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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 9, 2016 1:16:25 GMT -5
Cryseniah Seyda was seated in the Officer's Wardroom, one leg draped neatly over the other, slender fingers tapping neatly on her knee. Not overly impatiently. Seyda had never been the sort to twitch or bounce, not the sort for obvious nervous ticks. On the other hand she had a caf habit that would have killed lesser women and the kind of work stress normally found only in Hutt employees spending most of their time standing over trapdoors leading to unpleasant dungeons. Needless to say she was entitled to tap her fingers now and again.
As she did so, her mind recalled the entire conversation that had led to this.
Major Yalthik had been insistent he wasn't here to co-opt or probe for lack of loyalty, he wasn't present to play political games. It was the sort of claim that Seyda tended to not take very seriously. Most ISB agents liked to talk that way, as did the COMPNOR sorts. None of them meant it, and in fact most tended to specialize in pointless political drivel. Given the behaviors of her ex-husband she'd already had her fill of Imperial politics. He'd insisted though that they talk about it, in a sensible fashion. Over dinner in the Wardroom, at 1900 hours.
It was now 1917, and there'd been no sign. It was a shame as the moment had been properly prepared by the stewards. During seated meal times for senior staff, they would provide table service. It was part of a fine naval tradition summed up in the true statement that 'rank has its privileges.' Of course Seyda had been delaying in suitable modes of decorum. Namely she'd indulged in the pre-dinner cocktail, a gin fizz, and perused the menu extensively while trying to wait without directing her only eye toward the chronometer excessively.
Maybe, it occured to her, this was a powerplay. Maybe he was purposefully making her wait constantly. Maybe the man was lost yet again and couldn't locate his ass from his elbow. Or maybe still he had a mind like a sieve and was the ISB's own sort of incompetent misfit, and he'd simply been sent to the ass end of space on a wild bantha chase for the same reasons as the rest of them. Stranger things had happened, but still, they were hard to think of. The Empire was lumbering and bulky, more humorless and competent than the prior Republic. Somehow she doubted this was all a lark.
He'd be strongly obliged to explain himself over braised bruallki.
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Post by The Conman on Mar 9, 2016 1:39:40 GMT -5
Prellon was finally on his way to the Wardroom, late again, after being lost, again.
He'd been on the ship less than a day and had managed to get lost both times he'd tried to go anywhere, even though he'd downloaded what was supposed to be the ISB's schematic of the Irresistible, it was obviously about a decade and a few refits out of date. Apparently they just assumed all the Vic II's were identical and copy-pasted the schematic into all the files. So much for the vaunted ISB database of many things, he thought to himself. He walked briskly, turning the final corner, sighting the room about half way down the hallway by it's tag that stuck out into the space.
He felt terrible, he'd invited the Captain to dinner, hopefully to try to at least partially convince her he was there to help. Based on the brief he'd received, that'd be a bit of a challenge, what with the woman's ex, and his friends, and their propensity to fuck up people's lives and then have a laugh over a martini. Prellon was under no false pretenses, he knew he'd have an up-hill fight on his hands, the ISB having earned it's reputation, mainly at the point of a dagger in some poor sod's back. He just needed to convince the woman he wasn't some kind of whacko bent on airing dirty laundry and landing half the crew in black bags and deep dark holes for the rest of their lives.
The man stopped just short of the door, and pulled and tugged at his white uniform, making sure it was looking well, and then, with a deep breath, and a slow release, braced himself for the inevitable grilling she'd been working up. He was pretty sure, after checking his chrono and seeing it read 19:21, that he'd be the main course on the rotisserie. If he didn't play his cards right, the mission would be over before it began, he thought to himself, turning the corner and seeing the Captain, reading a menu, sitting at the head of the table.
Prellon put on his serious face, not entirely sure what kind of demeanor he could display with the woman.
"Evening, Captain, I'm sorry I'm late, I..ah...don't quite know my way around as well as I'd like yet." He finished with a self deprecating tone, entering the room somewhat more and putting his hands onto the back of the chair to Seyda's right.
"Ironically enough, I actually found myself in the enlisted mess, thought some of those eyeballs were going to pop out and roll around, couple of people scampered out right quick too, I think I may have caused quite a stir, actually." He finished with a chuckle.
