An Exercise in Tolerance

[Imogen Rhysode]

Normally, noon would be considered an unappropriate time for exercise, but given the lack of action around the Demici estate, Imogen decided to traverse into the lush gardens where a pool was to be found - the perfect refreshment in hot Saffian days that marked most of the year on this equatorial part of Serenno. At times like these, the Echani missed the damp and drowsy weather of Corellia much, not being quite comfortable exchanging it for this everlasting summer. Fortunately, the water was substantially colder than the warm ocean bewailing the shores just a few hundred meters away.

Chills were sent down her spine when the fair-haired woman plummeted into the waters of the pool with a loud splash. The sensation induced had relieved her of stress that accumulated over the past few days, the said frustration mostly stemming out of the arrival of a certain Imperial. She could not help but to mull over his words, gloat and relish over her own verbal triumph and the fact she managed to peel of his mask and maim some aggression out of him. On the other hand, she was deeply hurt by his words, mostly because she knew they were the truth. However, their lack of communication over the past few days began to worry her greatly; perhaps he was growing suspicious of her?

''He's read right through you, Rhysode.'' commander cerebrated whilst diving, scooping water to the side to advance towards the far end of the pool. When her hand touched the tiles, she had already used up all of the air in her lungs; a splash marked her ascent towards the surface, her mouth opening to draw in the much needed oxygen.

[Elias Akasha]

"Go relax," the Ambassador had said; ordered, even.

Elias had been summoned by Rübezhal to breakfast on the ocean-facing veranda - too large to be considered merely a balcony - that extended from the spacious and airy luxury of the chambers that the Demici's had provided for him. Given the assessment of Ceto's personality that he had made thus far, it wouldn't have surprised him if the Ambassador was merely attempting to show off the greater lushness afforded in his quarters as compared to those Elias had been given for the duration of his stay, but then again it did make a certain amount of sense to have their private discussions outside, where any surveillance equipment could be easily thwarted by the sound of the sea, the open air, and the handful of technological gizmos and contraptions that Elias was able to smuggle about his person without arousing suspicion.

The Agent was careful not to reveal too many of the specifics of his encounter with Rhysode the previous night; from what he did convey to the Ambassador however, Ceto seemed satisfied. Elias didn't press for details in his own attempts at diplomacy, but didn't doubt for a second that the Ambassador had made considerably more progress than he. Even so, Rübezhal had instructed him to take a day or so to explore his surroundings, and come to terms with the benefits of this assignment; he'd suggested that Elias view it as reconnaissance of the Demici estate, or as an attempt to better establish his cover, and integrate himself with the locals to ease his completion of the additional, undisclosed responsibilities that Elias had been assigned by the Empress. No doubt the Ambassador suspected - rightly so - that he was the target of some of those instructions, but his suggestion did at least make a certain amount of sense.

However, compliance with the Ambassador's effective order did raise some interesting issues; namely that it had been so long since Elias allowed himself to truely relax that he had forgotten how to invest his free time. If memory served, the last recreational activity he had engaged in had been on Doldur, when he'd made arrangements to fly a patrol with one of the TIE Fighter units, thus retaining his flight status; hardly rest and relaxation.

He had decided to settle for familiar territory, and had engaged in an inspection of the well-appointed gymnasium that the Demici family had provided for its security staff. After an extensive investigation of various items of equipment, he had concluded that everything was functioning in an acceptable manner, and had managed to work away a good many of his concerns and stray thoughts, allowing them to sweat out of his pores as he exercised.

One of the staff that had also been present had suggested a secluded pool out in the gardens that, at this time of day, was likely to be unoccupied. So, the majority of his clothing abandoned at the gym - conveyed to the laundry by said helpful employee, with the promise that they would be returned to his quarters later - Elias had set off in the indicated direction, navigating his way through the labyrinth of gardens.

He had - eventually - discovered his destination, but a critical feature was not as advertised. Given their conversation the night before, Elias didn't doubt that the distinctive silver and water-slicked hair, and the impossibly tall and curvatious physique that slipped effortlessly through the water belonged to Rhysode; the Echani woman who he had hoped to avoid for as long as was humanly - or non-humanly - possible.

A swell of emotion urged him to flee, but his head refused to comply. At least an amicable relationship with his Serenno counterpart would be necessary in order to serve the Empress as instructed; maybe the temperature-controlled waters of the pool would be the ideal location to cool the elevated emotions from the night before.

"Hi," he said simply.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Imogen lifted her head above the surface of the water, glaring above to the male figure that towered over her. Her iridescent silver eyes shone in the shadow cast by his burly physique; her gaze travelled up the well-defined musculature of his sculpted torso to settle on his face. Tiny droplets of water trickled over her face and back to the pool, wet hair slicked backwards only to accentuate the arching of her brow in bewilderment.

''What the fuck is he doing here?'' she questioned herself mentally, whilst firmly gripping the edge of the pool. If he firmly believed in the notions he offered the night before, Akasha would act wise if he were to stay away from her. Unfortunately, their inherent collaboration required for them to develop at least some sort of a frustration-free acquaintance for the sake of technicalities. Imogen was unsure if this was possible, given last night's argument and her subsequent emotional breakdown that ensued. However, nothing on her face disclosed the anguish he had caused, but deep inside, she was burning up, wishing she could punch him right in the face. Even if she allowed herself to act upon this whim, there would be little use of it. The implication of his words would still be valid.

For the briefest of moments, Imogen just stared at him, before elevating herself out of the water, immensely straining the muscles on her arms to finally sit at the edge of the pool. Readjusting the chestpiece edges of her black swimming suit (http://cn1.kaboodle.com/hi/img/c/0/0/4a/6/AAAADNOPZ78AAAAAAEpkeQ.jpg), the commander looked away from the agent, feet still dangling in water.

''What are you doing here?'' the Echani inquired, a feeble, almost disappointed sigh following her words.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias shrugged. "I was planning on swimming."

He looked around himself awkwardly, wondering how he might strike a more casual pose than his usual ramrod-straight stance. He tried a crouch, but found himself hampered by the sandles he'd elected to wear, and was forced to place a hand on the ground and lever himself gently onto the poolside; a respectful distance from where Rhysode sat, of course.

Hooking his knees over the rim of the pool, and letting his heels rest against a convenient protrusion just above the waterline, once again his eyes were drawn to the luxurious curves of the Echani's physique; memory still burning from her accusations the night before, he ripped his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on the ripples and waves that slowly danced their way across the surface of the water.

