Making New Relations (and reinvigorating an old one) (Valten, Hera)

[Cyrus Haman]

Coruscant- The Inquisitoriate Citadel

The first two days were exactly the same for the man with the shaved head: wake up with a friend of a friend who owed him a 'favor' or two, dress (taking extra time for his 'friend of a friend' who seemed to never get dressed, which was wonderful), eat, wander down to the Inquisitor's impressive looking headquarters, sit in the atrium level for about an hour (staring at a delectable Amazonian-like Imperial guarding one of the many corridors), then wander up to two other guards and ask to be let in. The mechanical response was always the same, "Not without authorization." So he'd wander back towards the atrium, oogle the Amazon again (Damn, she was a fine looking chick), then head back to his borrowed apartment for another round of 'hide the glow stick' with a girl who sure knew what she was doin' (even if that Chandrilan debator did it better...must've been those lonely nights away from her 'chosen representative'), sleep six hours, then repeat.

The third day was different. It started the same: wake up, dress, wander down the Citadel, lustfully eye the Amazon (who was starting to return his gaze), then walk up to the guards and ask to be let in. "Sir," the mechanical voice held a bit of tension this time, "The next time you ask, you'll have a tough time asking, let alone finding the place, with your head removed from your body." The other guard chuckled at the comment, then waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Fine...He left again, nodding to the Amazon chick, with her long, raven hair and voluptuous curves. But instead of heading back to his 'friend of a friend', the man waited for night fall and shift change. Then he followed said Amazon to the nearest tavern, where she and several of her fellow Imperials were downing bottles of ale and other copious amounts of alcohol.

The bald-headed man smiled a weasel-like smile, when he saw his target slide her exquisite body (too bad it was still clothed) out of its chair and walk towards the refresher. When she returned the Imperial made a stop at the bar, giving the hunter time to slide up next to her and motion the bartender. "So" He rested his cheek against his hand. "Can I buy ya a drink?"

The Amazon's beautiful brown eyes lit up as she recognized the man. "Of course. You were at the Citadel."

The man smiled, his weasel-like smile. "Yeah, trying to do some business. Won't let me in without a pass." The two accepted their drinks, the male slipping an extra few creds towards the bartender to 'keep 'em coming' (which he, thankfully, did).

"That's too bad." The Amazonian Imperial replied, a concerned look on her face. "I would help you if I could..."

"Just have a few more drinks..." He handed her another drink (this one a bit stronger than the last) and smiled again.

The rest of the night went exactly as he planned. After six more drinks, the woman was putty in his hands, willing to do anything he wanted her to do which, of course, included taking him back to her place for more 'fun and games'. When the two were done with their extracurricular activities, he felt more loose than he had in ages and took long draws from his cigarillo with extreme pleasure. Last time someone did that to me...ah drunk Imperials are so fun. Except for drunk Sith...they're even more fun. Especially the one he was looking for. But first things first. The Rat thought as he slipped from his Amazon's bed and tiptoed towards her Imperial uniform. Running his hands through her equipment, he discovered what he was looking...an Imperial pass good for getting past the two bastitches who guarded the entryway. He dropped the pass in his right boot, deciding he had enough stamina for 'one more round'. Or three.

On the fourth day, he wandered into the Citadel, a bantha-eating grin on his face. His conquest from last night, the Amazon whose voluptuousness was as large her 'appetite', wasn't working today (he'd learned that while rubbing his facial hair against her smooth, tan skin) so he didn't need to worry about embarrassing her this day. The two Imperial guards reached for their blasters, ready to fulfill their promise of beheadment, when the bald-headed man produced his pass and gave a rat-like smile. Not this time, boys.

He walked through the hallways of the Public Administration wing of the Inquisitor's Citadel, looking for any sign which might point him towards his destination. Ah hah! Fourth floor. It took him only three minutes to go up to Karl Valten's office, where a rather plain (guess being Grand Inquisitor didn't have so many benefits) secretary raised her rather plain looking eyes up to greet him.

"Yes?"

His face tweeked into a grin. "Yeah, I'm looking for Grand Inquisitor Valten." His higher-pitched voice asked.

"I'm sorry, the Grand Inquisitor isn't in right now, may I help you?"