"Mind if I sit?" He asked, gesturing to the chair he was currently grasping.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 10, 2016 23:43:08 GMT -5
Captain Seyda heard him come in. Or, more accurately, she heard the noiselessness ripple across the mess very quietly and steadily. It was the effect ISB uniforms had in a ship full of people who had legitimate concerns over the ISB. If they'd been pristine and flawless members of the Fleet they'd have been assigned elsewhere. She didn't even have to turn her head. For some reason she wasn't entirely sure, she'd placed 'patch side' toward the entry. After a moment of thought she put a finger on it. It was the starfield. She liked to have a good view of it. It wasn't her obligation to watch doors regardless.
The Major paused before her, standing with a hand on the chair and explaining he'd accidentally gone to the enlisted mess. If true, it meant that the cooks had probably been puzzled by a sharp drop in appetite and further that the Major had a horrible sense of direction. Of course it wouldn't have particularly surprised her, there was something about the way he talked that said anything but 'Empire.' He'd be an absolute shoe-in for field work, because he didn't give the vibe. There wasn't the look of a man who starched his underpants, and there was something a little too genuine. No not the tip that indicated someone was falsely genuine, but the indication someone wasn't false enough.
He asked if she minded if he sat. The question was silly enough to merit a raised eyebrow from the Captain. She wasn't about to avoid comment on that.
"It would be a rather uncomfortable meal if you plan to remain standing the entire time Major," Seyda said, not unkindly, with a slightly wry tone. "I know it's certainly easier to hold a conversation at the dinner table if both parties are actually seated."
She smiled thinly. The humor wasn't something she did too often, not right away at any rate. She had the tendency to be very reserved in command, if frequently relaxed, and to joke less frequently. The Empire'd been determined to apparently strip officers of humor and arguably personality. You got used to the chill after a while, unfortunately. Why at Anaxes War College there'd been a lot of humor, fooling around, and general character. Naval traditions were supposed to have a certain boisterous. You were away in deep space on long cruises, and you had to avert boredom. Also you had to find new experiences on arrival.
The Empire these days liked to call it 'fraternizing' and stifle it. Seyda seemed to recall such tactics being ineffective even with clones...
"Regardless, I'm glad you made it Major."
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Post by The Conman on Mar 17, 2016 0:20:34 GMT -5
"Thank-You, Ma'am." He said, sitting down in the seat and taking a quick glance out the window, filled with stars.
The view was nice, he could admit that much, the blue whirling glow of hyperspace being somewhat nauseating if stared at long enough. The fact they were still stationary, in deep space, was probably because they were waiting on his advice for where and what to do. Something he couldn't really give without the Captian's cooperation and trust. The reality was they had three ships, two of which that were slow as hell compared to the Boska, and not nearly enough TIE's to scout the space they needed to scout. They'd have to stake out oases and wait, and that meant putting ships directly in harms way.
He looked over at the captain, and relaxed back into the chair, leaning on the arm.
"Captain, I know how this all looks..." he began, looking down at the table, then back to the starfield for a beat before continuing.
"An ISB officer showing up, orders to go after some enemy you've never heard of...I want to lay any worries about my intentions to rest. " He finished, with a subtle smirk.
"I'm from a division of the ISB that mainly deals with unaligned internal military threats....Basically, smuggling cartels, pirates, CIS retirements...heh...which are still a thing, believe it or not...basically, things that are too big for local police forces to handle, too small for the Navy to be involved with, and not troublesome enough, typically, for the attention of the sector-level law enforcement. These groups are very, very good at something the Imperial military machine is very, very bad at...asymmetric, or guerrilla, warfare...." he finished, as the stewards showed up and plunked menus down and a water goblet to the right of himself and the Captain.
Prellon picked up the menu, and opened it flat on the table, glancing at it, before finishing.
"Ooh...Genuine Dantoine Bantha steaks...fanceah fanceah..." He said looking down at the menu.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 17, 2016 0:39:05 GMT -5
Seyda's eyebrow climbed upward. It wasn't that she only had one, but that the other was generally covered by the patch. What was more, the muscle over there didn't work so fully either, and she probably couldn't raise that eyebrow at all. Luckily she made great efforts at utilizing the one she possess. There was something about the Major that practically ordered the eyebrow into motion. Whatever it was, she wasn't sure whether she hated it or loved it. The way he kept drawling she was increasingly convinced she'd have to throw him in the brig or order him to join her for drinks in her quarters.