He grabbed at the corner of the towel casually tossed over his shoulder, and ran the gently abrasive cloth over his face. "I wasn't -" His brow tugged into a frown; his features fought back with a wince, striking some kind of balance in between; his lips added an embarassed smile as he finally allowed his eyes to stray in her direction again. "I wasn't looking for you on purpose, but I'm glad I found you. I -"

His eyes fell away again; fingers laced together as his arms rested on his knees, idling for something to do. "What I said last night was completely out of line. I owe you an appology."

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Well that's something I find hard to believe, agent Akasha.'' she responded in an almost patronizing tone, tossing loose strands of wet hair away from her face.
''Out of eleven thousand square feet of the Demici estate, you managed to find me somehow. If you hadn't said otherwise yesterday, I would start thinking you like me, Elias.'' With her sentence finished in jest, the Echani threw a small smile in the mix to completely startle him if he was expecting a grim, agitated welcome from her.
He was cultured enough to apologize first, notably swallowing his pride; it was not a frequent trait with the Imperials, this sympathetic humility. Imogen was not going to mock him for it; even an individual with such a difficult personality as herself appreciated when somebody admitted they did a mistake. However, she was not going to let him expiate for it. Not for long anyway.

''About last night... There's nothing you should apologize for. Everything you said is true. I haven't been a very good person since I left Corellia. I had no reason to be. I'm sorry I pushed you to say it...so yes, it's really my fault.'' the fair-haired woman stated, lips thinning into a line.
''Wow, an apology, Rhysode! You're growing soft!'' an inner voice sounded at the back of her head, the voice of hate towards everything Imperial that brooded in the depths of her mind. For the time being, she silenced it.
''I hope we can put this behind us for the sake of our future endeavours.'' Imogen added, then elevated herself off the edge and leaped into the water. After a short dive she used to swim through the distance that separated them, Imogen re-emerged right before him.
''Friends?'' she asked simply and then extended her hand towards him for a handshake, a mischievous grin curving her full lips. There was intention in those silver irises, as mystical as was her half-grin. Elias would soon find out, provided he returned her gesture.

[Elias Akasha]

A matching smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Just as long as my boss doesn't find out that I'm consorting with a non-human," he quipped back, letting the expression blossom a little more as he gripped her hand. He found himself ensnared by her eyes; utterly captivated by the shining mystery they presented. Her words replayed in his mind: I would start thinking you like -

The thought never got the opportunity to finish, as an unexpectedly strong tug on his captured arm upset his balance, and sent him crashing into the rippling surface of the pool. Stunned by the sudden rush of motion, and the impact of cool water against his skin, he made the mistake of gasping; by the time his feet managed to find purchase on the bottom, he'd managed to lose a sandle, and was busy coughing the mouthful of water out of his lungs. His hands slicked the water out of his eyes and back through his hair; when his vision managed to return, he twisted his gaze towards Rhysode with a look of disbelief.

A laugh and one last cough escaped him at the same time. Beneath the water, his feet kicked off the one solitary sandle; his hands meanwhile lanced out and snared his floating towel. "That was mature," he muttered, with a mock sigh of frustration.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Reverberant laughter left Imogen's lips when Akasha hit the water with a large splash. For a moment, she grew worried over his hobbling but her smile returned when his head finally emerged above the surface.

''What, you forgot to have fun whilst training at the Imperial academy?'' she taunted, tapping her palm to produce small splashes directed at him. Surely, her gesture was childish and immature, but it was priceless to see him fall for such a cheap trick, especially given his stiffness and military posture he tried to exercise even in such a casual atmosphere.

''First you complain I am a wench, now you say I am immature... But yeah...you're right. On both accounts.'' she smirked, letting herself float on the surface of the water. Frail rivulets skid from side to side of her flat stomach as she applied a backstroke to swim away from him.
''I like your swimwear. But I'm disappointed. I thought all of your underwear had Imperial insignia on it. Glow in the dark ones. So rank would be known even when the lights are out.'' she remarked in an almost enticing tone whilst ceasing to stroke backwards, setting herself afloat in the middle of the pool.

[Elias Akasha]

"These are my undercover shorts," he countered, folding his arms defensively across his chest, but there was still a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Truth be told, he had forgotten how to have fun. Many a collegue had suggested he learn to lighten up over the past few years; apparently, Commander Rhysode wasn't planning on giving him an option.

He nodded his head vaguely in her direction. "I hope the shop you bought that swimsuit from gave you a discount," he teased, fighting down a childish grin. "Looks like they short-changed you a little; half the fabric is missing."

Having drawn the attention of their conversation to her attire, Elias' efforts to avoid staring at Imogen ultimately crumbled into failure. The swathe of black fabric that wrapped around her barely qualified as more than a bikini, save for the few extra inches of material that bound the two piece into a single item, hugging Imogen's curves like a shadow. The ensemble left very little to the imagination, and Elias' imagination was enthusiastically leaping to complete such a simple task.

The force with which he dragged his focus away was almost painful. "I'll have you know," he willed his voice into uttering, his vision finally climbing its way back towards her eyes, "That back on Carida I was considered quite the life and soul of the party."

[Imogen Rhysode]

Slowly but surely, Rhysode swam to the edge of the pool. She had been in water for over half an hour; in exchange, she now craved the warmth of sunlight over the chill of the water. Akasha's response amused her greatly - their exchange of taunts was bordering flirtation and for some insane reason, Imogen liked it.

The part of her brain that usually propagated sensibility was completely silenced, not warning her she was near an Imperial any more. He seemed way more relaxed then before; it suited him better than the stiffness and austerity of the Imperial breed, a smile complementing those angular features of his face far more than a scowl he produced the evening before.

His last comment made her quirk a silver brow when her hands reached for the metal ladder that lead out of the pool.
''I don't believe you. You'd have to show me that sometime.'' Imogen replied and pulled herself out of the water to stand on the edge of the pool, water meandering down her skin under the influence of gravity. Tiny droplets sparkled like jewels scattered over velvet skin, only to evaporate under the sizzling radiance of the noon sun.
''But only if it includes abnormal amounts of expensive alcohol.'' she added and bit her lower lip whilst letting her right hand rest on her waist.

[Elias Akasha]

It took the reverberating clunk inside his head as his jaw snapped shut for Elias to realise it had been hanging open. Inappropriate thoughts surged through his imagination, and it took all of his composure to hold them at bay. The playful invitation to a less formal encounter held an intoxicating allure; and the way the mosture and sunlight danced across her skin made him feel somewhat relieved that he was still mostly submerged.