Another grin. "I'm afraid I need to talk to him about it. Mind if I leave a message?"

The secretary nodded. "Of course, sir. Your name and your business?"

"The name's Cyrus Haman." He answered. "And I'm looking for someone."

"A lot of people are looking for someone, Mister Haman." The secretary answered, as she keyed in Haman's name on a datapad. "How can Grand Inquisitor Valten help you?"

Here we go. "Well that's just it..." Haman tried to stare at her nameplate, but was distracted. 'Least her assets weren't too bad. "I think he might know where she is and it is rather important."

"What's your bosses' name?"

"Her name's Hera. Hera DrenKast."

[Hera]

Bullseye.

Again.

It was the fifth in a row, and Hera couldn't help a small smile as she walked the length of her stateroom to pull the darts from the board.

"Your average is improving with practice" IMP was doing his infernal hovering again. "You make good progress"

Hera looked sharply at the droid's last remark, holding for a moment to determine if there was some alterior meaning in the subtext. It didn't really matter if there were, she supposed, moving back to her standing position against the wall and lining up for another throw. Some things she just had no power over, like the slippery mind of Helghast semi-embodied in the hovering orb, who remained her constant companion.

True enough, the Imperials had markedly relaxed their restrictions on her since her recent antics in the cafe and her subsequent confinement in the aftermath. An understanding had atlast been reached - What was the point of such stringent lock down on her? Where was she going to run off to? And why would she even want to try? She could do no harm, or no real harm, anyway. They all had agreed on that.

And so, here she was - Still with IMP watching her all the time, but able to enjoy more freedom of the citadel, (all authorized areas of course) but without the obvious stigma of a prisoner. The Imperial personal still had a long way to go before they were 'friendly' - most still tended to give her wide steerage, preferring to avoid her company than endure it. The day she made a real friend would probably never come, and Hera was quite ammenable to that. Put simply, most of those she encountered at all really just didn't know what to do with her, or her with them. She largely preferred to kill the majority of those she interacted with.

She tossed the dart and it landed a 30.

The IMP observed but made no remark.

Hera threw again, hitting a 10 and another 30.

Another ten.

She turned a blank face to IMP. "Guess if I plan to beat Grand Inquisitor Valten at this one day, I need more practice"

Inwardly she smiled. Hera had no vested interest in whether she scored a bullseye or not, whether she got a high score, or low. What mattered was that the dart landed where she'd aimed. That it went to the exact spot she had directed it to. To the exact spot she had sent it. Directed by the Force.

[Hera]

The Force.

Such a small name for so great a thing.

It had been the root of many greedy ambitions, fascilitating great deeds both evil and good. Terrible things had been done in its name, things just and unjust. Worlds had been set to war over it. Families too. Brother against brother, father against son. Friend against friend. Yet, it wasn't really the Force at all that should be blamed. The blame came from the power that attended the mastering of its mysteries and those who imposed their will through it. The Force was not evil of itself. Or good, for that matter. Though the Imperials would have us believe it, the Nightmares especially, with their hunting and torturing of adepts, attempting to obliterate such users into extinction. They were more wrong than anyone. Hera found it odd that they did not see that. Of course, they probably did, but it suited their purpose to propigate such an idea. How could they effectively remove a threat if there was no threat perceived. The great Empire must protect the galaxy, mustn't it?

Hera examined the dart in her hand. A simple tool - in one hand an object of play, or contest. In another hand, a lethal weapon. Too bad there was no one around who might appreciate her simple analogy. With a sigh, she threw the dart, studding the bullseye circle once again.

The Force.

Such a small word to bring such great fear.



Dark manipulations by dark-minded individuals were something definitely to be afraid of. In the hands of a Master, the Force could invade and even usurp a mans' purpose - overtaking his thoughts and intentions, leading him in a way he would not formerly go. Hera thought of the Grand Inquisitor, as she did so often these days. Only the power of a skilled Master might manipulate such a strong mind like Valten's, and even then, success would be nearly impossible to achieve. The Force had been hidden from her for so long. She had been barren of such ability for so many years now. She knew this. But in her former days, what a force she had been. And with the recent tantalizing return of aspects of her ability, the taste of hope and possibility of what she might eventually accomplish, consumes her thoughts at every turn. What she needed was practice. She eyed the dart board, suddenly dissatisfied with her meagre accomplishment so far. This achievement was nothing compared with her ambition, compared to what, in her heart, she knew she was ultimately capable of. She needed practice, and to practice, she needed a living lab-rat to work on. "I think I'll take a walk before dinner IMP" she said to the Orb as she bent to sweep up her jacket from where it had been tossed over a chair. "Bit of air will be just what the doctor ordered"

The Force.

