The Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread!
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06.05.2012 , 05:29 AM |
The only real in-game character in this is Rogan't, represented here by Rochester.
The lieutenant was shown in through the servant's entrance. Though the building was a scholar's house, it was only for the use of Sith and as such Darth Yt'klor had forbidden any non-Sith to enter through the front. Even if they could argue, few had a problem with the arrangement. It allowed for a level of expected secrecy and intrigue. Where better to hide your own secrets than in the shadow of another's?
The servant, a young Zabrak woman, walked him through the maze of corridors and shelving. As they were walking, Rochester could not help but note the lack of a shock collar. Darth Yt'klor truly did stand by his beliefs: what worth a Sith if he cannot control his slaves by his own hand? At length she showed him to a room, set apart of the others.
"My Lord Naught is in here, sir, he awaits you." He nodded his thanks to her and entered. The room was surprisingly empty for a Sith. There were none of the usual adornments, none of the battle trophies and certainly no trophies of personal conquest. Instead there was a simple bed and a clean desk with a small pile of holocrons and data slides heaped upon it.
Lord Naught sat at the desk and sighed. He did not turn to face the lieutenant, choosing rather to cover his face with his hands. He still wore the braids of a Jedi.
"Second thoughts, my Lord?" It was not the place of an Imperial to question a Sith on such personal matters, but Broan had yet to fully acquaint himself to his new position.
"What I have I told you about calling me that? We're in private, Rochester." He tried, and failed, to maintain a firm tone. In a single swift motion Broan rose and crossed much of the distance between them. Having only recently abandoned the Jedi order he was finding it difficult to control and centre himself. The introduction to emotions he would have otherwise oppressed was unusual and he was often fighting off embarrassment more than anything.
"One of your old friends almost started a brawl with my men," Broan stopped at this, a few steps from Rochester, a look of dismay starting to creep onto his face. "Well, I say 'brawl'. We were taking a quick break in a Hutt cantina. This Master... dick came in with a couple of troopers. The Hutts will let anyone in these days," Rochester smiled, trying to make light of the situation. "He blamed me for your leaving."
"The Republic's as much to blame as anyone."
"Is it?" Broan closed the gap between them, grabbing Rochester by the waist. He was little used to impulsive actions and, at a loss for what to do next, lay his forehead on the other man's shoulder. "I was able to talk my way out of it this time, but I might not be so lucky in the future," Rochester lay a comforting hand on the ex-Jedi's back. "I'll have to limit shore-leave to Imperial worlds."
"Don't get hurt."
"I'm too expensive - the Navy will have my head if I die." Rochester kissed Broan lightly on the cheek and showed himself out.
I need to go back and read what everyone else has written, but I'm feeling greatly outclassed by the lot of you.