She banished that thought from her mind and instead focused on his ISB experience, which sounded either reasonably true or simply plausible.
The truth was that the Empire was indeed bad at asymmetry. The Republic Judicial Fleet, though admittedly before her Commission, had been considerably better, if only because they knew when to travel fast and when to dawdle. The Empire was always scrapping for a fight and never asking itself whether that was the right course of action. It was the classic dilemma of every problem looking like a nail when your only tool was a hammer. Force, force, force. Never any real value to showing the flag. Of course even that had changed too.
Somewhere in the corner of her mind she questioned why every new government instantly changed flags and anthems.
Seyda was silent for a moment, and before she'd broken the silence, a steward approached quite smartly, and asked for their orders.
The Captain opted for a starter salad, followed by the Nerf Wellington. Only after their orders were placed did she turn back to the Major, locking eye with him, and speak.
"Major, my only question regarding these orders is why we're to pursue a large number of nomadic Twi'leks across territory we have little controls over in the first place. How are they so dangerous as to warrant the attentions of an entire Task Force and an Imperial Star Destroyer?"
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Post by The Conman on Mar 17, 2016 1:27:35 GMT -5
Prell smirked, nodding somewhat while he worked out how to explain the "boska problem" to the Captain.
"Well, Ma'am, it's not so much what they are currently, but what they could become, should we allow their full recovery. These Twi'leks aren't like your normal, y'know, garden variety that you'd find spicing up life in the various colonies. They're hell-bent on the removal of Twi'leks, specifically, and any being generally, from slavery. Now, generally, this isn't a big deal, they're opposed to the hutts and make life difficult for them, enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that..." Prell stated, coming to the uncomfortable bit about how they were armed to the teeth, extremely competent pilots, tactically adept to the extreme, and exceedingly difficult to capture.
"The challenge, and the reason for such a level of commitment of force, is they are, or could be, should they take a dislike to us, extremely dangerous. This...ah...group...I guess you could call them, have been doing this for the better part of ten thousand years. They've survived apocalyptic wars, force users, other empires that have come and gone...They could excel at forming the core of a rebellion against this-" He paused, the steward returning with his shrimp ring, and setting it in front of him.
It was a small shrimp, made of shrimp, diving into a small bowl of shrimp.
The man chuckled, not expecting the presentation of a "shrimp ring" to be a literary one.
"This is clever..heh." he said, gesturing to the small work of aquatic art.
"Realistically, we just have to run them out of known space." Prel stated finally, picking up a shrimp and dipping it into the small bowl of red sauce that accompanied the starter, chuckling.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 17, 2016 16:51:35 GMT -5
Cryseniah Seyda wasn't someone who constantly cracked jokes or made witty comments. Nor had she been that sort in high school either. She'd never whispered little snarky comments to her fellow classmates, or passed notes mocking the substitute teacher's hair. However she had thought them. She had strong control over what she opted to say, and wasn't the type to go off on a stream of consciousness. With that said, she had numerous mental comments forming as the ISB agent talked, and her lips formed a thin, wicked little smile. That was simply because what he was saying was so very typical Empire.
A third party actor is bothering the Hutts. Bothering the Hutts is encouraged. However they'd be problematic if they were opposed to the Empire, so clearly the solution then was to attack them. Preemptively. Thus guaranteeing they'd then have plenty of animosity towards the Empire.
Somehow Seyda was beginning to think that if a cat was stuck in a tree, the Empire would burn it down in the name of rescuing the cat.
The Stewards set their appetizers before them, and her eye fixated on the appetizer he'd ordered. A shrimp, made of shrimp, diving into a bowl of shrimp. It was... Not something she saw often. Or, really, at all. As someone who'd never lived in a coastal area and had never particularly enjoyed seafood, her limit was mostly to fish. Identifiable, cooked, fish. The various scuttling things she tended to leave to other people, as such she couldn't rightly say what they even tasted like. Yet somehow the strange and excessive artistry wasn't unappreciated.
She skewered a large piece of spinach, an olive, and a little cheese, chewing it over carefully while she listened to his conclusion about the whole mission. In the end she was left with two main points she absolutely had to touch on. Never turn down the chance to mock bad judgment in a polite fashion.
