Post by lion on May 4, 2016 23:11:16 GMT -5
It wasn't quite nervousness or fear that gripped at the stomach of Fenn Soran, clutched at his innards as if attempting to tie knots in him, so much as it was the concern and doubt at their presence. Everything he had come to learn about what was ahead, the destructive nature and violent philosophy of the Sith Order said he should be scared at even the remote prospect of what was to come. Not simply unease or nervousness, as might have been common with the anxieties of a difficult task, but outright fear for his own safety; a Jedi was above the norm but far from immortal, after all.
But, it wasn't fear that perturbed the Bothan so much as it was the noted absence of fear, the lack of panic coursing through him as it had so many times before. Gone were the phantom sensations of lightsaber burns in anticipated contact, or the following numbness of a kolto pack hastily applied, seemingly gone the way of the void. No flighty second thoughts or instinctive reaching for the lightsaber waiting patiently at his hip, not even a single follicle of body fur raised in heightened alert.
No, it was the sheer lack of these things that had the young Padawan on edge. Beneath the tan robes of the Jedi Order, beneath flesh and bone that made up his being, the Bothan could almost envision the processes going on within him. There was no surge of adrenaline to kick his heartbeat up a few gears and prepare his muscles for combat, but likewise were there no sudden abundance of endorphins in his blood to bring forth a sense of confident calm in the matter, either.
It was as if straddling a line; even biological functions within the twenty-two year old seemed to simply carry on as normal as if completely stumped by the factors presented to them. Between terror and confidence, Fenn found himself akin to being within the eye of a storm; uneasy with the distinct lack of the reactions so familiar to him.
Then again, maybe it was more the environment that had the Bothan at ease, Fenn could hear himself think, as the sliding doors opened with a hiss and allowed him through. The image so often painted of the Sith within the halls of the Jedi Temple, by Knights and Padawans alike, was that of the brooding alchemist and vengeful wraith; powerfully violent figures of shadow capable of piercing even the hardest of hearts. Jedi twisted by the Dark Side of the Force, become more beast than man, deformed both mentally and physically by its corrosive influence.
A rocky cave, perhaps, may have been the more likely dwelling, rather than the rather modest decor of a hotel. Rather than jagged rocks and threatening echoes of local wildlife, an open foyer complete with a small, central fountain and humble rock pool stood before Fenn's eyes, complete with the soft chimes of completely unimportant muzak whispering its partially distorted tones through the roof-embedded speakers clearly in need of repair.
This was where a Sith lured.
To his left, opposite the water feature dominating the foyer, stood the humbly dressed Iridonian receptionist, behind a wood-topped counter. On first inspection, the rich, almost black timber appeared genuine, but as the Bothan approached, it became clear that the slab of wood was in fact plastic; an impressively rendered facsimile of the real thing. The themed seemed to continue, surprisingly, to the Iridonian male himself; dressed in a dark vest and slacks that appeared at first to be expensively tailored, only to carry the ever-so-faint signs of counterfeit synthetic materials.
The entire foyer, it seemed, had the image of wealth and class, but none of the substance. Enough business and credits coming in to afford some impressive replicas, to give the illusion they were worth more than perhaps they were, but far from the real thing. Even without the investigative knowledge and sharpened instincts of the Jedi Shadows, the Bothan was still a Jedi, and still sharp enough to pick the details when he saw them.
If he were seeking to go unnoticed, Fenn noted, this would be the perfect place. Too poor or too rich a dwelling was too conspicuous in equal measure; these trappings suggested nothing more than the lay man of the Galaxy seeking to enjoy comforts, nothing more.
Reaching into the folds of his robes to pluck the humble datapad from its confines, the Bothan approached the counter, his gaze falling swiftly onto the much taller Iridonian before him, offering a warm and cordial, if only momentary, smile. Likewise did the man return the gesture, but far less interested in civility and more in the potential business, his gesture carried all the signs of forgery.
"Fenn Soran, part of the Jedi Order. I've been led to believe someone I'm looking for is staying here, I'm hoping you can be of assistance, sir." The Bothan started, allowing himself to steady as, with a flicker of light, the datapad in his left palm flared to life. The notes of several questionings from the locals, some of whom had managed to narrow down a modest description. Between that and, with some leverage some local holocam images, the young Bothan had managed over the course of a few days to get a good idea of what he was after.
