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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Nov 14, 2014 0:10:22 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Nov 14, 2014 0:10:22 GMT -5
Visari sat, hands neatly folded atop the slender, minimalist desk in front of him. It was a fine thing, carved from the rarest of Alderaanian timber and easily worth a half-year’s rent for most of the Galaxy’s normal inhabitant. But Visari Netellus was far from normal, in so many ways. For his wealth, the expense was a trivial thing, as were the quiet opulences sprinkled throughout his small Corellian office.
The office was just that, and little more — Visari Enterprises maintained no active business centers on Corellia, at least for the moment. But shipbuilding was a cornerstone for the conglomeration, and even if Visari’s business was primarily with the Sith these days, only an idiot would completely ignore Correllia’s renowned shipyards.
It was a place to meet and plan for future potential, when the need arose.
As it had today.
A few flimsies were neatly arranged on the desk; bits of production information and shipping costs. Nothing important. That, of course, was reserved for the small holoprojector fitted into the middle of the desk. Above it, hanging comfortably in the air, was a business profile for Kitall Construction. A struggling little company, led by one Maris Kitall.
Visari tapped a hidden pressure pad built into the desk’s surface and the image faded away, like sand blown in the wind. He waited, glancing at the chronometer perched above the door.
Fifteen minutes until he was scheduled to meet the woman. He’d arrived well early, of course, to settled into the office and be where he need to be when she, invariably, was shuffled in by his attendant.
After all, power — and control, by extension — was as much a matter of appearance as it was action.
But 15 minutes was a short time to wait for the meeting, and the woman would be early if she had any business sense. And if she was late, well...
A Sith Lord and head of one of the Galaxy's most profitable conglomerations would not waste his time with late.
So Visari waited, hands patiently folded. The vast reservoir of power within him was wrapped up, hidden under the proverbial rug so that he seemed a normal man. His mind was sealed up tight, his outward demeanor calm and steady.
His cane, which concealed his silver lightsaber, leaned quietly against the back of his desk.
Come, little Kitall, he thought. Let us see what you have to offer…
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Valcor
No longer lost in the woods
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Nov 17, 2014 13:40:59 GMT -5
Post by Valcor on Nov 17, 2014 13:40:59 GMT -5
For Maris, the day had started off like any other. Her servant had awoken her much earlier than either of them expected her to actually get up, then Maris medicated herself, showered, ate as much as she could manage, which was not much, and finally dressed. However unlike any other normal day, all of this took place about three hours before the scrawny woman normally woke, for today was the day Maris had an actual obligation. Today was the day that Maris was finally going to sell her family's company, no longer being able to bear watching it crumble to dust under her poor leadership. Apparently some big time Sith Corporation was interested in her business, and Maris was only too happy to get rid of it, not really caring much who or what galactic faction it went to anymore.
The meeting was to be a formal occasion, yet the weather was quite chilly so Maris clothed herself in warm black fur lined boots, leggings, a dark slate grey coat with a matching grey cowl. Aside from a data pad and her pain pills, Maris carried no further items on her person, not feeling the need for them for a hopefully short and to the point meeting. By the time the slender woman managed to make it to her speeder, it was already 5 minutes until the meeting. Maris silently cursed to herself before dipping into her pocket to retrieve more pills to ease her nerves.
After a short chauffeured flight, Maris arrived at the building where the meeting was to be held. It was rather unimposing, yet held an air of sophistication about it, the walls were white and washed to a pristine condition, matching the fresh snow coating the ground, and the glass cleaned to a shine. Maris spent little time admiring the building however, as the temperature was beginning to bite at her skin. Another pop of the pill bottle top and Maris was inside the building checking her datapad. 'Damn 10 minutes late...' Maris thought with a groan to herself as she slowly knocked on the door to the conference room. Maris barely had to wait a moment before the door opened rapidly, startling the ex-jedi who jumped with a small yelp. "O-oh I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting it to open so fast." Maris said in a soft hushed tone, with an ever so slight slur from her pain killers, as she pulled her cowl off her head and brushed the snow off her shoulders. "You must be Mr. Vie-sari." Maris added as she extended her still gloved hand to the older man.
For some reason Maris felt a strange creeping feeling of darkness around her that she just could not seem to shake. Were she not almost a decade out of practice, or doped up on medication she was not supposed to be taking, Maris would have immediately sensed the darkness surrounding this man. As Maris currently was however, she had no idea and was dangerously exposed. Maris' years spent on her own had caused her to let her telepathic powers flow rather freely, letting her inner emotions flow around her, as for all that time she had no reason to worry. Yet now it seemed as if her lack of focus and lethargic lifestyle would get her into a deeper mess than she ever imagined.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Dec 13, 2014 14:18:32 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Dec 13, 2014 14:18:32 GMT -5
The woman arrived. Ten minutes late.