"Abnormal amouts of expensive alcohol," he said, finally finding his voice again, and flashing Imogen a grin. "Just happen to be a prerequisite."

Killing his smile, he descended rapidly through the water, and kicked off with a single, powerful and fluid motion. His body moved swiftly while submerged, performing a lazy corkscrew as he crossed the several meters of distance to the edge where Imogen had arranged herself like a waiting siren. He eventually surfaced, still a respectful few feet away, and planted his feet against the bottom of the pool, elevating himself so that his eyes were only a few inches lower than hers. His smile returned with a vengance. "I'm also pretty talented in the -"

Don't say bedroom. Don't say bedroom. Don't say -

"- kitchen," he finished, his smile wavering slightly, falling lopsided. "Maybe I can show you that sometime as well?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Oh are you?'' she replied within her mind, canting her head to the side with lips parted in amusement. For all she knew, this was an open invitation to a date, served by a well-trained Imperial officer - a chance to gather information no Alliance agent could afford to miss. She was attracted to him like a moth was to a lightbulb; if he requested her company with absolutely no reluctance evident in his tone, he must have had some interest in her Imogen could use against him. However, she scolded herself for thinking is such a calculated way; not even an Imperial deserved to be toyed with.

Imogen turned him his back and leaned over to pick up the towel she left by the pool, gently rubbing it against her face to remove excess moisture. It bought her a few moments to decide whether she indulge him and let him flaunt his culinary skills in front of her.
''It's a date.'' she voiced finally, briefly glancing in the general direction of the pool ''I'll be there at nine. I usually dine late.''
With that being said, the Echani made her way back inside, shooting him another look over her shoulder before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

[Elias Akasha]

Its a date.

The words twisted a knot in Elias' stomach. He had hoped his invitation was more subtly masked than that. Perhaps Imogen's words had merely been a turn of phrase, and he was simply reading into her words too much. He had convinced himself that it was merely a diplomatic gesture, either intended to make amends for his faux pais the night before, or in the interests of simply smoothing their cooperation and friendship. But when phrased in such a blunt and unveilled way, Elias couldn't help the swell of nerves.

He watched her leave without masking his observation; she glanced back, but didn't seem peturbed. Mentally, he chastised himself for making such an impulsive offer, justifiable as it was as a purely business affair if the Ambassador or the Empress should enquire. As Imogen finally disappeared from sight, he plunged himself down into the cooled water of the pool, lingering there within the blissful sensory deprevation that submersion provided, allowing his thoughts to reform with new clarity.

As he surfaced, new resolve formed on his face. "I need ingredients," he announced, to no one in particular.

* * *

One of the difficulties of being so married to one's career was the detrimental effect it had on one's wardrobe. Though Rhysode's earlier comment had presumably been in mere jest, in truth there were very few items of clothing that Elias owned - or at least, had brought with him - that didn't sport an Imperial emblem somewhere or other, even if it was only on the label. His tall and broad frame didn't provide much hope for borrowed attire, either. Fortunately, a covert visit to the laundry had yielded an unremarkable plain white shirt that seemed to belong to one of the more portly members of the Demici's staff.

However, the shirt lay unused presently, in deference to the culinary magic being forged in the kitchen that Elias' appartments provided. Though not the most extensively equipped of cooking spaces - no doubt the majority of the staff and residents were expected to source their food from the main kitchens - it provided enough for the simple meal Elias had chosen to prepare. The ingredients were wrong - a haphazard collection of the closest matches that he had been able to commendeer - but were close enough to the traitional Kuati dish that his grandmother had insisted on teaching him to prepare before he left home for the Academy.

He paused to reminisce that amusing if embarassing last encounter with his grandmother. She'd outlined a number of possible modifications as well, including a list of subtle spices that she informed him would make the food hot enough to encourage whatever lady he cooked for to drink more often; apparently, her estimation of her grandson's seduction techniques led her to believe that getting women drunk was his only chance. Elias had explained to her that the odds of him meeting women at the Academy were somewhat slim; she had simply responded that they certainly would be if that was his attitude, and that she was planning on seeing her great grandchildren before she passed on, so "Shut up, pay attention, and maybe you'll learn how to ensnare someone stupid enough to become your wife."

Scooping out a taste on the edge of the wooden spoon he'd been idly poking the concoction with, he gauged the proportion of spices on his tongue and, after a moment's hesitation, added an extra sprinkling of capsicum, just to appease his grandmother's last wishes.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Choice. People often complained they had none, but when they were finally given the freedom to choose, the decision process seemed to be endless. It had been three quarters of a standard hour that Imogen spent ransacking through her closet to find something suitable to wear. It was only then that the Echani realized her wardrobe consisted of nothing more than a collection of uniforms; countless piles of white and black tanktops, cargo trousers and buckle boots - but nothing even remotely feminine. Imogen frowned.

''When was the last time you went shopping, silly girl?'' she scolded herself out loud, tossing clothes about, frustrated by the apparent lack of appropriate attire. Just when she was ready to give up, she noticed a silken seam somewhere at the back of her closet. As if reaching for the light at the end of the tunnel, she immersed her entire arm into the depth of her wardrobe and pulled out what seemed to be satin white dress, still wrapped in plastic, practically unworn.

''When did I buy this?'' she asked herself in puzzlement, only to remember it was a gift from her dear grandmother before she went to the academy. The old woman probably intended it for a nightgown, but Imogen had attended numerous sorority parties wearing the said garment. An almost lecherous smile formed on her lips as she briefly reminisced good old days.
Standing in front of the mirror, she changed into the dress and glanced at her own reflection. (http://img12.imageshack.us/img12/990/rhysode.jpg)

''Oh Rhysode, lighten up. It was not too short back then, as it is not too short now.'' the woman encouraged herself, then turned to head for Akasha's quarters. Bare feet patted against the marble floor of the corridor as she traversed the short distance that separated the quarters of two officers. A double knock sounded, indicating her arrival. Imogen clasped her hands behind her back and smacked the guttural feeling of exhilaration into obedience, her facial expression acquiring pleasant coolness.

[Elias Akasha]

Knock. Knock.

Elias' eyes snapped to the doorway. Then to the clock. It was nine already. She was here. He wasn't ready. Shit.

