Tea party! (Lat, Ferret)

[Sporky]

( www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3L-bj-p_Jo sets the mood perfectly, AND digs into Xinder's brain. :3 See also www.youtube.com/watch?v=lU7abY60T4I )

Ralltiir. Truly a beautiful, diverse planet if there was one. Sprawling commercial centers, acres and acres of farmland, and a lucrative mining industry. Ralltiir truly was a jack of all trades of planets. Perfect, then, for a meeting of the heads of three major galactic corporations, no?

Sark Industries, Czerka, and Northern Monument Technologies. Three large companies that supplied the Republic. And the three companies whose heads were all meeting for a...tea party, set up by Grigor Sark, CEO and founder of Sark Industries.

Tea party..heh. Legion had started calling it that, and Sark, finding it amusing, had gone with it. The invitation to Roland had called it such, for Sark knew Roland Fercurian Ricketts would find amusement in that, too. The invitation to the president of Czerka, however...had not been so lighthearted. She was a shifty sort of woman, and it had been somewhat difficult to get her to agree to come. But she'd relented in the end, and the tea party had been arranged.

The meeting place was neutral ground, a rooftop café rented out by Sark for the day. A simple, elegant piece of music filtered out of the speakers of a high-tech stereo system built into the outer walls of the café, a piece that set the casual, but also serious and fancy, mood of this meeting. The floor beneath them was an alternating pattern of granite and sandstone, medium grey and beige respectively. The somewhat small, but still elegant table was a circular affair, made of wrought transparisteel made into a fancy pattern, not unlike those seen in the tiny cafés on Naboo. Protecting, but not covering, the top was a soft silk cloth, pure white with lavender fringes. A bouquet of red and yellow flowers was set in a cyan porcelain vase, itself etched with stylized Greater Krayts. The cups and saucers were already on the table, a fine cyan porcelain being the make of both, but the cups were empty, Sark having decided to wit until he was sure the guests were close before placing the order.


"Shall I fetch the tea, sir?" queried Legion, Sark's little black birdy droid. Legion had been found by one of Sark's right hand men, who rather than take it for himself, had presented it to Sark. Sark himself had done most of the reprogramming work on Legion, having little to work with on the droid's shorted-out CPU, though a small amount of data had been salvaged. The aesthetic modifications, however, had been the work of various Sark employees, who held a small contest amongst themselves to pick Legion's new design. The result was something Sark quickly approved of.

Whereas the AER-series, what Legion actually was (Though Sark had no idea about this, though he'd seen a few similar-looking droids here and there) , looked like a friendly little bird, Legion now sported a very menacing look. A long, crooked, and narrow beak replaced the short stubby one. The wide red photoreceptor was replaced by a much thinner Y-shaped yellow one. The small dish on Legion's head had been removed in favor of a small socket (There were many of these across Legion's body, used for various multipurpose modules) and a 'mohawk' of small sensors, each topped with a cyan LED. The thin, bird-like legs had been made much more sturdy, then reinforced with thick durasteel. And finally, as the piece de resistance, Legion's body had been totally painted black, and stamped on each wing with the Sark Industries logo. Sark liked his companion's new look, it felt..fitting.

"Yes, of course. Black with just a touch of Jawa Juice flavor for myself, as per usual. Earl Grey for our companions, hmm? I think they shall be here soon."

With a nod of his small head, Legion flew off to inform the café staff of the order.

[Latus]

(The second one is more appropriate as elevator music.)

Along the exterior of the building upon which the cafe sat a single glint of light rose out of the slowly burning midday glare on its rapid ascent toward the roof. Its rounded hull twinkled from the bright sun, bathing the surrounding buildings in dancing reflections that shone all over the network of skyscrapers adding to the cacophony of motion on the ground below and in the skies above. The turbolift had a long distance to travel and those riding within could do little but enjoy the middle air that they found themselves inhabiting. The two within hailed from Coruscant; stratoscrapers were nothing special to them.

The first, an older gentleman dressed in an older style gray suit-coat and slacks, swayed back and forth on his ornate cane in time with the oscillations of the lift. His silver hair hung to his shoulders, catching the light that entered the shaded lift and enhancing the darker brown and brighter white throughout. A smile graced his lips and a quick movement straightened his glasses across the wide bridge of his nose. His stature was slight but resilient, an indicator of a healthy diet and long hours. This was Roland Ricketts, CEO of Northern Monument Technologies.

