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01.12.2013 , 09:04 AM |
This was going to be
What's in a Name?
but my muse went NOPE LOL
and so it just barely fits in with
Rochester and Broan, taking place in the timeline after
Broan waited as the holocall patched through. He idly drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to control his nervousness. The
was supposed to be in orbit above Dromund Kaas by now, if not having actually touched down. That meant it had been a week since he had last spoken to or seen Lieutenant Windthorpe, and a week since he had asked about his personal affects. It had been a stupid excuse then - he did not have any personal affects, not really - perhaps Lieutenant Windthorpe had realised that Jedi did not have knickknacks?
The connection failed.
A wave of panic overcame Broan and he started to feel lightheaded. The Lieutenant was the son of his master! Had he spoken to her, let Lord Vizloch know that he was talking to Imperial officers about non-war related subjects? Was that allowed? Had the Lieutenant recorded the call and shown it to her, to make him look weak?
Maybe he was weak, after all: a padawan, a disinterested Jedi, who had come to the Empire filled with nothing but fear, who had been given a name and a title before being shoved in a cupboard in a tower. The title, the name, all of it was a mockery of who he was -
of who he was not
The holocommunicator lit up. The beeping sent his panic spiralling, becoming almost palpable. He fumbled with the device, trying desperately to calm himself and managed, somehow, to answer.
"My Lord?" The Lieutenant appeared, washed out and semi-transparent. There was nothing in him that could suggest he was thinking of anything untoward. Broan nodded and sniffed, attempting to recapture the air of a Sith. "My apologies for not answering you call immediately, my Lord, but my duties had required my full attention. I am at your disposal now, however." The Lieutenant made a stiff little salute and a stiff little bow - or so Broan could only assume, as the image was only of the chest up.
"Lieutenant," Broan let out a breath to rid himself of that annoying squeak. "When we last spoke, I asked if any of my personal effects from the
had been put into your care. Where you able to locate them?"
"Indeed I have, my Lord," Broan sat a little straighter, a little shocked at this. "There are only a few articles, though, my Lord. I could list them, if you wish?" Broan nodded, trying to remember what he had had aboard the
. "There are two sets of Jedi robes, presumably in your size, one new, one worn. Ten dataslides of various different subjects - they have not been examined or opened, my Lord. There is also, my Lord, one Jedi holocron. Like the dataslides, no attempt has been made by the Imperial Navy to access it as of yet, but notes have been made about its exceptional beauty."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"A pleasure to be of service, my Lord." The Lieutenant bowed and for a moment, Broan thought he saw a playful smile on the man's face.
"Have all the items delivered to me, Lieutenant, as soon as possible."
"I will escort them personally, my Lord."
The words slipped out before Broan realised what he was saying: "Thank you, Rochester."
There was a second of awkward silence and then Broan slammed his finger onto the holocommunicator, ending the call abruptly and all but threw it across the room. Panic gripped him again and he began to compulsively pace about the room.
Surely, surely now...
Rochester looked at the holocommunicator in his hand and smiled slightly. He was sure now, very sure indeed, that the ex-Jedi 'Lord Naught' had something of a crush on him.
Yeah, that last item of "exceptional beauty"? It's not his.
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