New Eden, Tarthos Orian system
A steady rain pattered atop his head as Cimozjen walked down the clean streets of New Eden. The last few years had been a rough time for the human Force User. He had returned to the Orian system in a time of turbulence and uncertainty. He had thrown his lot in with the cult of Naga Sadow in the system. He had fought alongside the clan, had seen his second home liberated from the Collective, and had defended the system from the Children of Mortis’ attack. He had suffered countless nightmares both in his waking and sleeping hours. His fingers clawed for a cigarette as he thought back on it. Trembling hands sheltered the tip as he stopped to light it, as a soft wind whipped around the lengthy long coat he had wrapped himself in. As he drew the first smoky breath in, he reveled in the familiar taste. He breathed out a plume of smoke which contrasted against the rain and glamor of the First Sector like a smudge of dirt on a pane of glass. He saw several dirty looks from other pedestrians walking down the streets.
He probably looked like a bum compared to their normal clientel. It didn’t really matter, though. The citizens knew their true masters. He seriously doubted that anyone would stop him. He took another drag, looking down the road and marveling at what Hades had commissioned here. Perhaps, in time the tourism would bring in the sort of credits the Quaestor had envisioned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this oasis on the Outer Rim was a lie in its own right, and in time it would fall into disuse or the corruption that so often permeated the likes of the Inner Rim and Core Worlds. As the burning ember of his vice drew closer to the filter, he couldn’t shake a feeling of unease.
Finally, he took one last inhale before flicking the filter away into the street. The establishment down the street- was that the one? He smiled in spite of himself. The Proconsul had afforded a sizable stipend to the man. The place was quaint in its appearance, but he knew it was a facade. Walking down the street, he rehearsed the instructions in his mind. He had to be respectable.
As he stepped through the doorway of the wood panel entryway, he was met by a large alien. He couldn’t remember the species to his embarrassment, so he just smiled awkwardly.
“Welcome to Dallo’s Pub!” The alien’s voice reverberated. “Would you like a spot at the bar? Can I get you a pint of ale, or we can throw a fat bantha steak on the grill if you like.”
Cimozjen smiled, spreading his hands out as he did so. “I actually had a reservation.”
“Oh?” The portly alien smiled wider. “What name was that under?”
“Sadow.” He smirked. “We reserved the pit for the evening.”
“Ah.” There was less mirth in the word this time. “You had a party of fifteen, if I recall?”
“Ah, not quite.” Cimozjen drew the long coat around himself, smiling more genuinely now. “Our party may number as many as forty.”
“Ah. It might take a moment for us to get the room completely set up.”
“Oh, that is fine. In the meantime, I will take you up on the offer of a seat at the bar and a beer. Our folks take a while to get ready.”
“As you say, sir.” The Besalisk motioned to the bar. “Give us twenty minutes and we should have everything ready. Sorry for the wait, you just came a bit earlier than we expected.”
“Perfectly alright.” Cimozjen strode towards the bar. At least tonight should be more pleasant than the last few months. He could spare the time.
Locke could not believe he agreed to this. Who knew what could happen when you got so many Sadowans in one spot? And in New Eden no less. Hades would probably not appreciate if things got out of hand in the resort city that had been built at his command. But, Locke wondered, who would he blame? Perhaps such would serve to isolate a rival and turn popular opinion against them.
Making a face, Locke shook his head at himself. He was something of a Jedi sympathizer, but still found himself thinking like a Krath.
“Is everything alright, governor?” a polite voice asked. It was some sentient’s voice. Locke did not recognize the species. Or course, he recognized Locke as the Sith Empire’s resident overseer of this region.
“I’m here for the reservation, Locke said, not looking at the host. Instead, he scanned the surrounding, looking for familiar faces.
"Oh, it’s not ready yet. But one other has arrived. He’s sitting at the bar.” The host pointed to the back of a man in a long coat.
“Ah, that’s fine, I’ll be at the bar then as well.” He headed over and sat next to the man, wondering if he knew him.
“Nice place here, isn’t it?” He asked. “Just wish Hades hadn’t skimped on the weather controllers, ” he chuckled, gesturing at the other man’s clothes.
“Heh,” Cimozjen looked back at Locke Sonjie with a slight grimace. He took another pull from his bottle before properly turning around to regard the Markosian Quaestor. “I think some folks find the rains nice once in a while.” The man stretched a hand out towards Sonjie. “So how are you doing this evening, master Sonjie?”
“Please don’t call me fancy things like that, Locke said. Best to try and shut that down quickly. "Just Locke is fine. I am as well as can be, be answered vaguely. "By the way, have we met before?”
“Well, if you are certain, s-um, Locke.” Cimozjen turned back to his bottle, a slight redness in his cheeks.
