Zai
May 15th, 2009, 06:17:00 PM
Echo
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v706/LaLaBoogie/Insider_by_AngelicWatcher.jpg
A rustle could be heard. Quiet, almost at a whisper, but it could be heard. Through the hard door, thick wall, glass windows, sounded off a blip. It went in a rhythm. Blip, blip, blip, it echoed lowly for the keen ears near. There weren’t many keen here, though. Cunning maybe, definitely well-trained, but they certainly weren’t many keen. Sly folk slithered all about Coruscant. The planet was a big city, an ecumenoplis, and the shrewd were the only ones that could live lavish. This was a fact that based the Imperial Palace. Even the architecture bore this truth. Every arch on the palace’s structure was foreboding. Curved and craved so precisely it could be mistaken for a layer of daggers. Black daggers ready to cut any fool that dare stand against it. But the blips did not come from a standing man. Instead they came from a sitting one.
The room was black. Lights came from the devices. Blue, red and neon lights sprinkle the room from the panels. Each one made a hushed sound. One even hummed with life. It was circular, planted in the center of the room, made for holo-transmissions. Few calls had come into the room over the day, none in the last hour. All the transmissions were re-routed. Only a careful hand could have reprogrammed it though. And those hands were causing the blipping.
Off to the left wing of the room came the sound. The wall was fashioned with a window. Above shinned the sun, flowing through for some organic light to the room. The sun reveled in revealing this man, while the slick men in the palace couldn’t. At first it only focused on his hands. They were dark, underneath the black gloves. No one would track his prints and shouldn’t. He dressed the part well. Up his arms lay the sleeves of a reigning officer. Black and thin, the Imperial uniform held his body beautifully. It seemed fitted because it was. The spy was playing his part to the tee.
His hair was his only fault. Curly Mohawks weren’t exactly under Imperial mandate. However, ensign caps were, and it covered any sign of fault in his design. Zai, or as he was identified as John Yarnshoo, was hard at work in the databank files. Information was cycling through by the minute. His fingers were doing half the work. The other half was given to his eyes. He read through like it was a timed test.
It was.
Time wasn’t on his side that was for sure. At any moment someone could bust in. He had an alibi. He was good at explaining himself. Although that didn’t mean he wanted to. Zai wanted to get in and get out. No hiccups. Not like the other times he played dress-up as an Imperial. Another blip on the screen, and he blinked. But somewhere…between those blinks, he remembered.
He remembered when the objective wasn’t Jedi. He remembered when the mission was Zann’s. Zai remembered when he wasn’t John Yarnshoo, but Iasi, a pilot in training. Those were simpler days. The days went better, but simpler.
---
Trots repeated, and badly. The halls were cold, silver, and wide. Everybody was busy. Men stood stout, sturdy, not round. Hefty wasn’t allowed here. Heaviness was only accepted when it describe crowds. Crews adorn in black sprawl the hallways in those trots. Step after step could be heard, banking through each earlobe like an explosion. The explosions, though, they were in the distance. This was the Imperial Navy Academy, and no one laughed.
Well, except Hinsoo.
A new face and he had a big mouth. Hinsoo was good though. Good enough to even be pompous on occasions when he wanted to be. Just another face in a family line of adequate pilots was all he was though. Everybody kept their mouth shut about him, around him, too. At least, most people did. Iasi didn’t.
“Wha—y’think your better than me?” Hinsoo laughed at him. A wide toothy look marred his tubby face. Somewhere along the line Hinsoo lost weight. His face was still portly though. Red in the cheeks too, and Iasi…or Zai…or whatever didn’t like it.
A crowd had formed. A grimaced formed with it. Iasi sat, looking up. The locker room reeked. Most of it was Hinsoo. He overdid it. Sweated way too much and scowled at anyone who dare give him a look. Sometimes he’d even go over the top, be aggressive, push a weakling for covering his nose. Iasi wasn’t weak though. He looked up at him, half-dressed and twisted his lips in disgust. No words were necessary. Everything was communicated. Hinsoo didn’t even deserve being stood up to. Iasi just stayed seated and tied up his shoes.
“Oooh, can’t talk?”
Iasi snorted. Then, he cleared his throat. Grabbed up another one of his laces, and continued tying. All the others around stared. The red in Hinsoo’s face grew. A smile bolted itself along Iasi’s lips, but his eyes didn’t stray. They were still focused on tying his shoes. Already the big, bad, pilot-boy was being made into a mockery.
After a nice tug, Iasi stood. Hands slipping into his pockets, he barely gave Hinsoo side-glance. Grabbing up his bag, he yanked at the string and threw it over his shoulder. Shaking his head at dismay, he rolled his eyes, and strolled smoothly out the crowd. Small giggles could be heard, fixing the air with a hushed tension. Hinsoo stood there alone in the dispersing circle gritting his teeth. By the time he ran to the door to catch Iasi, he was gone.
In the hall of trots and talks, Iasi blended in. He was heading to the grill. Even under-cover food was a necessity.
“Stupid,” he muttered, as he kept shaking his head, walking down the path. His eyes were almost closed thinking about it. They shouldn’t been though – he almost bumped into somebody. If it wasn’t for a bit of good reflexes, he would have.