Frantically jabbing at the food on the stove, he kicked it up into one last sizzling frenzy, then notched down the heat and tossed a lid noisily over the pan. His eyes darted around him; bare feet skidded on the floor as he raced around the kitchen area, snatching up two glasses and retrieving the bottle of chilled white from the cooler. "Just a minute!" he called, more for his own benefit than anything else, given how the appartment was probably soundproofed for the benefit of the Demici's guests. He set both the wine and glasses down on the table he'd brought in from his own meagre balcony, and brushed his sweaty, nervous palms on the back of his pants.

Eyes darted around the room once again, running through a mental checklist. Everything looked ready. Hopefully in this instance, the looks weren't decieving. Jogging back across towards the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the many mirrored surfaces scattered about the place. No shirt! Running to the chair where he'd abandoned his clothes-raid spoils earlier, he tugged the sleeves over his arms, and fought to calm his breathing and heartrate as, once again, he aimed himself for the door. He forewent the buttons for now, tugging awkwardly at the way the garment hung and then, after a deep breath, jabbed a finger into the door control.

The hatch opened, and Elias' breath caught in his chest. He'd been idly preparing himself for how Imogen might appear once she'd figeratively let her hair down, but even his wildest imagination hadn't come close to the reality. He'd seen her already wearing slightly less, down by the pool; even so, the minimalism of her dress had him staring, and no amount of self-control managed to hold it at bay. "Uh -" he vocalised, dumbly; he mustered every ounce of his willpower, and forced his eyes to climb upwards. "Wow," he breathed, flashing a slightly embarassed smile. He took a step backwards, and gestured into the room behind him. "Sorry; come in."

[Imogen Rhysode]

When his gaze finally reached her face, she held it for a few moments, peering deeply into his steel coloured irises. Biting her lip inwardly, the Echani failed to produce any reaction other than a timid, shy smile that curbed the soft flesh of her cheeks upwards. The scent of freshness that evaporated from his snow-white shirt brushed past her senses, inducing a sensation of pleasantry sufficient to make her want take a step closer and sniffle the fragrance right off his neck.

''Something smells nice here.'' Imogen voiced, eyes skimming his bare chest visible through his unbuttoned shirt, then just when he probably began to think she was referring to him, the silver-haired woman motioned to the stove and the bubbling pot that was to be found there.

''Who taught you to cook? Your ex-wife?'' she probed upon taking a few coy steps inside to merely allow for the door to close. Truth be told, she did not expect him to engage in such a culinary odyssey; there were only a few men she knew that dared to do this. It surprised her and some of her defence mechanisms seemed to loosen, but her taunting nature still provoked her to prick and prod him whenever given the opportunity.

[Elias Akasha]

The dress was as short at the back as it was at the front. That simple, marvelous fact held his attention captivated for a few moments, as Imogen visually explored the space that she no doubt hadn't seen for, oh, a few days; probably not since she finished supervising the installation of the electronic listening devices that were no doubt strewn about the place. A younger Elias might have been uncomfortable with the notion of being covertly observed, and would have spent hours trying to locate and disable whatever devices he could find. The older Elias knew that such efforts were ultimately futile, and that even the slightest oversight of a single item would make the process redundant; under the scrutiny he had grown accustomed to on Doldur and Imperial Center, he had simply learned to be careful of what he chose to say and do, even in the "privacy" of his own quarters.

He realised that his delay in response was straining the limits of decorum. "I don't have one of those," he admitted, greeting Imogen's glance over her shoulder with a smile. "Much to my grandmother's dismay." She shrugged casually, pacing across towards his kitchen to idly pester the food as it simmered. "She was a lifelong housewife, and felt that teaching me to cook was a shrewd investment; thought it'd make me more attractive to a potential mother for her grandkids."

Carefully tasting his concoction once again to test the balance of spices, he gave himself an appreciative nod and, after scrubbing his hands clean with a strategically placed cloth, set about fastening the buttons on his shirt. His eyes swept over Imogen's choice of clothing again, and Elias couldn't shake the feeling that even his simple outfit made him over-dressed.

"Wine?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the table as he swept around the kitchen worktop towards it and, as would be expected of an upstanding Kuati gentleman, pulled out a chair and invited Imogen to sit.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Imogen briefly mused over his explanation, reminiscing of her own relationship with her grandmother. It looked like all grannies were similar; they had fixed ideas on how the world functioned, with their own set of values they tried to imprint in their grandchildren. It could be annoying at times, but it was always out of love and care.

''Tell me about it... My grandmother bought me this dress before I went to the academy. I was probably more than half a feet shorter than I am now. When she saw me wearing it sometime during my junior year, she was shocked. I guess she never thought I would grow taller. And that the dress would hence appear shorter.'' the Echani explained, sitting down into the chair and folding the fabric over her lap not to reveal too much of the flesh of her thighs. A pointless mission, given the lenght of the skirt.

''She also told me I would never find a husband in this dress. Merely somebody - and I quote - to hump me and dump me. But that is what college is all about, agent Akasha? Is it not, hm?'' she queried, lips stretching into a wicked smile.
''And wine would be nice.'' was her last addition when flipped a loose strand of hair away from her face only to twirl it around her index finger playfully.

[Elias Akasha]

Force bless your grandmother, Elias mused internally, distracting himself from another bout of staring by busying himself with the wine. He forced himself not to consider her words too carefully; words that could easily be misconstrued, if he wasn't careful.

His attention strayed back to the kitchen, glancing across the timepiece that he'd been casually observing throughout the evening. "Humping and dumping was never really my style," he admitted, transporting his now-filled glass with him to the stove. "Though the Imperial Academy hardly provided that broad a spectrum of women to engage in such pursuits with."

He paused, lifting the pan away from the heat, before retrieving the plates gently warmed in the oven and setting about the task of distributing the food between them. Elias couldn't remember the name that the cook had quoted for the meat that formed the basis of the dish; something akin to a nerf, he was assured. It had certainly responded well to his efforts, soaking up the flavours from the rich and subtly spiced marinade. Delicately, he arranged what looked to be an appropriate portion, garnished it with sprigs of herbs and leaves of a few salad plants he'd managed to procure; the final touch was half a loaf of scratch-baked flatbread.

"I'm afraid it's a little rustic," he appologised, carrying the food carefully across to their table, and setting the first of the plates down in front of his guest, "And somewhat makeshift; it seems the kitchen stores here aren't nearly as well stocked in traditional Kuati ingredients as my gramma's pantry back home."