The other being towered over the old man, barely moving with the elevator. He stood stable and sturdy on thickly booted feet that hid inhuman claws, dressed just as economically as the other in an open dress jacket that covered a black padded vest and a white dress shirt complete with black tie. His face was feral reflected by the coarse yet well trimmed hair that encircled it, pronounced muzzle, and angled ears jutted from the thick mane along his head. The shistavanen appeared passive, unimpressed by the situation at hand. Manfred Orren was simply content with his job, especially in the employ of Mr. Ricketts.

As the floors beeped by Roland and his head of security spoke very little. Though the pair held the standard relationship from employer to employee, the pair were usually quite talkative. Each enjoyed the others company immensely and, when alone they would commonly speak at length over anything and everything worth discussing. However, to keep up appearances, Manfred would have to play the silent guard for the time being.

Roland and Manfred had gotten into orbit only an hour before, passing several ships of note that were forced to remain in orbit. One, he believed, belonged to the Czerka corp's CEO, a monster of a ship that looked as though it would not be out of place in a naval skirmish. They had landed just outside their destination on a prime landing spot that would cost him another sizable fee; for now it was worth it.

The invitation was high profile for anyone and both men knew that they would have to play their roles today. When it hit his desk only a few days earlier Roland was sure it was simply a joke, a prank pulled by someone in PR or marketing as they sometimes did. However the invitation to "A Tea Party" held by the armament magnet Grigor Sark was far from a joke. Though Mr. Ricketts disliked the man's war mongering and profiteering it would have been a missed opportunity to not meet him face to face, get together, sip tea, talk about this and that. It did not fully fit but he supposed it was intelligent to know your competition.

Finally the lift buzzed and the doors whooshed apart and the pair stepped out onto an open air lounge and cafe that looked to take up the entirety of the stratoscraper's roof. It looked to be all but deserted as the pair moved into the primary seating area. A minute movement caught their eyes and both men turned to see a small black bird-shaped droid flutter away leaving a sole person seated at one of the larger tables. With a friendly pat on the shoulder Roland moved past his security and the two men stepped toward their host.

---

Mr. Sark, I presume.

The older mans' voice was bright and energetic as he approached the large table, cane clicking on the paneled flooring. His stride was stiff, favoring the cane. Quickly he thrust out a hand to shake that of the affluent Mr. Sark.

It is good to finally meet you!

Once his hand was shaken, or refused, Roland pulled out a chair staggered and across from Sark and lowered himself into it, bringing his cane up and across his lap.

This is my Security Chief, Manfred Orren.

Its a pleasure Mr. Sark. The wolfen man nodded, before moving off and away from the pair, giving them plenty of room in which to speak. Roland suspected that the shistavenan wasn't necessary to their discussions so he had asked his friend to just stand out of the way.

I would not have taken you for the type to take time for tea. The invite was unexpected, at best.

Smiling Roland settled deeper into the chair, enjoying the peace and sunshine. The great Mr. Sark seemed to have simpler tastes than he would have suspected.

[Sporky]

Well, one of his guests had arrived. That was a good sign.

Sark smiled and rose from his sea to great Roland Ricketts. Out of habit, he straightened his tie and smoothed the creases of his suit. It was a medium blue, as always. Rare was the time that Grigor Sark did not wear a blue suit and red tie.

His eyes widened briefly in surprise at the shistavenan. He had expected Roland to bring security, but was definitely not expecting a shistavenan, of all species. Rodian, boltrunian, epicanthix, maybe. Those were common choices for bodyguards from Sark's personal experiences, but.. Shistavenan. Huh. Well, variety was the spice of life.

Sark accepted the handshake firmly, giving the slight nod that colleagues and peers gave each other when they had great respect for each other. Or, at least, that's what he thought it signified. Maybe he wasn't 'hip to the times, yo'. He'd probably do some poking about the holonet when this meeting was over, out of curiosity. If it was known by sentients, it could be found on the holonet. "Mr. Ricketts, the feeling is mutual. I am familiar with your work, and I greatly admire it. I've heard the same from some of my employees, too."

He nodded politely to Manfred as well. He probably wouldn't directly become involved in the conversation, but Sark had no real reason to be rude to the man. "Mr. Orren, you are welcome to have tea or anything you please from the café, as well. I am...'picking up the tab', I believe is the term?"

