unknown, as it is likely he will be wondering why the Jedi Master is likely to find his way there, and Master Deaveaux often works closely with V-sec."
The speeder they arrive it is nondescript and impersonal as all such V-sec speeders are, marking it as a work vehicle rather than her own, and once they are both seated, Siroun, continuing on the subject of Deaveaux as it is one she assumes will be of interest to Miras given that he is to report to the Jedi Master, and to explain the Duros' use of the amusing nickname Miras found amusing, "Master Deaveaux has done a lot for Vandelhelm, her inflection indicative of an effort to inform rather than to persuade, and you will find that he is well respected by the law enforcement community as well as the citizens. Her words and tone do not reveal whether Siroun shares the opinion she has described, her preference to allow Miras to form his own opinion of Deaveaux since she knows that beginnings are delicate things, and that the beginning of the relationship between a Padawan and a Master is likely to be even more so. As she starts the speeder and lifts off, taking it into a gentle, banking turn that will get them underway for the 2nd precinct, Siroun asks, Are you here to continue your training with Master Deaveaux?" While she would normally avoid questions that could be answered with a simple affirmative or negative, she has noted a certain reticence in Miras' demeanor, and so, her tone one that suggests only polite interest rather than a more aggressive curiosity, affords him the opportunity to convey that he has no desire to converse by simply answering with just such a response rather than a more complete one.
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Miras
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Post by Miras on Nov 26, 2014 11:57:58 GMT -8
He matched Siroun's pace and followed her out of the building, bag over his shoulder. Once they were outside the Jedi paused long enough to light a cigarette before falling back in step with her. His lightsaber bounced against his thigh as he quickened his stride to catch up, but after spending months stuck in the Temple waiting for the council to reassign him, Miras felt justified in his haste. This dustball of a planet was no Coruscant, but at this point it wasn't like he could be picky.
At the mention of the assault Miras' expression darkened.
"What's the status there now?" 'Sounds like I missed the main event,' the Jedi thought, 'but chances are it wasn't an isolated incident.'
The speeder was as generic as they come, its V-sec designation its only discerning feature. Miras thought longingly of the stripped down speeder bike he'd used on Carida as he tossed his bag in the back and climbed into the passenger's seat. His holster dug into his ribs awkwardly as he strapped himself in, but he was so preoccupied by news of the attack that he didn't notice. His brooding was interrupted when the psychiatrist spoke again, this time about 'The Big D'. "He sounds dreamy." To his credit, his voice held only a hint of derision.
She seemed to change the subject rather than pursue it further, and that was fine with him. The Corellian shrugged noncommittally.
"Yeah, finally. Apparently there's quit a bit of paperwork involved in a reassignment. Hopefully this Master lives longer; I don't relish the idea of repeating the process."
Abruptly the Padawan fell silent and wondered why he'd spoken at all.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2014 21:48:39 GMT -8
When asked about the current status at the 2nd precinct, Siroun relays what little information she has learned, "The situation is under control. At least one of the assailants has been taken into custody, and is most likely being questioned. I know that a few of our officers were wounded, but I haven't heard yet whether or not there were any casualties on either side." While the nature of her work often requires that she maintain a certain remove that she at times allows to carry over into her interactions with others, Siroun does not presently feel the need to do so and her concern for the V-sec officers is evident in both her tone and expression when she speaks of them.
The faint beginning of an amused smile quirks the right corner of her lips upward when Miras muses that Master Deaveaux sounds dreamy, but she does not comment on the remark. The sudden silence that follows Miras' confirmation of her assumption that he will be training with Deaveaux, with his subsequent remarks revealing that his former Master had been killed, leads Siroun to believe that he does not wish to dwell on the matter as there was none of the exaggerated self-pity that invites sympathy in his tone or demeanor that she has observed in those that feign withdrawal only so that they might invite attention. Apologizing for events that one had no control over has always seemed trite to her, and so Siroun elects to express her sympathy non-verbally, frowning sympathetically and nodding to acknowledge what Miras has revealed.
Silence, which is anathema to many and something to be avoided, has never been something Siroun has felt compelled she must always fill, and so she completes the journey to the precinct in silence; though if Miras speaks she would, naturally, reply. Setting the speeder down away from those areas outside the precinct still bustling with the activity of reporters, the inevitable curious onlookers, and emergency service or V-Sec personnel, Siroun shuts the vehicle down and, after stepping out, asks Miras, "Would you like to have another cigarette before we go inside?" A smoker herself, though she indulges the habit only in private or in certain company, Siroun is familiar with the cravings that accompany it.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 5, 2014 23:14:39 GMT -8
Dante strode towards the door, but Mirian seemed to look more and more nervous as they walked. Coughing slightly, Dante scratched the back of his head, then came to a full stop. Turning to regard the woman, he cleared his throat slightly before speaking.
