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Singing Thranta Inn <Aldera:
Alderaan>
This friendly, clean-looking inn features a well-lit bar area with
white wooden chairs and lacquered white tables, the bar being housed
in the far corner with an organic sort of curve to it. Potted plants
line the exterior walls, and a holographic fire flickers in a small
fireplace. A nook in the far wall reveals a desk, a computer, and a
lift up to the second level where the rooms are.
Darklighter steps into the Singing Thranta Inn, pausing to allow his
good eye to adjust the lower light level. The red sensor eye adjusts
automatically, possibly taking in more than just average visual
stimuli as he slowly scans the tavern. Eventually, however, he makes
his way toward one of the white tables in the bar area.
Giran Dronos sits at one of the tables closer to the entrance, a glass
of some unidentifiable and viscous blue liquid in front of him. A
datapad also sits nearby, and the completely unremarkable man reads
from it idly.
Darklighter pulls a chair back from the table with his mechanical
hand. Then, he reaches up with both his good hand and the mechanical
hand to unclasp the Imperial emblem that gleams at his collar. He
removes the cape clasped by the emblem and then drapes the black and
blue cloth garment on one of the other chairs. Then, finally, he
settles into the chair.
Giran Dronos lifts his glass with his free hand, taking a sip from it
and surreptitiously glancing at Darklighter. The way he does
this--practiced, efficient, experienced--speaks volumes about him to
those perceptive enough to notice. Giran returns his glass to his
table, expression not changing from its general disinterest in the
world.
A server droid whirs over to the Imperial agent, who quietly places an
order. The droid then whirs away.
Giran Dronos covers a yawn, glancing at a chronometer in the corner of
his datapad's screen. He seems somewhat surprised, and then finishes
off the remainder of his drink.
The droid returns with Darklighter's drink. The agent takes the drink,
but says nothing further to the droid before it departs. Darklighter
then starts quietly surveying the patrons.
The same droid whirs towards Giran's table (and presumably, his empty
glass), but the unremarkable man shoos the droid away. He produces a
datacard from a pocket, clicking it into the proper socket on the back
of his datapad.
Darklighter leans over the glass on his table. A soft beeping noise
emanates from the vicinity of his throat, and then a thin suction tube
emerges from the mouthpiece of the mask that covers half of his face.
The tube slips into the liquid, draws a small sample for testing, and
then comes a beeping tone to indicate an absence of malevolent toxins.
The tube than resumes drawing liquid to refresh the agent.
Giran Dronos's datapad flickers a bit and displays a new text, and
Giran busies himself with reading.
Into the tavern strides a gaunt-looking man in the gray uniform of
Imperial authority, his own silver and gray hair slicked back, his
mouth held in dour demeanor. He clasps his hands behind his back and
walks over to the table where the agent is sitting. "Agent Darklighter,"
the man says. The half-cybernetic man looks up at the newcomer and
inclines his head, saying, "Grand Moff."
Giran Dronos observes this with the same interest the rest of the
tavern's patrons show.
"You have done outstanding work in the name of the Empire," Grand Moff
Tarkin observes rather matter-of-factly as he looks at Darklighter.
"The ruse leading to the elimination of Obi-Wan Kenobi was quite
remarkable. Truly, you are an asset to Imperial Intelligence." The
agent puts the tips of his human and mechanical fingers together,
looking back at the Moff before saying, "I do what I can, sir." The
Moff smiles tautly, raising a slender hand as he says, "Enough
modesty, Agent Darklighter." Lowering the hand, he continues, "I have
personally requested that you be assigned to work with me aboard the
Death Star. We have reason to believe that it is likely to be a target
for insurgent terrorist attacks. Your expertise might prove
invaluable."
"I'd be honored, sir" Darklighter replies to the Grand Moff. Tarkin
nods curtly, then says, "The coordinates will be transmitted to you
within the next 72 hours. You will then take a shuttle and rendezvous
with us. Good day, Agent Darklighter." The agent stands, pushing back
the chair, and says, "Good day, Grand Moff Tarkin, sir." He watches as
the grim Imperial governor stalks away.
Giran Dronos gathers his things together, leaving a few coins on his
table. The man starts towards the door after glancing at the
chronometer on his datapad, and brushes against a human woman on her
way in, on his way out. |