After retrieving the wine he'd abandoned by the stove, and settling down into the seat opposite, Elias raised his glass slightly. "Here's hoping that this evening goes a little more smoothly than the last."

[Imogen Rhysode]

Imogen chuckled as she watched him walk away to the stove.
''I imagine you had little time for anything else with all that excessive training. I heard the instructors there tolerate nothing less than sheer perfection.'' she voiced, peering over to watch him finalize the meal, her nostrils widening to inhale the aroma of freshness that evaporated from the pot. She was hungry without a doubt; hungry for a home-cooked meal, as she grew tired of the exquisite cuisine of the Demici court; her tastebuds were accustomed to simple cookery, with as little exotic ingredients as possible. Corellian food was not bland; on the contrary, it was well seasoned, but with spices that were complementary rather than clashing on one's tastebuds.

Her fingers wrapped around the glass and with lips set on the rim, Imogen sipped the wine, letting it simmer in her mouth before allowing it to trickle down her throat. The rich bouquet and sweet-sour scent made it a perfect complement for the meal Akasha prepared, even more so when he set the plate before her and intoxicating scents began to fill the air. However, Rhysode decided to taunt him one last time, just for the fun of it.

Her facial expression turned into one of resentment and horror, when she glanced at the steaming piece of meat then back at her host.
''I should have told you I'm a vegeterian.'' she said with a sour smile.

[Elias Akasha]

The colour drained from Elias' face. That was the first question he should have asked; and one of the many he'd neglected to. He'd assumed - again; which was starting to become a habit during his encounters with Rhysode - and it had all gone horribly wrong. The way his luck was shaping up, she'd probably turn out to be mortally allergic to the desert he'd prepared as well.

"I -" he fumbled for words. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think to -"

He winced; forced himself to be calm; mentally ran through his dwindling options. "I'm sorry; I should have asked. Want me to -" He waved his hand vaguely. "- try and whip something up?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

A disgusted grimace turned into a wide, mischievous smile.
''Whip something up? I had no idea you like whipping, agent Akasha. You should have told me, so I would have brought my collection of toys.'' she said, her smile now turning into a grin that showed her pearl white teeth. Her joke worked; some sick part of her enjoyed seeing him all upset and worried about his epic attempt of a dinner failing, but the truth was - Imogen thought he was far too obsessed with details. She was not here for the food or the wine even, but to talk to him, befriend him, be near him. Everything else was irrelevant.

''I'm joking, Elias. I love meat.'' the Echani voiced, idly fiddling under the edge of the plate in the search of cutlery. A fork was jabbed into the tender meat and a small piece was chopped off only to be transferred into Imogen's mouth. She chewed on it shortly, with no visible reaction on her visage. All to keep the agent in suspense even longer.

''Delicious.'' the fair-haired woman stated, licking her lips and reaching for another bit with her fork, offering Elias a small kindhearted wink.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias could tell when he was being played; unfortunately, that insight did nothing to prevent the wave of embarassment that flushed through him. The connotations of Imogen's throw away remark weren't lost on him either, and just catalysed the sensation. He wished for a moment that he was safely contained within the expressionless mask of the Imperial Guard uniform that he'd been forced to leave behind on Imperial Center. As if in tribute, his cheeks made a half-hearted effort to recolour themselves to the same shade of crimson.

Deciding that silence was perhaps the best response for now, Elias hid himself behind a mouthful of the pseudo-nerf and the rim of his wine glass, fighting the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt and vent some of the heat that had risen to his face. Imogen would love that; love seeing a visible sign that she had him rattled; unsettled. Regardless of everything else that transpired this evening, that was one victory he planned on denying her.

"So," he said finally, setting his mind to sparking some appropriate mealtime conversation. "How does an Echani find herself embroilled in the security forces on Corellia? Is there an ancestor whose footsteps you're following in, or was it a path you came to on your own?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Whaaat? Nothing?!?'' she questioned herself mentally, disappointed she did not manage to squeeze a reaction out of him.
''Get over it, Rhysode. He's used to far greater nuisances than yourself.'' the silver haired female thought then smiled again, just to convince him that his lack of fuss did not upset her one bit. A lofty brow was lifted when Akasha displayed genuine interest in her family. Perhaps now was the best time to signify the hypocrisy of the Imperial regime and their anti-alien tendencies.

''My family moved to Corellia several years before the Clone Wars. Both my grandfather and father got a job with CorSec. However, I was born on Thyrsus, my ancestors were Sun Guards there. That's where the Imperial Guards got their armour from; the Echani. Also, probably all martial art you know is Echani too. So in a sense you're more Echani than I am.'' she explained between bites and a few small sips of wine - ''I just have that defective DNA Imperial biologists deem unworthy of procreation.'' Imogen concluded sourly, pursing her lips.

''But they hardly managed to stop me from even trying.'' she added with an adulterous undertone and glanced over to Akasha over her glass, tongue licking the rim to collect a sole dab of wine that lingered there.

[Elias Akasha]

How could anyone with eyes deem you unworthy of procreation? Elias wondered, but kept that particular thought to himself.

All manner of rumours circulated around the Imperial Palace concerning the origins of the Imperial Guards, but if anyone knew the true facts they had apparently chosen to keep them a closely guarded secret to preserve the air of myth and mystery that surrounded the fearsome private guards that were now sworn to defend the Empress. Some speculated that the original guards who had protected Palpatine during the Clone Wars were Mandolorian, citing similarities between the armour worn by their Supercommandos millennia before; those individuals were, it seemed, incorrect. Elias made sure to stow that information away for later use, should an opportune moment to make use of it arise.

The seductive tease in Rhysode's voice cut through his thoughts, and stalled his mind entirely, and brought back a new permutation on the discomfort he'd felt earlier, though this time he doubted the rising warmth that prickled at his skin was the result of embarassment.

He fell back on a tried and tested technique for such situations that had been employed by human males for centuries. "If I didn't know any better," he deflected, retreating behind a shield of humour; he snared the bottle from between them, and refilled the glass that Imogen had already drained. "I'd say you were flirting with me, Commander Rhysode."

[Imogen Rhysode]

Rhysode watched him refill her glass. The yellow-golden liquid sparkled in the faint light, waiting to be consumed. A skilled sommelier could utter glorious verbal escapades to describe the fireworks of taste it caused upon contact with Imogen's palate and tongue, the wine being as drinkable and easy-going as it was potent. And probably expensive.