"So you're telling me that the Boska might have been a danger if opposed to us, which is why took prompt action to ensure they were opposed to us?" She let a wry smile accompany that before skewering more salad, and briefly pointing the fork toward him. "Additionally your conclusion, is that the sentiments of you, or of the ISB? I somehow doubt the letter of Imperial Orders are inclined to let an enemy go in that manner."
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Post by The Conman on Mar 17, 2016 17:45:58 GMT -5
Prell chuckled at the Captains question. She'd made a valid point, but he was following orders. The higher ups wanted them gone, they'd tried once before 7 years prior and failed. His job was to interpret what "gone" meant.
"Heh, yes ma'am, I agree, we took prompt action to ensure they hate us as much as possible. It's not my idea, to be frank, I follow orders, just like you and everybody else who wears these uniforms. Do I think this is the best idea? Absolutely not. I think we should monitor them, even infiltration should have been on the table, keeping the Hutts at bay is far more valuable than letting them run amok in the areas where we have tenuous control. However, something about them is making some people with a lot more squares on their uniform than either of us uncomfortable....so...here we are, I suppose..." Prell finished, taking picking up another shrimp and dipping it into the bowl, then eating it and putting it's orange tail in a small recpticle in the bowl of shrimp.
The Captains followup question made sense, given what he'd said and the Empire's tendency to prefer final solutions. Allowing the Boska to escape into Unknown Space probably wasn't the intention of his orders, however, they did read "ascertain a final solution to this Boska problem", not "blow them out of the sky" or "arrest them and charge them with illegal whatever". The fact was that there was some wiggle room with the interpretation of his orders, and it was easier, even with the Empire, to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. They were stretched thinly as it was, though the propaganda wouldn't ever divulge such, to the point that sending ships after a bunch of nomads fleeing to the Unknown Regions was simply out of the question. That...and Prellon had a soft spot for them, they had a unique and thriving culture, they were very distinct from standard Twi'leks and even had their own language. The destruction of it would be a crime against nature the man simply couldn't commit.
He smirked at the question, taking a quick look around for any stewards before speaking.
"Ma'am, all I can say is that my orders leave what's done with the Boska open to a certain amount of interpretation...I'm to-ahem-" He cleared his throat and spoke in an official voice.
" Ascertain a final solution to this Boska problem-" He went back to his usual drawl.
" Take from that what you will...dead, run out of town, one's as good as the other, to my mind at least." He finished, eating another shrimp.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 17, 2016 19:37:25 GMT -5
Seyda paused with the fork halfway to her mouth at the exact phrasing of Major Yalthik's orders. She set it back down untouched. It was exactly that kind of language she'd heard before, first at the tail end of the Clone Wars. It had been debated then, opposed, frequently countermanded. Thankfully by the Jedi. Of course they'd been murdered, and after that few were willing to countermand these kinds of orders. Oh yes, she'd seen them since. Mercifully she'd been able to avoid personal involvement. Still she knew what it meant. They all knew what it meant.
It meant mass graves, scorched earth, and murder on an industrial scale. When orders like that were issued, planets were bombarded by orbiting fleets.
She frowned.
However there was a silver lining. Either the Major was a liar of monumental proportions, or else he was genuinely willing to skirt around it, to do something more... Morally amenable. Oh the Boska probably didn't appreciate the distinction, but she did. Very much so. Unless it was an elaborate ruse to test loyalty. Of course she could fail those tests with absolute class and consistency. She'd never made any professions to be anything but what she was, a former Republic officer who was staying completely consistent. If they arranged a firing squad at the end of it all, she could deal with that.
A stiff upper lip was issued with the rank of Captain.
"Major, you're a braver man than I thought if you take from that what you will."
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Post by The Conman on Mar 18, 2016 22:53:07 GMT -5
He smirked and chuckled, picking up a shrimp and doing a gesture similar to a toast with it before dipping it and eating it, then putting it's orange tail into the small bowl that accompanied his larger two.
He'd take a blaster bolt if it saved a people, threat or not, Prellon wasn't about to commit genocide, there were some lines he wouldn't cross, that was one. He was relieved that Seyda was pickin' up what he was layin' down, she wasn't one of the captains who just did what she was ordered to like some kind of droid. It was refreshing...