The Iridonian behind the counter, however, seemed to lose for just that brief second whatever bit of civility had been brought forth. The prospect of business, and thus some easy credits, lost, it now fell to a quick mental tussle as to whether or not to actually be of assistance. Reaching out with the Force, Fenn attempted to listen in, taking the momentary cue of indecision to be suspicious, but the hotel receptionist's mind was surprisingly strong. Iridonians, after all, were notoriously strong willed; controlling their violent biological urges all but required it.
Using the Force to pressure the man, likewise, was a dead end. That said, there was certainly no restriction on the Force's uncanny ability to detect a lie, however; even without it, the ever so slight signs of an adrenal rush in the eyes of the Iridonian pointed Fenn in the right direction, even before the first syllable left the taller man's mouth.
"Zarbo Dree. I'll try to help, sure, but I don't think you're going to find what you're after here, Jedi. Now, if it's a room you're after, I'm sure I can help." The Iridonian replied, the ever so slight tone of disdain unmissed by the long, tapered ears on either side of the Bothan's head, now firmly squared upon the clerk.
"So, nobody of this appearance? Holocam down the street has this human entering this building, with another figure. You're sure they're not here?" Fenn shot back, bringing up with three careful taps of the datapad screen the blue-tinged image of a young human male, not much younger than Fenn himself, glancing sidelong back to the street; led by a smaller figure whose face was obscured. The human male, however, had his face on display; his turned-about glance back over his shoulder bringing his face into view of the camera's focused lens.
"I don't remember seeing anybody like that, Jedi; most humans all look alike anyhow, and there's plenty staying here." Countered the Iridonian, doubling-down on his lie with much less of the hesitancy, now that he was committed to the dishonest path. The slightest twitch at the corners of the mouth betrayed him, however; amusement at potentially tricking the wisened Jedi, perhaps, got the better of him. It was just a matter of catching him up in it.
Steeling himself, Fenn allowed himself to fall back mentally, allowing his voice to harden and his heart to wall up; compassion was a tenet of the Jedi as all others, but in this instance, it was a hindrance. The Iridonian had to be pressed to panic, and a kind voice and warm heart weren't the tools with which to do the job.
"So if I were to go room to room, I wouldn't find this man here?"
"You'd be wasting your time, Jedi."
"See, I don't buy that, Zarbo. My reckoning is that you did seen this man, and that he might have slipped a few credits your way on top of his lodging with the understanding you didn't talk about it."
"That's preposterous! I'm insulted at the very notion, that you think I would take a bribe. If you're not here to book a room, I'm afraid I'm going to ha-"
"I'm not in the mood to play games, Zarbo; either you tell me where they are, now, or I report back to my superiors you're harbouring enemies of the Republic. Somehow I'm not sure a platoon of Republic infantry storming the place on the daily Holonet newsfeed will sit well with potential customers, you follow me?"
"You wouldn't...You wouldn't dare! Iridonia's independent, the Republic has no authori-"
"We're at war, Zarbo, you'd be surprised how insistent the Republic's Armed Forces can be on taking the initiative in these matters. If you're knowingly hiding agents of the enemy, I promise you they'll be looking for you just as much as them. Now, if you were co-operative, perhaps, a word or two from the Jedi and you'd-"
"All-right! All-right, I get your point, Jedi. He's on the fourth floor, room nine; he has room service deliver his meals at specific times. Nobody's seen him leave, and the clean-up staff have been told not to go there."
Yes! It took every fibre of restraint in Fenn's body not to pump his fist in celebration as the Iridonian, shoulders sagged, rolled over in metaphorical submission. Gone were the hints of cocky arrogance, now replaced by sullen, morose disappointment and resignation; his hands were tied and now, potentially, his neck on the line.
But the business wasn't done.
"I take it you've got a key for this room, Zarbo?" Fenn inquired, his voice retaining much of its steely edge, as the Bothan calmly slid the datapad back from its resting place upon the desk, tucking it away in his robe pocket once more. Never did the Jedi's gaze leave his now broken source of information; he had secured a position of authority and now dared not give it up until the Iridonian had surrendered all he had.
"Of course, we keep spares for staff just in case of accidents. Look, I'm sorry for lying, I just needed the credits; business has been slow a-" The Iridonian stammered, panicky and flighty in tone, fumbling over both his words and his actions as his hands clumsily battered into the key rack behind him, reaching blindly for the small, plastic card programmed to the correct room.
A raised, furry hand cut the Iridonian off in his tracks, as with purpose, the Bothan strode toward the turbolift tube, turning only once he had summoned it to the ground floor.