''If I didn't know any better,'' she began, choosing to rephrase his words rather than answer his question - ''I'd say you are trying to get me drunk, Agent Akasha."

Her hand reached for the glass and she downed almost half of it whilst setting the fork down on the plate, indicating she was done eating.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias downed the last of his wine, necessitating a refill of his own glass. He raised it back towards his lips, a mischevious twinkle in his eyes. "That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me now, would it?"

His eyes didn't break contact with hers for a moment. He felt his heart rate quicken in his chest, and forced another calming sip of alcohol past his lips. Whether it was the heat of the Serennoan weather, an affect of the alcohol, or a result of Imogen's intoxicating presence, Elias could feel sense and reason beginning to falter in his mind. His eyes fell away as he searched his mind for some perspective; surely he was mature enough and adult enough not to be so enamoured with a little harmless flirting and female company; or had it really been so long that he couldn't manage to think straight anymore?

Even as he passed one last forkload of food from his plate to mouth, he couldn't help the steady climb of his gaze back towards Imogen's eyes. Finding them still aimed at his direction, he bit back on as much of the tangle of thoughts that had enveloped his mind, and offered her a smile, setting his own fork down in surrender to the ample portions that gramma's recipes always yielded.

Hands feeling idle and empty, he filled one of them with the wine glass again. "Besides," he continued, picking up his earlier train of thought, "What could I possibly hope to gain from such an underhanded act?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Perhaps put me on one of your shelves as a trophy. A souvenir from Serenno.'' she mused, wallowing in sarcasm. Imogen had worked with men her entire life; by the time she was employed on Serenno, the Echani knew most men never had honest intentions. The mechanisms that propelled them to act in the way they did were under the strict dictate of hormones and dominance innate to his gender. However, the pleasure of conquering was not something unfamiliar to the commander and a part of their psyche she could understand and relate to. Working at CorSec made her an adrenaline junkie dependant on sensations closely connected with the concept of conquest as such.

''I'm afraid that being a gentleman has very little to do with indulging in the pleasures of the flesh - as a matter of fact, I find this quite natural and necessary from time to time. The difference between bastard and gentleman lies within a simple fact; whether the man will or will not be there when the woman wakes.'' Imogen explained boldly, clasping the rim of the glass between her lips to take another sip. Her eyes rested on him ever still.

''What's for dessert, agent Akasha?'' she asked with overt curiosity and a placid smile.

[Elias Akasha]

Natural and necessary? That was certainly an enticing philosophy. He couldn't help but feel the sting of her critique however; he'd always been the type to escape while his various female liaisons were still asleep. It wasn't - or at least he hoped it wasn't - an indication of a bastard nature as Imogen hoped; more a fear of the awkwardness that was bound to ensue the morning after. That age old fear tugged at him now; he realised that if anything were to happen, he'd find himself trapped in his own quarters with no easy way to escape and, large a place as the Demici estate was, the odds of him being able to evade her in the days that followed was fairly minimal.

Grabbing at the mostly empty plates, Elias retreated to the kitchen. Retrieving the desert from the fridge, he stalled for as much time as he could, hoping to clear his head and gain a little perspective. A bad idea, Elias decided; and yet he still couldn't peel his thoughts away; couldn't quell the urges swimming about in his head. Desert though would, hopefully, provide some sort of distraction.

"Let me guess," he said, finally returning to the table with two delicate glass bowls, a meringue crust topped with a thick and indulgent cream, and sprinkled with generous slices of plump and juicy berries freshly picked from the Demici's kitchen garden. A few of berries remained intact, poised as decoration around the edge of the bowl. He regarded Imogen with a smile as he settled back down in his seat. "You're allergic to one of the ingredients?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

When Elias went to the kitchen, Imogen's mind engaged into a brief monologue, using his absence to gather all of her impressions and process them.
''He's nervous. You cornered him, you and your big and fowl mouth... Remember, Imogen. Show him some Imperial hospitality, like the one you received when your subordinate was promoted instead of yourself. He might like you now, in the privacy of his quarters, but he would denounce you in front of his Empress. You're not one of his flock, Imogen.''

Her thoughts were partially betrayed on her face when it acquired a worried look that was immediately replaced with a smile when he returned with the dessert. Curiously peering into the bowl, Imogen admired the garnishing. The effort he put in all of this, especially on such a short notice, surprised her greatly; she had not received so much attention since...

''I can never be allergic to sweets. One of two things I'm addicted to.'' she said, chasing her previous thoughts away and scooped out some cream with her fingertip. She brought it closer to her mouth and enveloped the finger with her lips, gently sucking on it, her eyes half-closed.
''Mmmm, delicious...'' she murmured, finger still trailing over her lips.

[Elias Akasha]

Either the Serenno sun had just gone nova and flooded the atmosphere with enough radiation to up the temperature a good few degrees, or Elias' efforts to keep his mind away from a certain subject were failing miserably. Though the former option came with all manner of apocalyptic conotations, he wasn't entirely sure that it was the least favourable of the two options.

Elias picked at the dessert with his spoon, but found his apetite somewhat disrupted by angry flock of small winged creatures swarming around in the pit of his stomach. He made a few token attempts to drop food down his gullet in the hopes of hitting some of them mid-flight, but they didn't seem peterbed by his efforts. His brain danced frantically, searching for a way of steering the dinner away from where his imagination had already managed to arrive.

Breaking off a chunk of cream-soaked meringue, his spoon faltered before his mouth. "One of two things?" he enquired casually.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Imogen was playful, but not cruel. Seeing him struggle with his own hormones was fun to watch to a certain extent, but she did not want him to flip completely. With her ego being fed by his reaction to her gesture, the commander ceased to play with him, for the sake of communicating as adults rather than teenagers in heat.

''Children.'' the silver-haired female stated, her features brightening as she smiled.
''I absolutely adore children. From when I was a small girl, I wanted to have a large family. Three, four children at least. I guess I missed company back then, given the fact I was the only child. But yes - there is no greater joy for me then kids.'' she continued, an earnest look in her metallic irises. Residual sadness lingered in those luminescent orbs, as if there was some part of her story she was not telling him. It was too intimate to talk about with anybody; not even Rhysode's parents knew she was with child when Degor was killed. Imogen looked away, eyes falling to the desert. A few spoons were consumed in complete silence that commenced between the two, giving time for her words to sink in.