Speaking of food, Legion fluttered back from the interior of the café, carrying a small dark blue teapot in his talons, no doubt Sark's order of black with Jawa Juice flavoring. Behind him followed an employee of the café, carrying a much larger white teapot, definitely the larger order of Earl Grey for Roland and the Czerka woman. Legion set Sark's teapot down next to his master's cup, then hopped back up onto his favorite perching spot on Sark's left shoulder. The café employee, a slump-backed, acne-infested redheaded human teenager, placed the larger teapot in the middle of the table, next to the vase of flowers. "Like, here's your tea, my total radical bigwig dudes." Sark offered a roll of his eyes at the boy's choice of words. Kids these days...

A few moments of casual tea sipping passed before Sark formally introduced Legion. "Mr. Ricketts, this is Legion, my assistant. I know he may look a little frightening, but he's harmless, I assure you."

Legion bowed his head for a brief moment "It is a pleasure, Mr. Ricketts." He shifted his position slightly, and straightened his wings. Sark again rolled his eyes. "I would be lost without Legion. I've never been much of a man for keeping schedules straight or doing reports and filling out forms. I may be a businessman, but I am still the Alderaanian boy who read droid repair manuals and learned things the hard way."

When Ricketts mentioned that he was surprised Sark would take the time for tea, Sark chuckled lightly. "When I was first starting Sark Industries as Sark's Droid Repair back home in Crevasse City, I often daydreamed about this sort of thing. The ability to have simple get togethers with big, influential people on a whim. Of course, back then I had no inkling of what it really meant to have a strict schedule, but for the most part, everything turned out not too far off from what I imagined."

[Vipervertical]

Toshiko scowled, biting the inside of her lip in either nervousness, frustration, or some combination of the two. Meeting with business rivals was nothing new to her, in fact much of her schedule consisted of such things. This was different. She would be meeting with Grigor Sark, founder of Sark Industries. This alone would be cause for concern, as Sark had created a company from scratch and built it up enough to nearly rival Czerka. In comparison, Czerka had hardly grown at all in the same timeframe. Clearly he was a threat to be reckoned with.

The other arrival was none other than Roland Ricketts, CEO of Northern Monument Technologies. She knew little about the man himself, but the number of clients that he took from her was enough to flag him as a possible issue. She once more contemplated a buy-out proposal, fretting over the phrasing and timing of such a question. If she didn't act soon, Czerka could stand to lose trillions of credits to the growing rival.

A cough caused her to break out of her reverie, and she turned to the Devaronian standing beside and slightly behind her in the turbolift. He immediately straightened up his posture, his hands behind his back and his eyes locked on the door. She looked him over one last time. The business suit looked out of place on his features, despite it being tailor-made for the occasion. He wore a darkened visor across his eyes, which she knew doubled as a tactical combat visor. She could do nothing about the horns, but so long as he didn't open his mouth the teeth wouldn't be an issue. Overall, he appeared passable, though she could tell that he disliked the attire. Competence was more important than appearance, even if just slightly. Her eyebrows furrowed as she reminded herself that she had made the right call in bringing her best man as a bodyguard instead of the entire security team. She didn't want to look too threatened, after all.

But she was feeling threatened. Why would these two invite her to a private meeting? When she received the invitation only a few days previous she had assumed it was some sort of joke or a prank of some kind. After she had it verified her thoughts drifted to it being a trap, which still worried her despite its unlikelihood. Tosh was certain to be the last arrival, with the extensive scanning and checking of the building for any sort of danger she insisted on.

A soft ding warned of their imminent arrival at the roof, prompting her to give herself a final check over for appearance's sake. She brushed the nonexistent wrinkles out of the black dress shirt and checked to make sure she hadn't missed a button, which she had never done before but wasn't intending to do now. The black pants appeared to be made from the same silk as the shirt, and flowed gently to the similarly muted business shoes. She would win no awards for style, but then again stylish people were never taken seriously.

A second ding alerted her just before the doors opened, giving enough time for her to stop patting down her hair. She took a deep breath and composed herself as the doors slid open silently. With her practiced confidence and authority, she strode calmly into the sunlight.

---

Mister Sark. Mister Ricketts. She paused a moment when she glanced at the shistavenan before returning to the other men. It's a pleasure to meet the two of you. I suspect we are gathered here for a matter of some import. I look forward to it.

