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12.30.2012 , 11:50 PM |
Night of the Living Prompt: Mission Accomplished
Scourge + (briefly) Mirrigan
Irritating. Less than twenty four hours since he'd first set foot on
and here she is again. The tour of the ship, the inquiries as to his comfort and quarters, the veiled hostility of her crew...all tolerable. This is
it?" He makes a point of rising from his desk slowly and faces her, blocking sight of the holocron he'd been studying. To emphasize his contempt he offers her a vicious glare.
She should be cowering. Instead, she smiles. "I need you to take a quick trip to Coruscant."
"Why in bloody blazes would I want to go
"I don't care if you
to go or not,
Scourge. You're going. Some HoloNet gossip show just leaked a few pages of a book being written by a certain Senator's mistress. If she finishes this thing and gets it published it could bring down the entire Senate."
"In that case I'll be sure to purchase several hundred thousand copies."
"Droll. Her name is Andiani Maganu'u. Go have a chat with her. I don't care what you do as long as you stop this mess-in-the-making. That doesn't mean 'kill her', by the way."
"Would it not be more prudent to send your padawan? This being a female matter?"
"She's not my padawan and no. You're intimidating. You have a certain way with words. It's possible this lady has never even met a Sith. Just do...Sith things."
"Interesting. 'Sith things'. As you wish. When I return I expect to hear of what these 'Sith things' might be," he gestures at his quarters' portal, "but in the meantime the door is that way. You owe me, Jedi, for sending me off as you would a servant with a shopping list."
* * *
Even more irritating. Predictable. Tedious.
"A Sith! I had no idea that little tidbit I let out to Galactic Entertainment Daily would spread so
. Tell me again how you managed to escape spaceport security." Fluttery. Perfumed. Batting her lashes. Revolting.
The woman's domicile stinks of Alderaanian nectar. Whomever had decorated the formal sitting room had gone pastel-mad, mixing lavender, pink and peach tones with unrestrained abandon. Maganu'u herself is bedecked in sickly lilac.
He sits stiffly, tiny cup of tea balanced on his palm. "I did not 'escape spaceport security'. There was nothing to escape from once the guards were unconscious."
She titters. The sound stabs at his temples. "So thrilling! I won't tell. I'll even pretend astonishment at every camera in this building being disabled. How did you do it? Did you," she leans forwards conspiratorially, "use the Force? Are you here to brainwash me into giving you my memoir so you can take it back to the Empire? Will you seduce me to the dark side?"
The tea tastes almost as insipid as her leer. "You should consider a new abode. Half of those cameras were malfunctioning. The other half could have been taken out with a mild expletive. I chose to utilize my limited slicing abilities instead of swearing at them. Now. I am not," he slams the teacup down onto the small table in between them, "here on the Empire's behalf. I would sooner seduce a short-circuiting protocol droid than seduce
in any manner whatsoever," standing, he draws himself up to his full height and glowers down at her, "and your tea is execrable. You
dispense of your manuscript and focus your dubious literary talents elsewhere."
Long minutes of silence yawn out before she nods. "Gracious, this tea is dreadful. As much as I despise the man for casting me aside I suppose his horrid wife having him in a chokehold is retribution enough. I should turn my talents elsewhere. What do you think about..."
It worked. Of course it worked.
He listens to her drivel, concurs in monosyllables, and in the end he realizes that it had worked
well. Her simpering as she hands him the small parcel- ghastly. His curt bow before departure is a mandatory unpleasantness.
* * *
he hunts the Jedi down, storms into her quarters as abruptly as she'd entered his.
"Never again. It's done. Maganu'u will be penning tawdry romances instead of tawdry memoirs. I recommend
reading them. Take this," he throws the parcel at her feet, taking inward pleasure at her perplexed expression, "it's better than you deserve."
"What do you think about a romance novel centering around the passionate longings of a Sith Lord for a Senator's secret slave girl?" 'No.' "No? You don't like the idea?" 'No.' "Should I make the slave girl an actual Senator instead?" 'No.' "Hm. What if the Senator is a secret Sith and the slave girl belongs to a Dark Council member?" 'No.' "Well then, the Senator could be a staunch Republic loyalist and the..."
He conceals the holocron and retreats to his bunk, rubbing at his temples.
A semi-short piece which takes place immediately after Scourge joins the crew, a while before chapter one of
Grey. Red. Black.
; the specific mission is "Scorned", rank 1 dark Diplomacy. He's been critting about 95% on that mission these past couple weeks. Never gets old when he brings back a Preserved Tarisian Rose or Gree Personal Journal and remarks: "Better than you deserve"