''But a girl can have her dreams, right?'' she asked rhetorically, stuffing another spoonful in her mouth - ''What about you?'' Imogen added, leaving the question with an open end to let him talk about himself and take the conversation in a direction that felt more comfortable for him.

[Elias Akasha]

Children. Elias paled a little at the thought. Since his mother had died, his relationship with his father had grown even more strained than ever. They had hardly been close before, with their encounters frequently becoming heated - particularly when Elias had become old enough and cocky enough to actually argue back against his father - but fortunately, service in the Imperial Navy had kept his father away from home for most of his childhood. His grandmother - his mother too - had hoped that one day he'd settle down and start a family; Elias' sister too, who had been pestering him incessantly to find out when she'd have a niece or nephew, ever since she realised she wouldn't be getting a younger brother or sister any time soon. But Elias had always been afraid - maybe it was the same root fear that forced him to flee whenever things became too serious with the women he encountered - of following in his father's footsteps; of being the terrible father that he percieved him to be. 'Like father, like son' was an addage
across the galaxy; was it an inescapable fate?

"My grandmother would have liked you," he responded with a glimmer of a smile, though the expression didn't manage to blank out the slight sadness that had gripped his eyes as his mind recalled his childhood. "She always viewed the fact that my father only had one child as a failing in his duty to continue the family line."

He poked idly at his dessert, but his apetite was deminished completely. The spoon was set gently down; his eyes slowly climbed back to look at Imogen again. "My dream was always of a quiet little place on some out of the way planet; a little land, a little livestock maybe; somewhere I could retreat to and spend the rest of my days worrying about nothing else except enjoying life... and maybe making a little life of my own, too."

His eyes wavered in their gaze at Imogen; confliction rising in him again. He didn't like this: bearing his soul. At the best of times it made him uncomfortable, but with Imogen especially he wasn't sure what she might do if he left himself so exposed. Tear him to shreds, more than likely. And yet, why did it feel so easy to reveal such things to her? Why was his better judgement not curbing his tongue?

"My father groomed me for Imperial service since I was old enough to stand upright and wear a uniform. I think he was hoping that he'd be able to leave the Fleet with an Akasha when he eventually retired." A slight smile cracked on his face. "I don't think he was all that happy when I enrolled for Stormtrooper training on Carida instead of Navy training at the Academy. Closest I ever got to teenage rebellion."

He hesitated, not sure if his next question was appropriate; particularly given their turbulent heart-to-heart the night before. "Your parents -?" he asked delicately, hoping to tease out the information without seeming to pry too harshly into what could well be a sensitive issue.

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Oh, my parents...'' she started off, pausing to swallow the spoonful of the dessert she put in her mouth just a moment earlier. With lips pursed, Imogen enjoyed the silken texture of the cream and its fruity aftertaste, then washed it down with another sip of wine. Her gaze elevated from the bowl to meet Elias's steel gaze.

''My father served as a Sun Guard during the Clone Wars, only to be made into one of first Imperial Guards appointed to Emperor Palpatine himself when the Empire rose to power. If I was a boy...who knows. I might have been your colleague. My father was greatly disappointed when he realized I could never follow his footsteps. But he did change his opinion when he got my first grade report from the CorSec academy. He was the first one to cheer and clap when I graduated.'' she explained, nostalgic glow in her luminescent irises. One could tell she missed home.

''And my mother is a housewife. Despite her efforts, she failed at teaching me the art of housework. I was always the tomboy - right there in the garage, picking over the engine of my dad's speeder bike. Cooking, ironing... Those activities did not interest me much. My grandmother always told me I would make a lousy housewife.'' she concluded, letting a feeble chuckle escape her mouth before staring into her glass and emptying it. In the depth of her mind, Imogen pondered whether her grandmother was right. The wisdom of ages was on her grandmother's side, together with a lifetime of experience; the Echani wondered if she was destined to loiter in this realm solitary and companionless. She caught herself overly immersed in musing about subjects far too intimate for a second encounter, so the commander opted to move onto lighter subjects, especially those with less bile and bitterness about them. Perhaps even shift the ball to his court.

''To be honest - I always admired the amount of effort and dedication one has to have in order to serve as an Imperial Guard. It's not a job, it's a way of life. A sacrifice. I would know as I barely knew my father. So in a sense, I do admire your line of work. Not all of it, but the general idea - yes. No matter how disrespectful I may sound sometimes. Attribute it to me being a bitter wench after my tragedy.'' she voiced with a dose of remorse and self-pity, painfully aware how the events in her past changed her into nothing more than a shadow of her former self.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias felt a tug of sympathy, but didn't let it show on his features. The pair of them had far more in common than either of them would be willing to admit; save for a few chance differences in genetics and fate, they could well have grown to become the same person. He wondered what might have happened if they had somehow come to know each other under different circumstances. Were it not for her instant aversion to his Imperial status, what kind of relationship would they have established? Or had last night's confrontation been necessary in breaking the ice between them, to make this all possible?

"I think you're entitled to be a little bitter," he countered, his voice attempting a slightly soothing tone. "Given your experience, I doubt anyone else would react differently. And besides -" He offered a trace of a smile. "- without them, our dinner conversation wouldn't be nearly so interesting." He allowed the smile to flourish slightly. "More wine?" he offered, gesturing with the bottle.

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Ah...'' she grunted feebly, pushing away the small bowl and setting the spoon inside.
''No more wine. Unless you plan to carry me back to my quarters. And I must warn you - I'm quite heavy. Even heavier after such a abundant dinner! Which was great - by the way.'' Imogen complemented him, adding in an appreciative smile. Long time had passed since somebody cooked dinner for her; the last person who prepared a meal for her was her fiancee, the night before he was killed. Passage of time faded those memories away; to Imogen they now seemed as aged holophotos from a family album - relics of the past that had little to do with the present, even less to do with Akasha.

''You're not quite what I expected, Elias. There's more to you than meets the eye.'' the fair-haired female inferred, surprised to find herself uttering those words. But they were the truth and he was hospitable enough not only to feed her but he also managed to duck all of the verbal artillery she directed and shot at him over the course of the evening. If nothing more, this man was worthy of attention.

[Elias Akasha]

"That makes two of us," he replied, the words leaping off his tongue before he even realised what they were. The creatures in his stomach resumed their frenzy again; one tried to make a bid for freedom by crawling up his throat. He swallowed, hard. Thoughts of her scant-clad form draped over his arms as he carried her down the corridor swam through his thoughts, lubricated by the alcohol beginning to find purchase in his system. More thoughts followed, various permutations of having her in his arms; that dress; what lay beneath -

Frowning, he puzzled over the bottle as if the wine was suddenly of intense interest to him. "You're right," he muttered, half to himself. "That's probably enough wine for this evening."

