Post by Poludnica on Jan 25, 2014 13:20:19 GMT -5
Theme
It was a beautiful place that preserved plenty from its natural beauty. Untouched by industry and technology with gilded, white cities rising above the grassy planes. Aldera – the pride capital spread across many miles with artificial lake washing the even shores. Cassius looked down through the window of his speeder, turning it gently toward the district where all important and rich dwelt. He has no driver, no servants, no guards. Some would say it was reckless, many in his position hired tonnes of mindbogglingly stupid mercenaries that tagged along everywhere. Showing well developed paranoia that plagued upper classes in Republic. Especially after Sith's sudden rise in prominence. Cassius had nothing to fear, not because he had no enemies – on the contrary. The decades long force training granted him this self assured sense of safety, a hefty price to pay certainly: scars, bruised ego. To become a master one had to start from the bottom. No matter his family credits.
The sleek, inky black speeder dived carelessly toward one of the towers where other machines swarmed. Cassius closed his eyes and let the Force guide him, quiet warnings flaring – clear like red flags. The man adored this feeling: speed, adrenaline rush. One vice the disciplined grey jedi invested were speeders: custom made, expensive. A vapid, playboy's treat – completely unnecessary. Life also spared simple pleasures like that. He forced the machine to turn rapidly, coming down at insane degree but after a moment the man adjusted the fall, gently landing on a parking spot. Just in front of the VIP club he invited his business partner. The last months were stressful with his own daughter vanishing in the Sith space, fraternizing with the alien dark sider. The war slowly ruining economy. Cassius became irritable, easy to anger – even his own lieutenants began to tip toe around him. The dark side lured him, whispered a sweet, poisonous song about power. About murder.
If only he had killed that Firrerreo...After his attack the two grew closer together, the reports weren't optimistic. After generation of upholding bloodline purity, his name was about to be sullied. Liviana prided themselves in noble birth, Zhell ancestry. One of the last few and now his daughter was about to flush it all down the drain. Cassius' calloused fingers closed on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. Discipline. The man inhaled sharply and threw out the left overs of a cigarette. Faint gleam followed its trail, caught by the evening light. Private issues were one thing, a professional businessman never let them interfere. Nor his prejudices.
Grigor Sark combined two things Cassius harbored plenty of dislike for: shady past and mixed heritage. A mutt that grew up from lower echelons of society. A wh*reson if rumors had it right. The Coruscanti man could appreciate someone rising above own social limitations but not like that. Previously a nobody, unlike Liviana name that rang wide and far in the Republic space. Especially in the Core. Cassius opinion though didn't matter, though certainly not someone he would keep as a friend without any shame, Sark could prove a strictly business asset. When building his power in the Hutt space Cassius learned to tolerate giant space slugs, filthy Twi'leks and other unsavory lot. Certainly dealing with a half human couldn't be awful.
Unlike many other with noble pedigree, Cassius didn't need to make an entrance with escorts and personal droids. He simply left his speeder and casually walked toward the club. One he owed of course, there were few of them on the planet, not too many. Alderaan still remained rather uncharted territory for him, maybe this evening would change things. Wearing nice, neat pants, shirt and a vest he didn't look pompously rich though clothes were certainly of top notch quality. Black, polymer glove his right hand, one burned by the dark sider's saber. Beside that there was nothing overly remarkable. Cassius aged well, his features remained almost boyish quality though one with sharp angles, typical for pure Coruscant heritage. Green eyes lazily moved toward the letters that formed the club's name: Areiah. 'Peace' in High Galactic. Some called this language snobbish and old fashion but where Cassius grew up people only spoke in this lilt. He doubted Sark even knew few words from it, though if the mutt did maybe could appreciate the symbol behind this particular place to host a business meeting.
Unhurriedly Cassius made his way toward the entrance, he still had few minutes left.
It was a beautiful place that preserved plenty from its natural beauty. Untouched by industry and technology with gilded, white cities rising above the grassy planes. Aldera – the pride capital spread across many miles with artificial lake washing the even shores. Cassius looked down through the window of his speeder, turning it gently toward the district where all important and rich dwelt. He has no driver, no servants, no guards. Some would say it was reckless, many in his position hired tonnes of mindbogglingly stupid mercenaries that tagged along everywhere. Showing well developed paranoia that plagued upper classes in Republic. Especially after Sith's sudden rise in prominence. Cassius had nothing to fear, not because he had no enemies – on the contrary. The decades long force training granted him this self assured sense of safety, a hefty price to pay certainly: scars, bruised ego. To become a master one had to start from the bottom. No matter his family credits.
The sleek, inky black speeder dived carelessly toward one of the towers where other machines swarmed. Cassius closed his eyes and let the Force guide him, quiet warnings flaring – clear like red flags. The man adored this feeling: speed, adrenaline rush. One vice the disciplined grey jedi invested were speeders: custom made, expensive. A vapid, playboy's treat – completely unnecessary. Life also spared simple pleasures like that. He forced the machine to turn rapidly, coming down at insane degree but after a moment the man adjusted the fall, gently landing on a parking spot. Just in front of the VIP club he invited his business partner. The last months were stressful with his own daughter vanishing in the Sith space, fraternizing with the alien dark sider. The war slowly ruining economy. Cassius became irritable, easy to anger – even his own lieutenants began to tip toe around him. The dark side lured him, whispered a sweet, poisonous song about power. About murder.
If only he had killed that Firrerreo...After his attack the two grew closer together, the reports weren't optimistic. After generation of upholding bloodline purity, his name was about to be sullied. Liviana prided themselves in noble birth, Zhell ancestry. One of the last few and now his daughter was about to flush it all down the drain. Cassius' calloused fingers closed on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. Discipline. The man inhaled sharply and threw out the left overs of a cigarette. Faint gleam followed its trail, caught by the evening light. Private issues were one thing, a professional businessman never let them interfere. Nor his prejudices.
Grigor Sark combined two things Cassius harbored plenty of dislike for: shady past and mixed heritage. A mutt that grew up from lower echelons of society. A wh*reson if rumors had it right. The Coruscanti man could appreciate someone rising above own social limitations but not like that. Previously a nobody, unlike Liviana name that rang wide and far in the Republic space. Especially in the Core. Cassius opinion though didn't matter, though certainly not someone he would keep as a friend without any shame, Sark could prove a strictly business asset. When building his power in the Hutt space Cassius learned to tolerate giant space slugs, filthy Twi'leks and other unsavory lot. Certainly dealing with a half human couldn't be awful.
Unlike many other with noble pedigree, Cassius didn't need to make an entrance with escorts and personal droids. He simply left his speeder and casually walked toward the club. One he owed of course, there were few of them on the planet, not too many. Alderaan still remained rather uncharted territory for him, maybe this evening would change things. Wearing nice, neat pants, shirt and a vest he didn't look pompously rich though clothes were certainly of top notch quality. Black, polymer glove his right hand, one burned by the dark sider's saber. Beside that there was nothing overly remarkable. Cassius aged well, his features remained almost boyish quality though one with sharp angles, typical for pure Coruscant heritage. Green eyes lazily moved toward the letters that formed the club's name: Areiah. 'Peace' in High Galactic. Some called this language snobbish and old fashion but where Cassius grew up people only spoke in this lilt. He doubted Sark even knew few words from it, though if the mutt did maybe could appreciate the symbol behind this particular place to host a business meeting.
Unhurriedly Cassius made his way toward the entrance, he still had few minutes left.