Such a small name.

For so great a thing.

[Cyrus Haman]

"Hold on a second please, Mister Haman." The receptionist stated, as she tapped a few buttons on her computer.

Haman grinned. "You can call me Cyrus..." he stared at her nametag (which was placed in just the right spot) "...Lydia. Nice name."

'Lydia's' expression said she hadn't heard that before. "I'll be sure to thank my parents." She did have to admit, the bald-headed man was cute in his own weird way. Even if he stared..."Let me go see if Inquisitor Valten is in." She rose from her desk, feeling the smuggler's eyes on her backside and hurried into the office. Lydia wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

The Grand Inquisitor wasn't in this office, of course, but she still had director communications with him. "Sorry to disturb you, sir. But there's a Grey 47 outside of your office."

[Karl Valten]

The sound dampening fields of the office kept Mr. Haman from hearing anything of the conversation inside. Though it was only a few minutes before Lydia hurried back out of the office.

“If you could take a seat Mister Ham….Cyrus…, it should only take a few moments.”

The speed of such a reply was a bit surprising, or perhaps not, but Lydia was more than intelligent enough not to start asking questions that could be dangerous. It was simple as picking up the comm. for the next call and forgetting about the man named Cyrus Haman. Pity too, she liked him in an odd way.

Of course that’s when a nearby door plainly marked Employees Only burst open and disgorged an energetic man in a black uniform. His hair was unusually long for an officer, black and flowing to his shoulders framing an immaculate face decorated by mustache and goatee and a smile to make even the most uptight woman swoon.

“Ah, Cyrus. Good to see you, good to see you indeed!” The man crossed the distance to Haman in less than the blink of an eye, fastening the poor man’s hand in an very animated shake. “We’ve been expecting you we have.”

The man, agent, whoever the hell could tell, he didn’t even wear any rank insignia or name tag, but Haman didn’t even have time to dwell on that before being hauled to his feet and a hearty slap on his back.

“Agent Crestmere at you service….no no no, please call me Victor. Formalities are always a pain aren’t they?” Victor, as he was apparently called, steered Cyrus straight towards the door that had just disgorge the handsome and quite possibly mad, Victor Crestmere.

[Hera]

The turbolift carried her to the ground level with ridiculous speed, but within the confines of the elevator, the journey itself was imperceptible. It was as if the cubicle was standing still on the spot, the lift doors closing on one level, only to open miraculously on another with no aparent motion whatever, such was the precision of the lifts' mechanism and the smoothness of transition from one level to the next. Like so much of what the Empire did, it moved with such finesse and order, that one needed to look very closely to realise that it was always marching powerfully and overwhelmingly forward towards its goals.

Hera was far removed from the loop of internal dynamics within the Empire, despite her relatively close association with the Grand Inquisitor and his Nightmares. She remained ignorant of their true agenda's and current objectives, insulated as she was within the confines of the Imperium. She was journeying through the system, oblivious and as ineffectual as riding in the turbolift.

It all seemed like such a waste to her. But nothing would change until she made it change, and that could not happen until she changed. Hera exited throught the Citadel main entrance hall in order to get to the open courtyard. Barely a head turned her way, or a comment passed regarding her presence as she passed. Most pretended not to see her, or got busy off in the other direction. Those who did steal a glance her way, she ignored.

Stepping into the cool of the afternoon, Hera felt the immediate relief of mind that comes from being in the fresh air after so long cooped up indoors, and her thoughts turned back to her dilema.

She had to make some changes. She was tired of being of no account, of being a non-factor - what a horrible indictment.
A non-factor.
The thought made her angry. It was definitely time to make some changes.

Hera strolled the courtyard, completely unappreciative of the rare botanical specimens displayed in such abundance around her. Her focus, as so often was the case, was completely on herself and how she could change her situation.