"Save it, Zarbo, you're lucky I've more important matters on my plate right now. If you want to start making up for your blatant lies, make sure nobody follows me. Level four entirely locked down; no staff, no waiters, nobody goes up there once I do. Is that clear?"
" I un-"
"Good."
But, it wasn't fear that perturbed the Bothan so much as it was the noted absence of fear, the lack of panic coursing through him as it had so many times before. Gone were the phantom sensations of lightsaber burns in anticipated contact, or the following numbness of a kolto pack hastily applied, seemingly gone the way of the void. No flighty second thoughts or instinctive reaching for the lightsaber waiting patiently at his hip, not even a single follicle of body fur raised in heightened alert.
No, it was the sheer lack of these things that had the young Padawan on edge. Beneath the tan robes of the Jedi Order, beneath flesh and bone that made up his being, the Bothan could almost envision the processes going on within him. There was no surge of adrenaline to kick his heartbeat up a few gears and prepare his muscles for combat, but likewise were there no sudden abundance of endorphins in his blood to bring forth a sense of confident calm in the matter, either.
It was as if straddling a line; even biological functions within the twenty-two year old seemed to simply carry on as normal as if completely stumped by the factors presented to them. Between terror and confidence, Fenn found himself akin to being within the eye of a storm; uneasy with the distinct lack of the reactions so familiar to him.
Then again, maybe it was more the environment that had the Bothan at ease, Fenn could hear himself think, as the sliding doors opened with a hiss and allowed him through. The image so often painted of the Sith within the halls of the Jedi Temple, by Knights and Padawans alike, was that of the brooding alchemist and vengeful wraith; powerfully violent figures of shadow capable of piercing even the hardest of hearts. Jedi twisted by the Dark Side of the Force, become more beast than man, deformed both mentally and physically by its corrosive influence.
A rocky cave, perhaps, may have been the more likely dwelling, rather than the rather modest decor of a hotel. Rather than jagged rocks and threatening echoes of local wildlife, an open foyer complete with a small, central fountain and humble rock pool stood before Fenn's eyes, complete with the soft chimes of completely unimportant muzak whispering its partially distorted tones through the roof-embedded speakers clearly in need of repair.
This was where a Sith lured.
To his left, opposite the water feature dominating the foyer, stood the humbly dressed Iridonian receptionist, behind a wood-topped counter. On first inspection, the rich, almost black timber appeared genuine, but as the Bothan approached, it became clear that the slab of wood was in fact plastic; an impressively rendered facsimile of the real thing. The themed seemed to continue, surprisingly, to the Iridonian male himself; dressed in a dark vest and slacks that appeared at first to be expensively tailored, only to carry the ever-so-faint signs of counterfeit synthetic materials.
The entire foyer, it seemed, had the image of wealth and class, but none of the substance. Enough business and credits coming in to afford some impressive replicas, to give the illusion they were worth more than perhaps they were, but far from the real thing. Even without the investigative knowledge and sharpened instincts of the Jedi Shadows, the Bothan was still a Jedi, and still sharp enough to pick the details when he saw them.
If he were seeking to go unnoticed, Fenn noted, this would be the perfect place. Too poor or too rich a dwelling was too conspicuous in equal measure; these trappings suggested nothing more than the lay man of the Galaxy seeking to enjoy comforts, nothing more.
Reaching into the folds of his robes to pluck the humble datapad from its confines, the Bothan approached the counter, his gaze falling swiftly onto the much taller Iridonian before him, offering a warm and cordial, if only momentary, smile. Likewise did the man return the gesture, but far less interested in civility and more in the potential business, his gesture carried all the signs of forgery.
"Fenn Soran, part of the Jedi Order. I've been led to believe someone I'm looking for is staying here, I'm hoping you can be of assistance, sir." The Bothan started, allowing himself to steady as, with a flicker of light, the datapad in his left palm flared to life. The notes of several questionings from the locals, some of whom had managed to narrow down a modest description. Between that and, with some leverage some local holocam images, the young Bothan had managed over the course of a few days to get a good idea of what he was after.
The Iridonian behind the counter, however, seemed to lose for just that brief second whatever bit of civility had been brought forth. The prospect of business, and thus some easy credits, lost, it now fell to a quick mental tussle as to whether or not to actually be of assistance. Reaching out with the Force, Fenn attempted to listen in, taking the momentary cue of indecision to be suspicious, but the hotel receptionist's mind was surprisingly strong. Iridonians, after all, were notoriously strong willed; controlling their violent biological urges all but required it.