"Heh...It's mainly because I can more easily face a blaster than I can order genocide. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I removed these people from the Galaxy...they really aren't all that bad once you get to know 'em....a little nuts, but they've got a wonderfully unique and interesting culture...Don't believe the propaganda, they're not some sex-crazed jungle cult hell bent on the destruction of the hutts and infiltration of the Empire, they're regular people. They've got kids, wives, husbands, the usual, it's harder to kill someone when they aren't a monster." Prellon finished, eating a shrimp afterwards.
Truth be told, he had a certain amount of admiration for the Boska, they'd been dealt a hefty blow at Abregado-Rae, and had managed to adapt and recover in a way nobody expected, actually becoming a nimble, lean fighting force. The fact they'd managed to do so, and then start hitting the hutts again, in under 10 years, was a miracle to people "in the know" like Prellon. They'd lost nearly all their combat ships, tens of thousands of personnel, it was brutal, then, they shrugged it off in the pragmatic way they did, and started rebuilding. They were, to Prellon, a truly remarkable people.
He gestured to the bowl of shrimp.
"Want one? They're really quite nice." He suggested to the captain, nudging the bowl a bit towards her.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 19, 2016 1:23:21 GMT -5
Seyda watched his eyes with the intensity of an eagle looking into a lake for a shallow trout. This was because nobody could hide their eyes. Eyes were the weak spot in any liar, and there was absolutely no way in her opinion that anyone wearing the black-and-white uniform of the ISB could say these words with honest eyes if they didn't believe them. No, on a spy there'd be a loathing, an anger. He had the same light of an orchestra conductor talking about a favored waltz. No, he wasn't lying. What was more, she was impressed. Very.
Even if she wasn't by the offer of shrimp. She shook her head no and resumed with the salad.
After another bite, one with an olive AND a crouton, she added some of her own thoughts to the mix.
"I agree with you Major. When I entered the Anaxes War College, it was to fight the Separatists. I lost my eye in actions against droid armies. I didn't accept my commission to kill people unless there were very good reasons to do so."
They both knew what counted as very good reasons, and they didn't need to say the self-evident. Imperial reasons were rarely good. If they couldn't even look murder in the eye textually, they certainly couldn't justify it. Of course if 'final solution' didn't mean murder, then their victims probably didn't count as people. Seyda would have liked to pretend otherwise, but she'd met enough COMPNOR fanatics to know how they thought, and that this was dangerously accurate. The real question was how the Major had managed to get into the ISB.
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Post by The Conman on Mar 19, 2016 2:27:26 GMT -5
Prel nodded to the Captain, they were on the same page it seemed, though where the conversation was going he couldn't really tell. She was pretty unreadable, and he found himself unsure weather he was about to be gently interrogated over a steak with a nice Chianti. If he was, the man truly had nothing to hide, though his story was somewhat unconventional and would probably raise...an eyebrow? The man made a mental note not to mention the eye...don't talk about the eye...it's not funny, don't joke about the eye...he told himself. Eventually he'd have to get it out of his system, but the man knew there'd be a time and place for that.
The first time meeting the Captian and finding out the saw eye to eye probably wasn't the best time to bring up the eye...
Where is it? What happened to it? Does she have it in a jar? I wonder if she'd let me see it...
Questions that all ran through Prellon's head as he ate a shrimp while the Cap spoke. He was a bit sad she didn't want any, he'd grown up in a sea-side resort town, and knew good seafood. Whoever'd made the shrimp ring knew his trade...Prell would have to find out who the chef was and find out if he had any dirty laundry, help him bury it in exchange for some lobster or breaded scalops...or calamari. He wasn't quite sure what'd be a fair exchange for a calamari, though the man was sure he'd find something.
She was truly missing out.
Prellon perked up at the mention of Anaxes. The school was prestigious, more prestigious than Vensenor, that was for sure, and for good reason, the requirements and performance expectations were harder than diamond-plated differential calculus. How a grad of that sort of place wound up on a ship in the middle of the 'rim chasing down the Boska was beyond him. He'd never even met somebody who'd gone there, let alone a Captain. It was a strange feeling to him, like meeting somebody who'd been a roadie with a famous band.
He leaned back in his chair and gave a low whistle, shaking his head a bit.
"Nor did I-" He paused, backtracking a bit.
"Not that I went to Anaxes, far too prestigious for an unwashed kid like me, went to Vensenor myself, I agree, not here to end lives if I can avoid it...that and I'm a pretty bad shot, I mean I can hit things in a TIE, but gimmie a blaster and I make your average stormie look like a sharpshooter." He finished with a chuckle, picking up a shrimp and eating it.