She gave her professional smile, practiced and perfected, while looking at the men who threatened Czerka's power.

[Latus]

The reply was cordial and polite and it left Roland wearing a warm smile that saw several bleached white teeth beneath his graying mustache. The compliment was pleasant as well, a warm feeling growing in the older man's chest for something so simple. He blinked several times and his smile softened to exclude teeth; now is not the time to be starstruck, old boy. If you had started earlier you would be where he is today. As Sark nodded to Manfred Roland turned to give his friend a small nod that everything was all right, he couldn't have his security worrying frivolously over him. If his second was feeling in any way as overwhelmed Roland was unable to tell by facial expression alone.

"Mr. Orren, you are welcome to have tea or anything you please from the café, as well. I am...'picking up the tab', I believe is the term?"

Thank you, sir, I may just do that. Mr. Ricketts, Mr. Sark.

As Manfred nodded to each of them in turn and moved away toward serving area of the cafe Roland chuckled and shook his head. Manfred always took his job so seriously. Though not surprising the older man thought, sometimes, that Manfred would rather be his security chief than have a life, a family. His smile faded slightly at the thought, Manfred taking up a position out of the way but well within speaking distance; he would not be any more intrusive than a hung painting.

Movement caught his attention and he turned to look, watching as a pair moved from the back of the cafe toward them. He noticed that both held pots though the carriers were immensely different. One looked to be a human cafe worker who carried a larger white pot, potholders protecting his hands as he walked toward them, steam pouring from the mouth of the vessel. The second made Roland look twice. It looked like a jet black... my eyes must be tricking... a jet black bird carrying an equally black pot in its talons. As it approached Roland smirked inwardly; it was a droid and an advanced one at that. Its body was slender and black, wings and tail and head all looking like they were something out of a concept design booklet for twenty, thirty years in the future. The engineer smirked, oh how he would like to get a chance to tear that droid open. The little droid deposited the pot on the table before Sark as the young human did the same thing with the larger white counterpart.

"Like, here's your tea, my total radical bigwig dudes."

As Sark rolled his eyes Roland chuckled heartily. The newest slang of these city kids was immensely different from when he was growing up.

Well said, young man. Thank you.

"Mr. Ricketts, this is Legion, my assistant. I know he may look a little frightening, but he's harmless, I assure you."

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Ricketts."

And you, Ledion.

Roland was about to continue when Sark rolled his eyes and looked at the bird.

"I would be lost without Legion. I've never been much of a man for keeping schedules straight or doing reports and filling out forms. I may be a businessman, but I am still the Alderaanian boy who read droid repair manuals and learned things the hard way."

As Sark talked he found himself overcome with surprise and a mote of relief. Whenever he had heard of Sark it was always something extravagant about the enigmatic man. That he seemed just as normal as Roland, a little more prone to loneliness than he perhaps, was a burden lifted.

The galaxy is for the young people. We learned things the hard way so they can have it easy; may not seem like it now but I didn't always know systems. Roland chuckled. Stars I shouldn't feel this old. Perhaps its the company I keep, hmm? He chuckled deeply again, smiling at Sark. He meant every word; the cane, the gray hair, the tea... he felt old. A moment later Sark flowed into a very brief overview of his own accomplishments reaffirming Roland that, indeed, he had not been far behind. Sark had just started his business sooner. Roland nodded politely, taking in what Sark said with a grain of salt and an open mind; one could not be closed minded around old men... Now thats ironic. With that Roland reached for the tea, the smell of a good herbal blend reaching his nose and easing his mind. The thought passed through his mind about how dangerous this was but he dismissed it; Sark wouldn't poison, kill in public if at all. Competition was healthy.

As his hands grasped the handle he heard the door to the lift open and turned to look. As he saw who it was he was glad not to have sat in the first place. She looked lovely, dressed in a formal officers uniform, red primarily with some lighter highlights. As he looked on Roland's eyes widened slightly and he let his hand slip from the pot. He was tempted to rub his eyes as belief had all but left him; if he was not mistaken the woman who had just walked through the door was the one and only Toshiko Mokona, head of Czerka corporation. In spite of himself, Roland suddenly felt very under dressed.

"Mister Sark. Mister Ricketts." He saw her eyes wander to Manfred standing on the far side of the room. "It's a pleasure to meet the two of you. I suspect we are gathered here for a matter of some import. I look forward to it."