Using the Force to pressure the man, likewise, was a dead end. That said, there was certainly no restriction on the Force's uncanny ability to detect a lie, however; even without it, the ever so slight signs of an adrenal rush in the eyes of the Iridonian pointed Fenn in the right direction, even before the first syllable left the taller man's mouth.
"Zarbo Dree. I'll try to help, sure, but I don't think you're going to find what you're after here, Jedi. Now, if it's a room you're after, I'm sure I can help." The Iridonian replied, the ever so slight tone of disdain unmissed by the long, tapered ears on either side of the Bothan's head, now firmly squared upon the clerk.
"So, nobody of this appearance? Holocam down the street has this human entering this building, with another figure. You're sure they're not here?" Fenn shot back, bringing up with three careful taps of the datapad screen the blue-tinged image of a young human male, not much younger than Fenn himself, glancing sidelong back to the street; led by a smaller figure whose face was obscured. The human male, however, had his face on display; his turned-about glance back over his shoulder bringing his face into view of the camera's focused lens.
"I don't remember seeing anybody like that, Jedi; most humans all look alike anyhow, and there's plenty staying here." Countered the Iridonian, doubling-down on his lie with much less of the hesitancy, now that he was committed to the dishonest path. The slightest twitch at the corners of the mouth betrayed him, however; amusement at potentially tricking the wisened Jedi, perhaps, got the better of him. It was just a matter of catching him up in it.
Steeling himself, Fenn allowed himself to fall back mentally, allowing his voice to harden and his heart to wall up; compassion was a tenet of the Jedi as all others, but in this instance, it was a hindrance. The Iridonian had to be pressed to panic, and a kind voice and warm heart weren't the tools with which to do the job.
"So if I were to go room to room, I wouldn't find this man here?"
"You'd be wasting your time, Jedi."
"See, I don't buy that, Zarbo. My reckoning is that you did seen this man, and that he might have slipped a few credits your way on top of his lodging with the understanding you didn't talk about it."
"That's preposterous! I'm insulted at the very notion, that you think I would take a bribe. If you're not here to book a room, I'm afraid I'm going to ha-"
"I'm not in the mood to play games, Zarbo; either you tell me where they are, now, or I report back to my superiors you're harbouring enemies of the Republic. Somehow I'm not sure a platoon of Republic infantry storming the place on the daily Holonet newsfeed will sit well with potential customers, you follow me?"
"You wouldn't...You wouldn't dare! Iridonia's independent, the Republic has no authori-"
"We're at war, Zarbo, you'd be surprised how insistent the Republic's Armed Forces can be on taking the initiative in these matters. If you're knowingly hiding agents of the enemy, I promise you they'll be looking for you just as much as them. Now, if you were co-operative, perhaps, a word or two from the Jedi and you'd-"
"All-right! All-right, I get your point, Jedi. He's on the fourth floor, room nine; he has room service deliver his meals at specific times. Nobody's seen him leave, and the clean-up staff have been told not to go there."
Yes! It took every fibre of restraint in Fenn's body not to pump his fist in celebration as the Iridonian, shoulders sagged, rolled over in metaphorical submission. Gone were the hints of cocky arrogance, now replaced by sullen, morose disappointment and resignation; his hands were tied and now, potentially, his neck on the line.
But the business wasn't done.
"I take it you've got a key for this room, Zarbo?" Fenn inquired, his voice retaining much of its steely edge, as the Bothan calmly slid the datapad back from its resting place upon the desk, tucking it away in his robe pocket once more. Never did the Jedi's gaze leave his now broken source of information; he had secured a position of authority and now dared not give it up until the Iridonian had surrendered all he had.
"Of course, we keep spares for staff just in case of accidents. Look, I'm sorry for lying, I just needed the credits; business has been slow a-" The Iridonian stammered, panicky and flighty in tone, fumbling over both his words and his actions as his hands clumsily battered into the key rack behind him, reaching blindly for the small, plastic card programmed to the correct room.
A raised, furry hand cut the Iridonian off in his tracks, as with purpose, the Bothan strode toward the turbolift tube, turning only once he had summoned it to the ground floor.
"Save it, Zarbo, you're lucky I've more important matters on my plate right now. If you want to start making up for your blatant lies, make sure nobody follows me. Level four entirely locked down; no staff, no waiters, nobody goes up there once I do. Is that clear?"
" I un-"
"Good."