He racked his brains for a moment. Had he met with Locke at some point? He had spent a short stint away at Aeotheran years ago, but had they actually met?
“Come to think of it, I am not really sure si-” he paused and tried to reframe his words, “I can’t say for sure that we ever met personally, though I am sure we brushed shoulders at times. It is kind of hard not to do that. One would imagine they had met their Consul at a point. And nowadays, with you as a Quaestor besides-”
Cimozjen bit his tongue, looking pained.
“I am sorry, Locke. I spent some years on my own, and I don’t always have the greatest command of my tongue or my words. I would reckon we probably met at one point, but I can’t recall.” He swirled the liquid in his bottle thoughtfully, before placing his drink back on the bartop. “I suppose that is easy enough to fix though.”
He turned from the bar, his shoulders squared as he extended a hand pleasantly. “Cimozjen Kurios, House Marka Ragnos, and been a citizen for Orian besides for a whole mess of years.”
“I hope that I am not too late coming.”
As the two men turned, a rather gorgeous blue skinned Twi'lek in a scarlet cocktail dress with a side slit up to her hip walked towards them. She was wearing a pair of black pointed heels and wore a dark shade of plum lipstick. The dress itself complimented her body well and had a slightly more plunging neckline. On her neck, she wore a chained silver necklace with several teardop rubies laced across the front. It wasn’t everyday the Proconsul wore more casual wear instead of her normal attire. Her emerald eyes seemed to sparkle as she grinned at the pair and sat down next to them. “Wine glass please.” she waved to the bartender who gave her one. Taking out her bottle of Sadow from the small purse she carried, she poured out some Tatooine Sunrise into the glass and took a small drink. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting you all too much.” She smiled and winked.
Cimozjen stopped for a moment, pulled between frustration and embarrassment. He had expected a friendly meeting amongst Sadowans.
Was I supposed to come in formalwear? He wondered to himself.
Looking at Locke, he pointed at the Twi'lek in the most low key way he could and wore a questioning look. He had worked for the Versea matriarch before, but this seemed incongruent with her past conduct.
DarkHawk had been watching the entrance to the Dallo’s Pub for what seemed like hours. The first time in New Eden and the Shaevalian finds himself perched across the way from a meeting locale. Wanting nothing more than to spend some time at the Pazaak table and smoking some stogies, he continued the watch. The taste of Tevraki whiskey danced around in his thoughts, he craved its sweet fire flavor.
Unfortunately even for this visit it is strictly business as usual. Loud cheers and laughter quickly dissipated the thought of whiskey. He paid no mind to the sights and sounds of the new development, he just watched as the nightlife began to draw in more patrons to the streets.
The subtle hum of a droid’s propulsion unit could be heard coming closer. A Viper Probot hovered over toward DarkHawk before revealing a small hidden chassis compartment. Inside a neatly folded change of clothing, something more suitable over his current combat uniform.
“A good time to head in wouldn’t you say VP?” VP responded with a series of sporadic audible beeps.
A quick change and DarkHawk hit the streets making his way through the crowds and over to the pub. He walked in and saw his comrades already gathered and headed toward them. “Madam, gentlemen, how are we all doing this evening?”
Tasha'vel smiled and raised her glass towards. “Fairly well, you could stand to loosen up a bit though Darkhawk.”
Locke found it interesting that Cimozjen had been in Orian for years, but Locke had never met him before and knew little about him. He was sure the other man knew a lot about Locke, though, or the things he had been a part of publicly, at least. He wondered just how many years this guy had been around.
Locke took his hand, shook it firmly. “Locke Sonjie, House Marka Ragnos,” he left off his position as the current leader of the House. No need to make this any more awkward. “I have also been a citizen of the Orian System for…a number of years.”
When Cimozjen indicated Tasha, Locke waved at her, and tried to pretend her outfit didn’t exist. He had dressed plainly himself, and saw Cimozjen had done the same, but Hades was trying to build a popular, high class resort city here, and he was sure Tasha’s outfit fit right in.
Then he saw Darkhawk arrived, and as he greeted Tasha, Locke joked quietly to Cimozjen, “Both the overlord AND his lieutenant? great, I hope a turholaser blast doesn’t hit this place now ”
“Fair point.” Cimozjen started to peer about, clearly a bit uncomfortable. His eyes searched the few non-Sadowan patrons that had shuffled in. “It would be a keen time for some bad actors to make a statement if they so wished.”
DarkHawk managed to acquire the bartender’s attention and motioned for another round to the table. Pulling a cigar from one of his tunic’s pockets, he snipped one end off before bringing it up to his nose. Taking in all the tobacco’s smells of leathery and spiced notes. Striking a match and lighting his cigar, he blew plumes of smoke out around himself. “Look this round is on me. Can we enjoy a beverage before we start knocking heads together?”