Stepping around the seat Roland stood near the arm and, smile wide, arms in the air, cane up to his shins;

Well if it isn't one thing its another. It is Miss Mokona, is it not. Welcome to what is quickly becoming a meeting of the minds!

---

On the far side of the room the eyes of the Shistavanen bodyguard narrows. Despite Roland's accepting outer appearance he had spoken with the older man at length about the potential of dealing with... less than healthy competition. He'd heard his employer speak of these people in tones that did not match his levity today. Manfred understood why, and it was certainly for a reason, that Roland trusted neither of the other two who were gathered here.

Manfred Orren was certainly curious about the motive behind this meeting and, as the three began to congregate his ears perked to listen to anything that might come from the group. Any hint of trouble... he knew what to do.

[Sporky]

This was rather perfect. Delicious tea, a pleasant place to sit, and light conversation (For now) with a peer and competitor. What more could he possible want?

Okay, so maybe a mountain of credit chits, but that was beside the current point. Money-grubbing and warmongering as he was, Sark still enjoyed tea and chatting. He was only a man, after all, not some children's holoshow villain.

And then Roland said one of the truest things Sark had ever heard.

"The galaxy is for the young people. We learned things the hard way so they can have it easy"

Sark, titan of industry, king of self-made men, and patron saint of capitalism, snorted into his tea. This, of course, spilled over his tie, which looked rather undignified. Of course, ties were invented with the hidden purpose of being stain magnets anyway. chuckling heartily, he offered his reply.

"That..is true, old man. Think about it: Advances in hyperdrive, the constant refinement of the holonet, your numerous medical breakthroughs, all the guns and tanks and ships I put in the hands of the Republic to keep them safe, it really is a galaxy for children. They hold it in their hands, Ricketts. Not us."

Amidst the showboating of that speech, there was genuine sentiment, but how much of it was which was anyone's guess.

Finally, their other guest arrived, and Sark stood to greet her. He posture and expression plainly broadcasted that she would not be offering handshakes, so he simply assumed a polite stance, hands clasped behind his back.

"Mister Sark. Mister Ricketts. It's a pleasure to meet the two of you. I suspect we are gathered here for a matter of some import. I look forward to it."

"Of course, miss Mokona. But first, tea and pleasant conversation. Mister Ricketts and I were just talking about how very old we are, and that we should soon check ourselves into old age homes."

[Vipervertical]

Tosh was a little taken aback by how earnestly Ricketts greeted her. She had expected the same false pleasantries that she herself had given out, yet he seemed to be actually pleased to see her. It was an odd reaction to such a dangerous business rival, and she tucked it away for future reference. Sark, however, gave a more muted greeting, though it too was more informal than she had expected. Old age homes, hm? That would most certainly cause the issue to become moot.

It was only with that statement that she realized just how much of an age difference existed between her and both of these men before her. She was by far the youngest here, and almost certainly the least intelligent (not counting the bodyguards, of course). These men were genii, their craft was technology and they were both forces to be reckoned with. She was clearly the odd one out. This was not to say she was without her own strengths. She had little doubt that neither of these men were as skilled in business and monetary matters as herself. She could only hope the conversation didn’t stray too far from her own knowledge. It would be a disgrace if she looked foolish before these two business rivals.

”Of course. There’s no rush. Providing neither of you dies of old age.” Jokes weren’t her forte, but small doses of humor were useful in keeping a flowing conversation. And a flowing conversation with these two would be interesting indeed. She moved towards the third chair, which was pleasantly the closest one to her, making an awkward maneuver around one of them unnecessary. But she hadn’t even touched the chair before she noticed something odd about the droid on Sark’s shoulder.

In fact, she was just noticing the droid for the first time. It was simply part of the scenery, as droids were meant to be. This one was familiar. Its body was small and avian, though decidedly menacing. She had never seen the droid, but she was certain she knew another of its series: Her own “unofficial business partner.” He called himself AER-07, meaning there were at least six other droids of his kind. This one was heavily modified, but there was no doubt it shared the same base. Her face faltered slightly as she thought of how that annoying bird was likely lounging in her chair (providing its body COULD lounge).