For Visari Netellus — already disgruntled enough from the woman’s apparent comfort with wasting his time — the poor first impressions piled up like speeders in a wreck on Corsucant. She seemed surprised at the door sliding open just like any of a trillion other doors in the Galaxy, and he didn’t miss the faint slur on her words as she slid inside.
"You must be Mr. Vie-sari," the woman said, mispronouncing his name as she stuck a hand out for him to shake. The mispronunciation, he could ignore. But it was another annoyance atop an avalanche of them; one that pushed him just beyond his willingness to humor the woman through returning her handshake.
“Yes,” he said curtly hands still folded neatly atop his desk, “I am.”
Visari found himself sorely tempted to turn the woman away without hearing a word of what she had to offer. She was late, either too tired for the meeting or under the influence of something (a cheery thought!) and all-around unimpressive. Every bit of business sense he had told him to tell her to go and leave this likely fool’s errand behind.
And yet, his other senses said something else entirely.
The Force flowed around the woman. The feeling was muted, with his own ability hidden away from detection — like listening to music through a wall. But even if he lost the individual notes of her ability, he felt the whole, wild and loose, carelessly flapping about like a sheet out to dry left up in a thunderstorm.
An unexpected development, he mused, watching her intently for a heartbeat. He hadn’t known she was a Force user. She clearly either did not know or did not care that he was one, either. Or does she?
No, he decided, watching her still-extended hand, she couldn’t be playing that dangerous a game. Not like this. Still, that begged the question of what to do with her…
Visari glanced at the chrono on the wall behind her again, and the door below it. His eyes found her face again and he settled ever so slightly in his chair. “Sit, Miss Kitall,” he said with a motion for her to do so, allowing his voice to sound annoyed just so, but firm. “You are late. I trust this will not bode poorly for our discussions.”
A fool’s errand, a voice whispered in his mind.
No, not that. The woman was a curiosity. Nothing more.
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Valcor
No longer lost in the woods
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Jan 22, 2015 18:38:47 GMT -5
Post by Valcor on Jan 22, 2015 18:38:47 GMT -5
Maris bit her lip nervously as her handshake was not returned, awkwardly returning it too her coat pocket. Within the pocket her fingers nervously toyed with the lid of her medication, twisting the childproof lid around in circles as quickly as her fingers could manage. She wanted desperately to leave this uncomfortable place, to return to her bed where she did not need to think or feel, and yet she needed this, she needed this business of her hands and the money that it held to buyers. So she stayed, against her's and apparently her buyers wishes.
Maris was not blind, she could see the subtle cues of irritation on this older man's face, and it made the anxiety riddled woman even more on edge. Her hands began to shake, forcing her to hide both in her pockets as she slowly took a seat in front of the intimidating man. Through tensed muscles and quivering breath, Maris cleared her throat to speak, "No it will not." Maris smiled ever so briefly before clearing her throat again. "Shall we discuss what we came for?" Maris said after a short silence between the pair. Slowly and subconsciously Maris began to attempt to emotionally manipulate the man to her will, a habit from her time as a Jedi. This trick was so slight, few noticed in the past, however Maris had not been in contact with a Dark Jedi since she was a Knight herself. As she reached out, however, she noticed something, a wall of sorts. Suddenly Maris' eyes went wide, as a flood of ingrained training flowed into her.
In her silence Maris could hear the words of her masters, ~Only those trained in the force can truly defend from it.~ If Maris had been anxious before, she was terrified now. This man was trained in the force for sure, but the out of practice, drug using, ex-Jedi couldn't figure out much more beyond that for certain. When finally shaken from her thoughts, Maris stammered, "I-I'm sorry what were you saying?"
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Feb 11, 2015 20:16:12 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Feb 11, 2015 20:16:12 GMT -5
“Good,” Visari said as the woman sat with the assurance that her earlier fumbling wouldn’t continue through the rest of their meeting. He was not so optimistic, of course, but if she could at least try to reign in some of her failures, he might be able to tolerate her. We must endure trials at times, he thought, foot tapping softly against the smooth, subtly marbled floor, if only for the end result.
"Shall we discuss what we came for?" she asked, seeming nervous.
Visari paused, but his silence was an intentional one, rather than a stop for hesitation. The woman was clearly out of her element, and he felt little reason to relinquish his control of the situation. If she let herself be intimidated well then…
“I believe we are here to discuss your company, Ms. Kitall,” he said, words clipped and crisp. “Kitall Construction.” Visari tapped a hidden sensor atop his desk and an blue ghost of an image — the Kitall Construction corporate logo — sprang to life above his folded hands. The holographic image spun slowly in place, undisturbed as Visari leaned ever so slightly forward. His eyes focused like lasers on the woman.
“However, I believe you are the one here to sell…” His brows, white and bushy drew down as something pinged at the faintest edge of his awareness.