[Cyrus Haman]

"So." Haman started, as Crestmere literally pulled him down a darkened hall and towards a door far away from where they were. "Where are you taking me?"

Crestmere's reply was more semi-psychotic babble, something Haman could barely understand. The Inquisitor, or whatever he was, would first say "To a meeting." Then say, "Guest quarters." Then say, "no no, a meeting." It was hard to follow, which was strange, since Haman'd once charmed the pants off of a professional psychiatrist. And those gals were supposed to be trained.

They reached the end of the long hallway and the smuggler pressed his feet into the plushed carpet, trying to slow their walk. He forced his rat-like smile, "So how long have you been an Inquisitor? It get good 'benefits'?" He winked as if to say, 'If you know what I mean'.

[Hera]

IMP had accompanied her in the turbo-lift, but had turned over its guard duties to two soldiers who loitered close to Hera, but allowed enough distance for her to breath - one of the benefits of her hissy fit of some months previous. A little ruckus for a little attention had been the order of the day. Funny how a poke with a sharp stick could sometimes get results.

Hera took a seat on a low retainer wall that encircled an ambitious presentation of Nabooan foilage, carefully monitored by temperatic sensors to keep idyllic conditions for the specimens to thrive.

Idyllic conditions. For some things they were an absolute necessity. Others, not so much. Things like choke-weed could grow anywhere and anytime, despite all odds. Hera would, herself, have to be much like that, and thrive in less than perfect environment.

She turned a curious eye onto her assigned watchers, who were speaking softly to themselves. A visitor? Is that where the droid had gone..? The Sith strained to hear, but her attention had been noticed and the soldiers fell silent.

Who would possibly come to see her? Who would be that stupid?

[Victor Crestmere]

"So how long have you been an Inquisitor? It get good 'benefits'?"

If there was one thing Victor disliked more than anything it was being caught of guard. He was a perfectionist. He liked order and he liked knowing that he controlled all the pieces. This, person, had come into his home and threw them all for a loop. No one was suppose to know about Hera being here or so Crestmere thought, and the fact that this man came into the Inquisitoriate HQ and asked for her by name just left them all flabbergasted. Hence Victor's irrational behavior.

Finally entering what looked like a small conference room, Victor showed Cyrus to a chair and once the man was seated, Crestmere looked down at the man as he himself sat on the edge of the table with a nice forced smile. Composing himself and running his hands through his hair, making sure it wasn‘t a mess, Victor cleared his throat and spoke but instead of Victor's voice coming out, it was Cyrus' own voice that was talking to him now. Only from a better dressed, more handsome individual.

"I believe you meant to say, “Does the job have good benefits?” and you have no idea just how good the benefits are my friend. I don't believe we have been properly introduced. " Victor said as he cleared his voice again and extended a gloved hand. This time, it was Victor‘s voice or at least the voice he choose to use for the time being. "The name is Victor Crestmere. Lieutenant Crestmere to you before you go thinking this is an informal meeting. So now, tell me what you are doing here and what your connection is to Darth Hera."

[Cyrus Haman]

Crestmere's imitation of the smuggler's voice, threw him off a tick. But he reestablished himself pretty quickly. Inquisitors had a reputation they had to keep. And so did he.

A smile came to his face when Crestmere called Hera 'Darth'. Haman had his own little pet name for her (mostly he just used the word 'god' when around her (and she vice versa), but that was a different thing all together). "I did some work for her just before she disappeared. We got to know each other..." He gave a rat-like smile. "Really well."

[Victor Crestmere]

Crestmere raised an eyebrow when he saw Cyrus' expression change at the mention of Darth Hera's name. Curious. He thought. He'd have to come back to that later when things were more on his terms...

"Work you say? Then please, elaborate my friend. I am so very interested in knowing her previous doings before joining us here. What planet? What was the nature of the job? And you say you know each other 'really well', yes? On a personal level or professional? Please, spare no detail."

Cracking a smile at Cyrus, Victor say patiently awaiting his answers.

[Hera]

Hera barely graced Lydia with any acknowledgement that the woman was there, or that she warrented the Sith's attention in any degree at all.