She broke her gaze from the small droid, reapplying the mask of pleasant civility before glancing upon the set-up in the center of the table. ”I hope your taste in tea is as good as your marketing campaign.” This small jest was made to deflect attention while she gave thought to the significance of Sark’s AER droid. Was there some conspiracy that was using the two companies like pawns? She would have to look into this. But she couldn’t tip her hand just yet. 07 would be getting quite the interrogation once she returned. But for now, she would sit down and drink some tea while making small talk. She was nothing if not patient.

---

The Devaronian only served as a silent sentinel, standing straight and tall from his position five feet behind and three feet to the right of his employer. From here he could keep an eye on the entire group, including the Shistavanen, while remaining close enough to act quickly should the need arise. He resisted the urge to reach for his hidden blaster, silently assuring himself of its location. This was already shaping up to be the boring assignment he’d ever had. On the bright side, however, the payment was fantastic. He allowed his mind to drift to the incestuous slurry he had planned in celebration.

[Latus]

"Of course, miss Mokona. But first, tea and pleasant conversation. Mister Ricketts and I were just talking about how very old we are, and that we should soon check ourselves into old age homes."

Roland chuckled heartily at Sark's comment as he slid stiffly back to a seat, laying his cane across his lap. This certainly was becoming an interesting meeting. Though he had suspected a third would be joining them he was quite surprised at just who that particular person was. Toshiko Mokona was damn near Sark's level of fame in the galactic field of business.

Or infamy...

”Of course. There’s no rush. Providing neither of you dies of old age.”

I'm afraid that I will be the first to receive that distinction. Sark has at least a decade on me and you, Miss Mokona, I shan't even guess. I hear age is a touchy subject when it comes to women.

Roland chuckled, a finger tapping softly on the metallic handle of his cane as he tried to think of something to say to either of them that wasn't any more foolish than his previous. Taking a deep breath he released his cane and reached a hand into his vest pocket withdrawing an unassuming wooden pipe.

My goodness, the company is wonderful yet quite silent. I do hope you two do not mind. He smiled as he returned his hand to his jacket, withdrawing a small bag of shredded t'bac. Gently he pulled it open and began to fill the small black bowl. Old Toby, a good weed. He chuckled, stamping the dried shreds flat so they would burn better.

As he continued to fill his pipe he noticed that, much like he himself had done, Toshiko was eying the little bird droid perched on Sark's shoulder. Her gaze was something slightly more intense than his own, however, drawing his wonder from how to why? As he pressed the leaves down and withdrew a small pack of wooden matches. Striking one he lit the pipe and took several small draws, using the first exhale to extinguish the match. Leaning back he ran the smoke through his mouth and, tilting his head back, blew a small ring of smoke before allowing the rest to escape through his nose. With his free hand he reached to the table and, taking the tea cup he gently sipped at the dark brown liquid.

Roland would allow Toshiko to obtain something to drink before he would speak again, the trio remaining in a moment or several of tentative and harsh silence.

So, Mr. Sark. He said, blowing a line of smoke upward and into the gentle breeze along the roof. I do so hate to appear an ungracious guest but I am positively shaking with excitement as to the underlying intent of your invitation. While tea with business competitors sounds harmless enough I do find myself wondering;

He took another soft toke of his pipe, exhaling slowly as to enjoy the flavor.

Why?

[Sporky]

Sark took his seat again, and sipped from his tea silently for a few moments while he mulled things over in his head. He was about to propose a joint project between two of the largest pan-galactic corporations, and a strong up and comer, with many breakthroughs in medical science. This was hardly a time to blurt out words without though.

And it was evident Sark was thinking quite hard. The firmly clenched jaw, the furrowing of his aged brow, the death grip his bony fingers held on his tea cup. Grigor Sark was having an intense pondering session, and it showed quite clearly. To some, such an expression might have been incredibly intimidating.

Countless ideas ran through his head, though they were pointless. Sark had already decided the idea he would pitch to his fellow...partiers today. Still, it was somewhat amusing to let images of towering death machines that also sprayed kolto play out, if only briefly.

Sark straightened from his slightly hunched over brooding pose, and sighed. He choose his words carefully, and spoke somewhat slower than usual. The situation definitely called for such.

"Sark Industires. Czerka. Northern Monument Technologies. Three powerful companies, surely." He puased for a moment, and took a sip of tea. "Truly, each of us is a titan in our own way. But..if we were to work together, could we not achieve something truly miraculous?"