“That sounds agreeable.” Cimozjen scratched the side of his head as he turned towards the bar, thinking. “Do you have any particular suggestions?” The man grimaced. “I am usually drinking cheap drek so I assume you would know better choices than I would.”
“I’ll have a water,” Locke said. “Someone’s got to keep an eye out in case anything weird happens. Pardon me for a moment> He stepped away and got on his comlink to his chief lieutenant, Cal Malatesta. Cal handled a lot of day to day operations of the House since that wasn’t really Locke’s thing. "Cal, can you like, increase security around my location or anything? You know, I wouldn’t want the clan leaders to have any issues while they’re here. Mostly,” he whispered. “Because I’m standing a couple meters away from them.”
He returned to the gathering, water in hand, and looked at Darkhawk. “So what’s new with the ‘Empire?” he asked.
DarkHawk took a deep drag of his cigar followed by a drink of whiskey. “Sir, I can tell you there is a lot more to this gig than I expected. The relentlessness seem to be constant. Rallying the troops is one thing, now we have new players on the board. Which I foresee situations getting a bit hectic for us if we miscalculate those plotting against us.” DarkHawk panned the room eyeing the patrons, turning back to the table DarkHawk took another big swill of his drink. “For instance these dirt merchants have not taken their eyes of us since we arrived,” he said gesturing to the far table. “There is always someone in the midst looking to take their shot….”
Tasha'Vel took another drink and grinned. “Of course they haven’t Darkhawk and judging from how they look I would dare say they could be employed by the children of Mortis or the Ilum Order. Question is what should we do?”
“Illum Order?” Cimozjen’s hand fell to the lightsaber at his side as he spoke the words. “We have way too many cults in Naga Sadow.” His voice dripped with irritation. “Who are they then?”
“A rogue Jedi cult, the old code sorts.” DarkHawk said before taking another drag of his cigar.
“A cult that seeks to install anarchy throughout the city and slight thorn in my side.”
“oh there’s all kinds of cults in this system,” Locke said in reply to Cimozjen. “Let me tell you about the Night Walkers one of these days. As for these Jedi, Tasha, where are their efforts focused?”
Finishing her drink, Tasha set the glass down and glanced at Locke before giving a wink and getting up. She walked past over to the far table where the men were sitting and smiled at them. “May I help you gentlemen? I saw you were giving me some looks so I thought I would say hello. Would you boys like a drink?”
“And who the hell are you?” One of the men scowled as the other sized the Twi'lek up.
Locke watched as Tasha walked over to the table where the men had been watching them and the ensuing exchange. “I’m really surprised you don’t recognize her,” he said stepping up next to Tasha. “I wonder if you recognize me,” he smiled with a grin, taking a drink of his water, secretly hoping that a fight was about to break out…
Tasha'vel smiled back. “I just was saying hello to these gentlemen and offering them a drink. They seem a bit offput over a free drink from the bar.” She looked at the one asking her. “Who the hell am I? Well as my friend here pointed out, If you don’t know who I am, then chances are you are not from around here. So I would ask then what brings you here and why were you gawking at me with such keen interest?”
DarkHawk savored the last slug of his whiskey before letting the glass clang against the table. Retrieving his cigar from the table’s makeshift ashtray, he leaned over slightly to get a better angle at his comrades interaction. Judging by the expressive faces of these newly acquired acquaintances, something seemed a bit off about them.
Taking a drag of his cigar, DarkHawk watched intently. The man Tasha was addressing currently seemed a bit tongue tied, not knowing what or how to reply to the Twi’lek. The gentleman sitting nearest the aisle, slowly began letting his hand drift toward his side. DarkHawk spoke abruptly, the man flinched slightly as his attention was now drawn toward a scowling face across the way. “Normally at this point, folks return a gesture of gratuity.” DarkHawk said, shaking a finger at the gentleman previously reaching for his holster rig.
The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked Darkhawk over, his gaze lingering on the finger being shaken at him. “We mind our own business. Last fellow who offered us a free drink ended up lifting my wallet. You can’t shame a guy for being a bit cautious.” He glanced at Tasha'Vel, his gaze lingering for a moment at her clothing. “Especially when they come to a place like this dressed like that? What kind of scam are you lot running?” He shook his head. When he spoke again, his tone marginally more civil. “We make passes through this system running freight, so I am sorry if we don’t know your locals.”
His hand started to move for his holster again before he stopped himself and shook his head. “I guess I am not getting out of this with taking a beating, am I?”
“I would say that is a safe bet,” DarkHawk said smiling.
“We heard that this system was now a place of law and order.” He shifted his stance, watching Darkhawk carefully. “Aren’t you afraid the locals are going to have something to say?”