Nothing had physically changed within the room, but the irritation that threatened to rise up before he stamped it down might as well have been the result of the woman slapping him in the face. The Kitall Construction logo blinked away as he leaned back, jaw tight and hands folded sternly in his lap.
“I do believe, before we go any further,” he started, voice carrying an icy edge, “that we need to establish something, Ms. Kitall.” The woman’s touch had been a subtle thing, like half-breathed sigh against his skin before she’d retreated back to the safety of her own presence. In fact, he might have missed it, were he not as attuned to the Force as he was — an impressive thing to note, given the woman’s obviously out-of-sorts emotional condition.
And yet…
“You will keep your little probings,” the word twisted derisively in his mouth, “to yourself. Do we understand? I have been more than forgiving enough to your… shortcomings and we’ve not been speaking for five minutes.
“You have two strikes,” Visari continued grimly, holding up his index and middle finger. He allowed some of his presence to ease out from its coil, just enough to tinge the feeling of the Force around him. “You do not want a third.”
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Valcor
No longer lost in the woods
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Feb 16, 2015 20:49:07 GMT -5
Post by Valcor on Feb 16, 2015 20:49:07 GMT -5
Maris could barely feel her hands from all the adrenaline flowing through her body. Her eyes were as wide as they had ever been in fear. Not only did this man detect her ever so slight prodding into his emotions, but he also addressed her directly about the matter. Maris' throat grew dry as she tried to speak, sweat visibly running down her pale face. Slowly and shakily the thin woman lifted up a hand and brushed her bangs behind her ear, stammering slightly as she tried to speak. "We-we-well Mister Visari, I-I-I..." Slowly she trailed off as her eyes met his.
His gaze was cold, uncompromising, and did not inspire confidence within Maris in the slightest. The nervous woman cleared her throat before pulling her knees together anxiously , struggling to think of a way out of this situation she had found herself in. This man before her was no Jedi to be certain, and it took all the drugged up rusty force abilities Maris still had to try and sense more about him. The moment Maris felt it, her face drained of what little color it still had. Darkness.
Yes it was there, subtle to her dull senses, but she could recall the feeling despite how vague her memory was of her time with the Jedi. Maris now felt true terror; her heart pounded in her head as the world seemed to slow down around her. In a split second Maris made the most fear induced decision of her life. Maris sprang up from her seat, and called upon what little control she still had over the ethereal essence and let loose a torrent of force power towards the man she was supposed to be selling her business to. Not that she expected this to phase whom she assumed was a powerful force user in the slightest, but hopefully it would buy her some time. This hope only lasted a moment however, as Maris' legs quickly found a small coffee table and buckled underneath her, causing her to break the unfortunate furniture under her weight.
Seeing little need to hide her powers now, Maris let her emotions run rampant, filling the building around her with an air of thick depression as she tried to scramble to her feet. With any luck her driver would still be outside, but once again, hope of reaching the outside failed as the woman found the door out of the office locked. Dread filled her body as she refused to turn around and face Visari, who was no doubt furious, about to kill her, or most likely both. Either way, Maris refused to look at him and slowly leaned her forehead up against the door, her knees quivering as she did. Slowly a shaky hand reached into her pocket and retrieved her narcotics, only for her anxiety to cause her to drop the bottle. This could not get any worse. Maris was going to die here, afraid and alone, she was sure of it.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Feb 18, 2015 20:53:56 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Feb 18, 2015 20:53:56 GMT -5
{Just a touch of liberties taken, with Val’s permission}
There was a saying, more common on the Outer Rim than the Core, that whatever could go wrong in any given series of events, would go wrong. Visari didn’t believe that, not totally — he created his own fate, after all — but the saying certainly floated through his head as the woman began to absolutely lose her mind.
A thin, curved half-bubble of shimmering blue power flickered to life in front of him as the woman reacted violently to his warning and loosed an outpouring of desperate Force energy. The shield acted much like a bulwark against a raging tide, diverting the power harmlessly around Visari, rather than blocking it with brute Force. The Epicanthix, still seated with his hands folded on the table, was unharmed, even as the painting that hung on the wall behind him tilted awkwardly to the left, then fell to the stone floor with a loud, grating crash.
Visari sighed loudly and began to stand. He took his time, seemingly unconcerned with the terrified woman’s flight as she stumbled her way out of her seat. She tumbled over his coffee table, splintering a leg and half the table itself under her foolish body in her rush to escape to the locked door. Visari casually flicked open the top of his can and removed the lightsaber hilt hidden with it.
The Kitall Construction logo blinked away as he began to walk around his desk.
Fury at this bumbling woman swelled with Visari. He dropped his masks completely, allow the full breadth of his power to spread out into office like spider webs across a tree’s branches. The anger wanted to lash wildly out and pummel the woman senseless, but that wasn’t Visari’s way. He controlled it, honed it to a sword’s edge. Visari’s anger did not run hot, like many of his Sith contemporaries. It was a cold, quiet thing.