A slight smile played at Sark's lips as he laid out his proposal in a short, but sweet manner. "I am envisioning some sort of advanced system to be added into the standard armor of Republic soldiers. Using advanced Sark sensors and circuitry, Northern Monument medical technologies, and with Czerka's centuries of experience with armor, we can develop a way of administering small, but vital applications of kolto to wounded areas."

His cards were laid out. His irons were in the fire now. For better or worse, things would change. They would dismiss him and leave, their professional relationships changed in a 8link, or they would bond over this project, and it would be but the first of many wonderful joint projects.

Or maybe he was being a bit overdramatic.


Probably a bit overdramatic.

[Vipervertical]

Tosh sat silently, sipping at the tea as she mulled over predictions and worries, all the while listening intently to the elder gentlemen speak. It was all business already. The facade of a friendly gathering was flimsy at best, and was already practically nonexistent by the time she had arrived. Yet still they played their parts, each feigning naïveté and good humor.

She perked up when Sark spoke again, having already been focused on him for several seconds after she noticed him deep in thought. He spoke well; it was clearly a speech he had practiced. The idea was actually quite ingenious. It was similar to an armor that Czerka already produced, which unfortunately was riddled with flaws. Frankly, she was surprised it sold as well as it did with its inflexible joints, inaccurate readings, and exorbitant price tag.

She waited before responding, taking another sip of tea as she mulled over the idea in her head. With this level of expertise, the product would be far superior, and thus generate greater profits. While that was the extent of her knowledge on the technical side, she was far more concerned with the monetary side. She was no tinkerer, she was a planner. And she was certain that she could talk circles around either of them when it came to managing the business aspect.

Finally, she spoke up. "This is quite the daring venture you've come up with. Three businesses which may as well be rivals working together towards a unified goal? If I didn't know better, I would assume this was the last desperate proposal of a nearly bankrupt man." She paused again, taking another sip of tea while she gauged his reaction. "However, your idea does sounds promising, I have to admit. But I don't want to promise my support just yet." Another pause. Another sip. "I'll need to see some figures before I commit, so long as that's not too much trouble."

The businesswoman sat back in her chair, confidant and pleased. If he could prove he'd thought about funding and development costs before bringing it up, then she would be a fool not to accept. But if he hadn't thought that through, then she would be ashamed that he had managed to cut even a margin of her sales.

Either way, the decision was a simple one.

[Latus]

The silence that fell over the rooftop then was profound. For a mere instant Roland imagined that he may have said something incorrect, his eyes wandering down to make sure his pipe was still lit. As his eyes wandered over Sark again, however, he realized that the tycoon was deep in thought. His jaw appeared to have been carved out of stone and the older man could have sworn that the ceramic on the teacup was cracking by the intensity of the grip.

Roland's eyes narrowed by a fraction of an inch as he considered what this sudden intensity meant. Could it be that the great Sark was unsure or hesitant about the concept he wished to express? Even more interesting, perhaps he was just conceiving it. A long blink silenced such thoughts and he drew a soft toke from the pipe, holding the fragrant smoke in his mouth before gently exhaling.

"Sark Industires. Czerka. Northern Monument Technologies..."

He took another brief toke, almost chuckling at the presentation that Sark was giving... as though he was already trying to sell the concept before he even presented it.

"But..if we were to work together, could we not achieve something truly miraculous?"

Despite his reservations Roland knew if anyone could do such a thing it was Sark. Since he received the invite the older businessman had preemptively prepared himself to flatly refuse a weapon of war, but when the enigmatic Sark began talking about an armor concept Roland was instantly intrigued.

"...a way of administering small, but vital applications of kolto to wounded areas."

Withdrawing the pipe from his lips he placed his free hand on his chin, scratching the stubble lightly. His analytical mind buzzed and hummed trying to work around conventional blocks that might restrict such a project from ever being completed. Sadly, Roland immediately saw a number of complications that would have to be overcome before the armor itself was ever used. Blinking he returned the pipe to his lips for another toke as Ms. Mokona spoke, calling it a "daring venture," but also conjecturing that Sark was running out of money; the comment made the older man smile.

"However, your idea does sounds promising, I have to admit. But I don't want to promise my support just yet. I'll need to see some figures before I commit, so long as that's not too much trouble."

I'd not be so quick to consider commitment, Ms. Mokona; you never know when a well intentioned product will redline your profits for the quarter. No offense, Mr. Sark.