"I, uh, look. With this whole assault on the precinct thing...you're pretty much free to go. You haven't done anything wrong, and you won't be targeted by Xa again; so, perhaps it IS best if you continue on your merry way. I didn't really realize how much damage had been caused until I saw how many people are buzzing about" Dante said, nodding at the various frantic officers through the transparisteel of the precinct doors.
Without further ado, he pointed at a nearby bus stop, told her directions...and left her there. She would be fine on her own - traders were hardy like that. Mumbling to himself, half cursing, Dante walked through the doors without hesitation. His presence was noticed by a few at first, then pretty much the entire station as chatter lulled to a stop. Yep, it was official, things were serious enough for the Desert jedi to come out of his sand crawler.
Dante hated it. He hated the attention. He hated the reputation. He hated the image.
Mostly because he didn't deserve it. Why did these people think he was out here for? A vacation? He was here to serve hard time. To atone for sins. He wasn't some celebrity. But, apparently he was a problem solver: and as conversation started up and several chiefs walked over towards him, Dante fought down the bile rising in his throat and focused on the task at hand. This too, was purgatory. This too, would be put up with. The chief and two sergeants - he thought at least, he was a little rusty on police insignia - escorted him to a different room, and chatter resumed in the main offices. The door closing, the trio turned, and almost instantly the barrage of questions began. Dante ignored them all. Holding up a hand, he silenced them.
"...I Don't know what has happened. I don't know who is responsible. I don't know who is dead or who isn't. I don't know what is destroyed or isn't. I only know SOMETHING has happened. I want the highest ranking individual at this station to fill me in. I want him and him alone."
Dante, unused to exercising authority...at least not for a VERY long time, cleared his throat slightly. They looked confused. They looked...scared. It wasn't on the surface - these were well trained sentients, used to all kinds of trauma one would encounter in police work. But...deep down, in the back of their minds. They were scared. Questions bounced around their brains like ping pong balls: Who? Why? Are we next? Is the planet safe? Are our homes safe? Is this war? Dante felt like he needed to comfort them, or at least give them a sense of false security and control.
"The Jedi have been notified of this incident: of a possible terrorist attack. I have been officially assigned to the case. All resources available to me will be used to get to the bottom of this. You have my word."
It was the best Dante had, and not necessarily the whole truth. The Jedi had NOT been notified...Dante's resources were essentially the same as the police...and Dante's word, well, that at least was believable. Its why he was here, after all. The three simply nodded, and Dante felt a little - not a lot, but perhaps a tiny bit - of tension ease out of their minds. Quickly, they left the room, one of them sending for whoever was in charge, the other grabbing a hold of the Duros receptionist - telling him to find the padawan that had been there earlier. And so...things moved along.
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Miras
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Affiliation: Watchmen
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Post by Miras on Dec 7, 2014 18:47:20 GMT -8
He eyed Siroun strangely for a moment and then shrugged. "Why not? If you don't mind waiting, that is."
Without waiting for a response the Jedi readjusted his pack and fished another smoke from the confines of his cloak. Next came a cheap, disposable lighter, and then he inhaled a lungful of acrid smoke with a look of preoccupied satisfaction. Why the woman had decided to delay their business for his vice was beyond him, but in all truth he was glad for it. Not for the cigarette, but for the moment to think before they went inside. In all likelihood Dante was already here, working on restoring order after the assault. Once Miras handed him the papers detailing his custody transfer from the Temple, there was no going back.
Not that he had any choice in the matter at this point, either. For good or ill he would soon have a new Master. Someone meant to serve as mentor, confidant, and guide as he traversed the path to Knighthood. But after Carida...the idea of the introductions, the initial conversations and constant advice...doing it all over again made him weary to the bone, and in all likelihood this Master would fall as well. Perhaps not to the Mandalorians- the bulk of their power had broken with their failed Crusade- but to the Empire, or the Sith perhaps.
He took another long drag off the cigarette.
"What's Dante like?" He asked her abruptly. "Where his personality is concerned, I mean. It seems like everyone on this planet thinks he's a saint."
'I swear if they've assigned me to another self-righteous prig obsessed with his hair I'll go rogue.'
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