"You cant go in there!" Lydia protested, rising from her chair, yet not willing to intervene further to halt Hera's advance upon the Inquisitor's office. Lydia looked pleadingly over to the two guards for help, but they had halted in the corridor, unwilling to broach Valten's inner sanctum without summons, even for as good a reason as keeping tail on the Sith.

Hera stopped just short of walking into the closed door. "Open it" Hera commanded, but Lydia glared at her obstinately. The Sith rounded on the secretary, who visibly shrank into her starched grey shirt. "Open it, now" she repeated.

"He's not there" Lydia trilled, trying but not quite managing to sound fearless.

Hera leaned closer, intimidation oozing from every pore and said in a low, impatient tone, "Then where is he?"

[Cyrus Haman]

"It was all over." Haman replied, getting a rat-like grin on his face. Talking about his prowess was something he always enjoyed. "We went from Kuat to Dosh to Nar Shaddaa (although she didn't like Nar Shaddaa that much) to Corellia. Smuggling, trying out different hotel beds, and..." He gave a knowing smile. "Other things.

"When I say we were close." The rat-like smile got even bigger. "I mean we were really close. See these scars?" He pointed to two scars near the base of his neck. "Hickies. That never went away." The rat chuckled. "That's what I mean by close."

[Victor Crestmere]

"How...anti-climatic" Victor said as a frown stretched across his face. His hopes had been that the loose lipped, rat faced individual in front of him would have spilled the beans, so to speak, about his past, Hera's past, and whatever had happened along the way, but to his dismay, he received the edited version instead or so it would seem.

It was never that easy.

"I see. Well this is how it going to go from here on..." Standing, Victor waved his hand and out of nowhere, two doors opened seamlessly from the walls and from each door sprang three guards, six in all, each decked out in crimson and ebony armor complete with C-14 Gauss Rifles. With weapons drawn and aimed towards Cyrus, Victor raised his hand and said, "I have things to do and as far as I'm concerned, you are trespassing. You are to be taken to a holding cell where you will be processed and then interrogated on whatever subject matter I can think of and trust me, I do have a very vivid imagination. You will remain there until Grand Inquisitor Valten comes for you. Now, all I need do is drop my hand and before it even reaches my side, you will be dead. I don’t want that, the Grand Inquisitor does not want that, and I’m sure you don’t want that. So, the choice is yours. Choose wisely.”

Truth of the matter was, Victor didn’t like the fact that he was at the mercy of Cyrus and not the other way around. That irritated him severely… and whether the man knew it or not, he held information that the INQ had been after for quiet some time. Hera’s past had become the topic of many conversations. From the time of her capture by Project Nightmare up until recent events, her past has remained an enigma. It was time Valten and the rest of INQ had the final pieces to that puzzle…

[Hera]

The secretary shrank within herself, her neck almost completely disapearing below the starched edge of her collar, but to her credit, she still held her ground.

It was clear to Hera that Lydia the secretary feared Valten and his Inquisitoriate much more than the Sith, and was fully prepared to die by Hera's hand rather than live to face her boss's wrath.

Just another reminder of how far Hera had fallen. She couldnt even intimidate a flunky into submission.

Fine. She'd have to look herself.

Hera reached forward, gripping Lydia by what she could find of her throat and pressing her thumb against the woman's trachea, applied just enough pressure to drop the secretary into unconsciousness. Taking up position in her vacated chair, Hera then began scrolling through the desk screens in search of Valten's whereabouts.

Easier said than done. Everything was code-crypted or password accessed and the keeper of the keys was passed out on the carpet with a little drool pooling by her mouth. Hera swept the desk organizer to the floor in annoyance, scattering pens and pencils to the wind and slumped back irritably in the chair. It reclined, which was nice. Lydia had such a cushy job.

Across from her, the soldiers had their weapons trained on her waiting until she went too far over the line, compelling them to shoot. Just another reminder of the fear of Valten holding everyone in check. Then, behind them, six crimson guards with black armour and C-14 Gauss rifles passed the office entrance, jogging down the hallway with tactical orderliness and purpose in response to Crestmere's summons. All of whom had disappeared from sight by the time Hera roused herself from the recliner chair and got into the corridor to look.

She'd found the visitor. Sort of. And moved cautiously in the same direction the guards had gone, listening carefully for noises or voices, so that she could follow.