The stormtrooper guard looked over and shook his head.
"What?" Prell asked rhetorically.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 19, 2016 23:05:36 GMT -5
Seyda only noted the presence of the stormtrooper when the Major talked about them in less then stellar terms. Truth be told she sometimes thought of them a little like furniture. Their entire job was to stand watch, to be there if needed, and to obey orders. But, now that was thinking about it, she didn't much like the idea of them inside the Ward Room. There should be privacy sometimes. What was more... She waved a hand dismissively.
"I've no idea where this idea comes from that troopers are anything but thorough in their marksmanship. I can only assume it comes from misinterpreting aimed and suppressive fire."
The Captain paused mid-gesture, and realized she probably needed some explanation for her sudden knowledge.
"Field training during the war. I was coordinating hot landing zones, command course for that involve a few ground issues."
She stabbed another leaf on her plate and mopped up the remaining bits of vegetable with precision orbital fork-strikes. She chewed what remained, and set the fork down neatly on the plate. A steward appeared from nowhere to retrieve it, and the Captain lightly touched her lips with a napkin.
Vensenor, she mused. She was familiar not at all with Arkanis, the home planet for it, but the school's actual facility. The Vensenor was star destroyer, Venator class, that had been turned into a training academy operating in the system. As far as she was concerned that was a fine education. She gave him an approving smile.
"Actually though, you'll find no finer education than Vensenor. My first posting was a Venator, the Dauntless. Flight Control Officer. The ships were a little different then. Red trim. Better depth perception."
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Post by The Conman on Mar 27, 2016 16:31:22 GMT -5
Prell smirked and nodded, as the steward came and cleared his shrimp situation, chuckling slightly at the better depth perception comment.
"Yeah, I've seen pictures of what it looked like. definitely more colourful. By the time I got there it was pretty monochromatic....Never went into the flight control tower. Sure got shouted at by whoever was in there though, didn't seem to appreciate it when I buzzed the tower." Prell explained, as the stewards showed up with his dinner.
He'd engaged in his share of shenanigans while at the academy, pissing off the LSO and FCO were two of his pasttimes while there. Zipping out of the launch bay at full throttle, or coming in and stopping just short of the back of the hangar, directly in front of the LSO, often making lewd gestures, or simply disregarding the FCOs instructions, mainly to "thread the needle" as the cadets called it, flying between the bridge and flight control towers.
After the stewards had left, his bantha steak with some sort of mashed purple vegitables, Prellon got a sideways smirk on his mouth as he pulled the cutlery out of the wrapper they'd come in.
"Ma'am, have you ever heard of threading the needle? You've served on a Venator, some of the pilots must've pulled that stunt while you were on duty?" He asked, slicing into the steak, the piece of meat perfectly seared on the outside with a blue interior, bloody as hell.
"That chef...I tell you what..." He burbled, taking a bite.
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Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Mar 27, 2016 19:32:56 GMT -5
Seyda chuckled quietly. The Empire had been bound and determined to take the color out of things, she sometimes marveled that all uniforms weren't black now. They'd kept them black for pilots, for staff officers, for stormtrooper officers. But presumably they weren't planning on making their officers indistinguishable. If they did that, well, she smirked inwardly, there'd be mass rebellion in the Officer Corps.
Of course Major Yalthik buzzing the tower also gave her a morbid sense of amusement. It probably drove the instructors mad with rage, but on the other hand he'd made it through unscathed, which was more than plenty of people would have as an experience. She'd seen TIE pilots slam into obstacles before. Usually at inopportune times. At least this way she knew he was a competent pilot.
The meals were set out before them. Seyda scarcely had eyes, well eye, for Prel's food, given the exquisite food on her plate. Perfectly lovely, pink nerf was expertly surrounded by pastry. Stacked by it were perfectly-cooked daro roots covered in herbs. Lastly there were green beans. Only after that did she glance at the steak.
She took the time to cut a piece of her wellington while she answered his query about threading the needle.
"Major when I was in that tower we had clone pilots, and their sense of humor didn't cover stunts like that. More like..." She thought back, and chuckled. "More like drawing a very provocative nude pin-up of their Jedi General on the front of an LAAT/i."
The Captain took a bite of her food and savored it appreciatively. He was absolutely right, the chef was absolutely perfect.
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