Althought Ms. Mokona said she wasn't ready to commit it seemed to Roland that she was ready to accept as soon as profit figures were presented. The smile vanished from his face as the mechanical computations flashed through the wizened head of NMT's chief designer and CEO. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he thought, puffing languidly as he tried to puzzle out his largest concern over the whole project; a fabric, mesh, undersuit, something that could detect the injury and then shift kolto flow from a source to the breach in real time. His medical technology teams were good but... that concept would not be cheap and it would not be designed over night.

Finally, deciding on a particular possible route he broke his concentration and sat down the pipe, picking up the tea for a sip. Replacing the cup on the saucer he retrieved his pipe and turned to address the other two.

Intriguing. Most intriguing, Sark.

His tone was neutral as he glanced between Ms. Mokona and Sark then over to Manfred who was standing as ramrod stiff as ever. The older man was happy that his chief of security was close enough to hear, to act if needed; that was why he hired him. Smart and tough as steel. Back to business...

While possible it will not be cheap, nor quick to design. My concern is that the Republic will not decide to adopt such a system for its every trooper as expense is certainly something that concerns them.

Are you thinking a true set of armor with a medical lining or a thin-suit to go under conventional armor? The latter would not force them to replace all current armor but would also force some interesting design limitations.

Taking a breath he returned his pipe to his to his mouth for another puff... blast, went out. Reaching into his jacket he pulled the matchbook again, striking it and relighting with a puff. He waved the match out quickly before returning to the matter at hand.

I cannot dedicate NMT personnel until a design concept is finalized and production expenses are calculated. Perhaps then we will talk about profit.

[Sporky]

Sark had been prepared for refusals, for laughter, or immediate acceptance. He was a businessman after all, plans were money. Experience, and his consultations with the acquaintance that insisted she be called Marquise had taught him very well that plans were money.

So the replies of both of his other guests did not faze him at all. Not a single extra line was added to so aged, so experienced a brow. After all, he had just proposed a business venture between two towering colossi and a swiftly growing giant. To not expect something other than immediate acceptance and willingness would have been foolish of him.

Yet, a tiny part of his twinged with foolish sadness. A part that was wrapped up and consumed, like an arachnid consuming a snack. It came from his ego, his swagger. And it was ever so foolish. The logical part of his brain knew there was no reason to be sad about this. Nothing this grandiose came easy, after all.

Eyes flickered back and forth between his two companions. Tiny facial tells and subtle looks in their eyes were read, and Sark was thankful he was half Umbaran. Though not as strong as it would have been were he a pureblood, he could read these two well. Ms. Mokona was the harder to the two, though. Something..hmm. He filed it away for later consideration.

He set down his teacup, which made the clatter than fine ceramic always makes when it touches itself. He watched the liquid vibrate and settle, drawing together his words before he spoke. Everything had to be done carefully. The web he was spinning with this meeting was delicate, and definitely not unbreakable.

He considered both options that Ricketts put forward as he watched the tea move about its holder. The man had made valid points. What was the lesser of two evils: Proposing a complete replacement of standard issue armor for the Republic military, or working with design limitations? In his mind's eye, both options were put on a scale, weighed against each other.

It would be simpler to craft an entire new set of armor, and much cheaper. Cheaper would appease the credit-pinching brass, as well. It would also be easier because there would be fewer limitations, which would mean that Mokona could get her damnable figures sooner.

The other option while, though more of a design challenge, would be simpler in its own right. Much simpler to simply issues under-armor than to recall and re-issue standard gear. That would also interest the brass, and the soldiers themselves, for he knew some soldiers had such a fondness for decorating their gear sometimes.

" I certainly understand where the both of you are coming from. After all, this is indeed a bit of a grand undertaking." He looked to Ricketts first, once again regarding the aging man. "Mister Ricketts, I've been considering both options for some time, and I have come to the conclusion that, despite it being more of a challenge, some sort of under-armor might be the best. It will also be more expensive, but the ease of getting it distributed and into the field should offset that."

He turned to the youngest of the three, still a blossoming woman who, were she not as smart as he could tell from reading her, would be in way over her head with this business. "Ms. Mokona, profit and expense if a big part of this, yes. I have taken this into consideration well before calling this meeting, and I certainly not have bothered either of you had I not thought it worthy of all our time."

He leaned back, and let cool relaxation consume his facial features. He took a tip of his tea again. "Getting sales figures and concept designs is no problem, I assure you."