Pesktda

"Don't mention it, really. The pleasure was all mine."

As the waiter came back and gave them their total, he finished the last of his wine before standing up, reading through the sheet of flimsi, he took out some credits to pay for both of them, as well as to leave a generous tip to the waiter for the efficient service they had received, as well as thanks for the high quality of the food. Even at this late hour, the musicians in the square continued to play, and Lucien could pick out a few brief notes of a popular swing tune that they were playing. Adjusting his coat, he refocused on Jenia, a slightly bashful look in his face.

"Truth be told? Not really. See, I wasn't expecting to stay the night, so I didn't have something arranged."

Lucien concealed the fact that the only way this could have gone better, in his mind, is if this date had ended in some sort of dance of passion, played out between the sheets of some small yet elegant hotel on the planet. As such, he gave Jenia a brief nod:

“That would be splendid; would certainly make both our lives easier. I wouldn’t want to miss your... tactical demonstration tomorrow. Not for all the credits in Canto Bight.”

In retrospect, this was probably the best way the date could have gone. Jenia was very deeply rooted in protocol, and she likely wouldn’t open up quickly. Unlike certain others he had heard about, but that was an entirely separate issue. That fact made her all the more irresistible to him.

“Shall we leave then?”

Inside the Yuuzhan Vong damutek overlooking the capital of Pesktda, Intendant Shareed Yin found himself seated behind a yorik-coral desk in the upper most chamber that served as his office. He was wearing a jet black cloaker, as was common attire amongst his caste and domain, a layer of second skin symbiotically adhered to his flesh through microscopic cilia extended into his pores. The hood was pulled up concealing most of his features in shadow, while a gnullith rebreather hid away the lower half of his face. Only the pale corpse pallor complexion of the skin around his eyes seemed exposed, illuminated by a pair of glowing mqaaq'it ocular implants set in the sockets of his ghoulish skull. As he heard a chime outside his door, he put on his best impression of Nem, clearing his throat before saying... "Come in."

Dilating at the centre, the hatch-sphincter serving as the entrance to his office retracted and allowed an Imperial Moff escorted by a security officer to enter the Prefect's sanctum. The Intendant's calculating gaze locked on the the soft bellied human in pressed Imperial grey as he strode up to the edge of his desk purposefully, practically puffing from barely restrained anger and seemingly strung out from withdrawal due to the current embargo on stim-caf exports. It probably didn't help his mood that there was a steaming cup of stim-caf sitting on Shareed's desk, filling the room with its fragrant mocha aroma. The Moff didn't fail to notice this, his fury transforming into a scowl as the worlds began to spill from his thick mustache bedecked lips, spat in an arrogant Coruscanti accent common to humans from the Core.



The infidel of middling years ignored the Intendant's offer with blatant disregard, placing his gloved hands on the living piece of furniture that separated them as he leaned forwards, eyes wide and face flushed red.

"During this time of civil unrest you and your kind have been profiteering off Imperial resources. I have reliable reports that you have been selling First Order caf stocks to the Jedi Lords of Ossus, the terrorist organization calling itself the New Rebel Alliance, and unaffiliated Imperial warlords in the Abrion Sector of space. These acts border on treason!"




The corners of Shareed's sharp cheek bones lifted, suggesting he smiled beneath the starfish shaped biot that covered his face from nose to neck, as he looked into the human's brown eyes with deep distaste of his own. Placing his hands on the desk, the Prefect pushed himself from his seat and stood, before slowly turning around to offer the Moff his back as he stared through the transparent membrane of the wall behind him that served as a window. Shareed folded his arms behind his back, grasping his wrists as he explained his actions, or rather, the actions of his people.

"It has taken me quite a while to grasp the intricacies of galactic commerce, I still do no claim to understand all of its complexities, but here is what I do know. You infidels equate wealth with power. With wealth you can purchase security and military strength, you can buy politicians and the executive branch, you can sway the decisions of government and exert great influence." He shook his head slowly. "You can even buy people, own them, with plenty left over in your purse. Wealth is unrivaled in the power yielded from economics, and so I will use your own tools to increase my own."


"I like the Jedi." Shareed cut in, still mimicking Nem's cadence and tone. "They keep their word and honour their oaths. Can you say the same?" He turned back around and glowered at the Imperial in his presence. "There are too many traitors abound for my comfort. Until these mouldering roots have been trimmed and plucked, you can expect not a single drop of caf to grace your cup, Moff Reinhart."



"Treason?" Scowled the Yuuzhan Vong is sheer disbelief. Again, he shook his head, noting the Moff's threatening gesture but remaining unmoved by it. In the face of perceived aggression, he simply crossed his arms over his muscular chest, before leveling an accusation of his own. "That's rich coming from you. Did you think we hadn't noticed your clandestine communications with the Arch-Traitor Baltasar?"


"I admit, I might not yet be an expert in infidel economics, but my Domain has excelled in spycraft long before your Empire ever existed. We've known for months, Reinhart." He uncrossed his arms and placed his palms on the desk between them, leaning forwards until the human could see the dark web of veins pulsing across his corpse like face. "I just didn't have good cause to kill you...until now."

Snarling in rage, the Imperial Moff reached for the standard issue SE-14 blaster pistol holstered on his hip, fumbling with the clip securing it in place. Behind him, the skin of the security officer split its seam at the centre, exposing the Yuuzhan Vong intendant hiding in the disguise of Moff Reinhart's bodyguard. As the human pulled his pistol free, the serrated edge of a coufee bled slid across his throat, opening his neck and spraying hot crimson across Shareed's desk. Red beads of warm vitae splashed into the Prefect's cup of stim-caf, mixing with the bitter brown liquid, as the Moff's corpse collapsed on the ground at the base of the Yuuzhan Vong's desk. Reaching up to his hood, Shareed pried free the gnullith rebreather from his face with a wet squelch as the pubiscus down his throat painfully retracted, folding it into a ball of molted flesh. The Prefect reached down and picked up the cup of blood and caf, taking a sip, then smacked his lips.