“Oooh…my bad,” he smiled. He smiled because it was a girl…
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v706/LaLaBoogie/Insider_by_AngelicWatcher.jpg
A rustle could be heard. Quiet, almost at a whisper, but it could be heard. Through the hard door, thick wall, glass windows, sounded off a blip. It went in a rhythm. Blip, blip, blip, it echoed lowly for the keen ears near. There weren’t many keen here, though. Cunning maybe, definitely well-trained, but they certainly weren’t many keen. Sly folk slithered all about Coruscant. The planet was a big city, an ecumenoplis, and the shrewd were the only ones that could live lavish. This was a fact that based the Imperial Palace. Even the architecture bore this truth. Every arch on the palace’s structure was foreboding. Curved and craved so precisely it could be mistaken for a layer of daggers. Black daggers ready to cut any fool that dare stand against it. But the blips did not come from a standing man. Instead they came from a sitting one.
The room was black. Lights came from the devices. Blue, red and neon lights sprinkle the room from the panels. Each one made a hushed sound. One even hummed with life. It was circular, planted in the center of the room, made for holo-transmissions. Few calls had come into the room over the day, none in the last hour. All the transmissions were re-routed. Only a careful hand could have reprogrammed it though. And those hands were causing the blipping.
Off to the left wing of the room came the sound. The wall was fashioned with a window. Above shinned the sun, flowing through for some organic light to the room. The sun reveled in revealing this man, while the slick men in the palace couldn’t. At first it only focused on his hands. They were dark, underneath the black gloves. No one would track his prints and shouldn’t. He dressed the part well. Up his arms lay the sleeves of a reigning officer. Black and thin, the Imperial uniform held his body beautifully. It seemed fitted because it was. The spy was playing his part to the tee.
His hair was his only fault. Curly Mohawks weren’t exactly under Imperial mandate. However, ensign caps were, and it covered any sign of fault in his design. Zai, or as he was identified as John Yarnshoo, was hard at work in the databank files. Information was cycling through by the minute. His fingers were doing half the work. The other half was given to his eyes. He read through like it was a timed test.
It was.
Time wasn’t on his side that was for sure. At any moment someone could bust in. He had an alibi. He was good at explaining himself. Although that didn’t mean he wanted to. Zai wanted to get in and get out. No hiccups. Not like the other times he played dress-up as an Imperial. Another blip on the screen, and he blinked. But somewhere…between those blinks, he remembered.
He remembered when the objective wasn’t Jedi. He remembered when the mission was Zann’s. Zai remembered when he wasn’t John Yarnshoo, but Iasi, a pilot in training. Those were simpler days. The days went better, but simpler.
---
Trots repeated, and badly. The halls were cold, silver, and wide. Everybody was busy. Men stood stout, sturdy, not round. Hefty wasn’t allowed here. Heaviness was only accepted when it describe crowds. Crews adorn in black sprawl the hallways in those trots. Step after step could be heard, banking through each earlobe like an explosion. The explosions, though, they were in the distance. This was the Imperial Navy Academy, and no one laughed.
Well, except Hinsoo.
A new face and he had a big mouth. Hinsoo was good though. Good enough to even be pompous on occasions when he wanted to be. Just another face in a family line of adequate pilots was all he was though. Everybody kept their mouth shut about him, around him, too. At least, most people did. Iasi didn’t.
“Wha—y’think your better than me?” Hinsoo laughed at him. A wide toothy look marred his tubby face. Somewhere along the line Hinsoo lost weight. His face was still portly though. Red in the cheeks too, and Iasi…or Zai…or whatever didn’t like it.
A crowd had formed. A grimaced formed with it. Iasi sat, looking up. The locker room reeked. Most of it was Hinsoo. He overdid it. Sweated way too much and scowled at anyone who dare give him a look. Sometimes he’d even go over the top, be aggressive, push a weakling for covering his nose. Iasi wasn’t weak though. He looked up at him, half-dressed and twisted his lips in disgust. No words were necessary. Everything was communicated. Hinsoo didn’t even deserve being stood up to. Iasi just stayed seated and tied up his shoes.
“Oooh, can’t talk?”
Iasi snorted. Then, he cleared his throat. Grabbed up another one of his laces, and continued tying. All the others around stared. The red in Hinsoo’s face grew. A smile bolted itself along Iasi’s lips, but his eyes didn’t stray. They were still focused on tying his shoes. Already the big, bad, pilot-boy was being made into a mockery.
After a nice tug, Iasi stood. Hands slipping into his pockets, he barely gave Hinsoo side-glance. Grabbing up his bag, he yanked at the string and threw it over his shoulder. Shaking his head at dismay, he rolled his eyes, and strolled smoothly out the crowd. Small giggles could be heard, fixing the air with a hushed tension. Hinsoo stood there alone in the dispersing circle gritting his teeth. By the time he ran to the door to catch Iasi, he was gone.
In the hall of trots and talks, Iasi blended in. He was heading to the grill. Even under-cover food was a necessity.
“Stupid,” he muttered, as he kept shaking his head, walking down the path. His eyes were almost closed thinking about it. They shouldn’t been though – he almost bumped into somebody. If it wasn’t for a bit of good reflexes, he would have.
“Oooh…my bad,” he smiled. He smiled because it was a girl…