“It is a disappointment to say that our talks will have to end before they can begin, Ms. Kitall,” Visari said, steps punctuated by cracking of the ruined table’s wood underfoot. “But I think we both know that you were never going to make it.”
Visari lifted a hand, fingers curling together as he wrapped his will around the woman’s throat. The airways began to tighten, the mounting pressure surely feeling as real to her as if he’d physically reached out and throttled her. “A broken, wretched little woman,” he said, continuing his slow approach, “sitting atop a broken, worthless little company.”
He lifted his cane, flipping his grip from the smooth, round top to the thinner, tapered end. The smooth, polished metal glinted as he abruptly kicked the woman’s drugs. Pills scattered across the floor as the bottle bounced and flipped into a distant corner.
Ice carried on his words as he gripped his cane tighter. “Most offendingly, an absolute waste of power.”
He swung the cane at the woman’s head
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Valcor
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Jul 5, 2015 21:05:56 GMT -5
Post by Valcor on Jul 5, 2015 21:05:56 GMT -5
Maris yelped as she was lifted from her feet and turned to face the fixation of her welling anxiety. Visari. His hand was raised utilizing a power she was all too familiar with to cut off her air and by extension her words, not that she had any left to save herself. As the invisible vice closed tighter and tighter around her airway, Maris let out only the soft choking sound that accompanied such anguish. Her lips parted hurriedly, gulping for air that was not to be found. Matching the attitude of her lips, so to did Maris' body lurch and flail for life, arms grasping at her neck as if something tangible where the force keeping her from breath. Her legs kicked at the wall against which she was held, every muscle in her body squirming for freedom like a trapped animal might at a snare. However, despite what her primal instincts spurred her body to do, Maris knew it would do her little good, not against the force.
When the cane closed in towards her head, Maris' eyes flew wide in terror before clenching shut as impact neared. ~"Maris! Daydreaming again I see?"~ Came the voice of an all too familiar Ithorian. "Master Formaw?" Maris spoke into the darkness that surrounded her. ~"Maris, you're a Jedi! You can't let yourself be distracted from your duty so long!"~ The voice came again out of the nothingness Maris now found herself in. "I am a Jedi no longer... I gave that up long ago." Maris croaked, her throat dry and words difficult to form. ~"You are always what you define yourself as... Title is claimed not given."~ Formaw scolded in the darkness before his presence vanished with the darkness around the woman, the office and the pain returning to her in turn.
With a deep gasp, Maris' consciousness flooded back to her, placing her upon the cold metal of the office she had once been suspended above. Blood welled up from her forehead where she had been struck, pain throbbing behind it, only slightly masked by the drugs that still pumped in her blood. This laceration was the least of the woman's worries however, as she now found herself at the feet of a clearly more pressing threat. Maris had no concept of how long she had been out of consciousness, but at the moment all that mattered to her was that she was still drawing breath, and she wished to remain that way. Rolling over onto her back in the corner in which she found herself, Maris looked up at Visari, a mixture of fear and a spark of resistance in her gaze. Despite her quick feverish breathing, Maris set her jaw, and held the sith's eyes, albeit with a frightened pair of her own. Slowly pushing herself up on the corner of the wall, Maris opened her mouth to speak once more. "Ma-Mate with a bantha." Despite her quivering tone and frightful expression, Maris knew her death was nearing by the moment, and her only hope of survival sat with the element of surprise.
Hoping her insult startled he sith even an inkling, Maris turned fully to face the small window which she lay nearby and unleashed all the force she still could wrangle control over. With her arms and power extending towards the portal, so too did a primal roar, not marred by stuttering or faltering like her previous attempts at speech. As shards of fragmented glass made way for the ethereal force pushing them outward, Maris wasted no time in following, flinging herself with all her might in attempt to avoid the man who currently embodied her worst fears. Yet despite clearing the small opening mostly unscathed, Maris was not prepared for what lay beyond. A two story drop. Once the icy claws of winter gripped her body, Maris' eyes once again flew open in horror as her fur clothed body began to tumble towards the earth beneath. Only another choked yelp was able to escape her lips before she hit the ground.
Once again a crack and a cry of pain emanated from the fallen Jedi as her bones gave way to the force of gravity and the sturdiness of chilled dirt. Quickly scrambling to her feet, the injured and desperate woman darted towards the ship yards which lay adjacent to the building she fled. Clutching her broken ribs and sputtering blood from her mouth, as well as losing more from her own forehead, Maris was in no condition to move swiftly. It was only by the burning fear of demise that she moved at all, and her narcotics still masking pain. Perhaps death was not so imminent, but it's visage was not far behind and just as furious as ever.
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