Despite the decision that logic and good sense had let him to, the intoxication of Imogen's presence was irresistable. His mind urged; hormones surged; his skin felt like it was crawling in a desperate attempt to reach out and bring to reality his imaginations, whether his muscles and bones were going to comply or not. Elias found his gaze drowning in the pools of liquid mercury that lurked within her eyes. His heart fluttered. Damn it, Akasha, his subconscious scolded. Quit acting like such an emotional bitch.

Setting the wine bottle down, he carefully adjusted his expression into a wry smile. "It wouldn't say much for my hospitality if I didn't offer you a nightcap, though." He indicated in the direction of his appartment's seating area, where a pair of leatherette sofas waited in front of a faux fire. "Can I offer you a glass of anything else; Alderaanian Brandy, perhaps?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

If Imogen did not already ingest several full glasses of wine, she would have considered leaving at this point in time. The evening had somehow managed to head in a pleasant direction, a bit too pleasant for Imogen's current standards; she was afraid that alcohol would make her disclose information she so diligently tried to conceal. But some inexplicable force of attraction had her glued to her place, with eyes fixed on Akasha as she gazed at him with an almost dreamy look that paused on his lips, bearing far less flesh than her meaty ones. Angular features of his face were enticingly masculine; when coupled with his brawny figure, he radiated with security and assurance. Those were the traits Imogen had learned to appreciate.
His question made her snap from her reverie, a twitch of her eyelids bringing her back to the present.

''Brandy? By all means...'' she accepted, placing her hands on the tabletop and erecting herself from her seat. A series of soft, cat-like steps brought her to a leather couch where she seated herself right in the middle, then slid a bit to the left side, leaving him some space. She crossed her legs over and the seam of her dress travelled upwards, revealing a great portion of her right thigh. Imogen did nothing to revert it to the way it was.

''Why are you alone, Elias? Afraid you might want to...stay in the morning?'' she asked boldly, the wine clearly percolating through her blood-stream to knock out additional barriers she set herself prior to this evening. Imogen bit her lip inwardly, immediately regretting to asking such an intimate question. However, it was there, hovering in the air between them and a part of her hoped he would answer. Another part of her cursed how he should hurry with the whiskey so that she may not remember any of this embarrassment in the morning.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias nearly knocked the bottle over as her question floated across the room to him; the sheer bluntness of her question slamming into him like a wave. Fortunately, the alcohol hadn't yet dulled his reflexes completely, and a quick snatch managed to prevent it from emptying its precious contents across the counter. he took a deep, calming breath before pouring a generous double into each of the two waiting glasses.

He returned to the couch still pondering her question; trying to mediate between the warring urges in his brain, with no idea of which one he wanted to succeed. He pressed the glass gently into Imogen's fingers before settling himself down beside her, shifting into the corner of the sofa with one leg hooked up, and an arm reaching out towards her across the cushioned back. His fingers strayed precariously close to her soft, silver locks; it took all the willpower he could muster to arrest their attempts to weave through it.

His eyes drank in every detail without restraint this time, dancing over the graceful curves of her body all the way from her long, silk-smooth legs all the way up to those lips that were so tempting and inviting, he could almost taste them against his. A sip of brandy washed across his tongue and down his throat before he spoke. "I suppose," he said, finally allowing his attention to return to her eyes, "I've never met a woman who I'd want to stay with before."

Before. The word hung in his mind, resonating as he heard it aloud in his own voice. A ripple of panic coursed through him as he realised the implication; with all his heart he hoped that Imogen would allow it to merely pass by as a harmless turn of phrase. The ripple left a grim realisation in its wake, however. Had it simply been a slip of the tongue, or did he; - was she; - is that what he felt?

[Imogen Rhysode]

As expected, the brandy was delicious. When the aroma of the aged beverage tickled her tastebuds, Imogen squirmed out of sheer pleasure; slowly, she let it trickle down her throat and into her bloodstream, the fine brandy completely diluting any inhibitions she had left. Subsequently, she disregarded his words and their repercussions, immersing herself in the moment instead.

''Having high standards, hm?'' the silver-haired woman asked, canting her head to the side with lips still brushing against the rim of the glass in an almost playful manner - ''I can't say I blame you. Such a man as yourself is only entitled to the best.''
She flattered his ego, caressed his pride - all in hope to release him from his stiff, militant demeanour, ridding him of the vast and amount of self-control that kept his instincts at bay. Her hand ran up her thigh to her knee, skimming over her smooth skin stretched over firm and oblong quadriceps of her sculptured legs.

''I'm sure that the ladies of the Serreno court will match your taste then.'' Imogen voiced timidly, taking another sip that almost emptied her glass. At that very moment, the shoulder strap of her ivory dress casually fell to the side, exposing a bare shoulder continuing from the arc of her ample collar bone; without its textile support, the curves of her chest loosened a bit. Apparently, Imogen remained oblivious to this additional exposure, as she closed her eyes and exhaled deeply to vent some of the heat that built up inside her due to her excessive ingestion of alcohol.

[Elias Akasha]

"I'm not sure that -" Words came clumsily, only a small portion of Elias' attention dedicated to speach while the rest focussed on the slight extra revelation of Imogen's flesh. "- that I'd be able to -" His gaze traced the soft and subtle curve that traced unbroken down her neck and across her shoulders, save for the cascade of silver hair that crashed against her skin like a waterfall. His vision wavered precariously before tumbling down into her chest, imagination slowly peeling away the negligable layer of fabric. He bit his lip as his mind wandered, and wondered what her silken and subtle skin might taste like.

Come on, Elias, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. Concentrate. Focus.

His eyes flicked back towards hers; he wrestled his thoughts into some sort of coherant stream. "- go to such extreme lengths to dodge around the initial preconceptions that my Imperial status conjures." He took a sip of brandy, and mustered a smile. "I'd wager that you're not the only woman on the Demici staff who has an aversion to the Empire."

Silence fell, and his attention dropped to her shoulder once again, despite his intense efforts to avoid it; battling down his other urges was far too distracting. "You have -" he heard himself say; committed to drawing attention, he allowed himself to continue. Gently, his fingers reached out, lightly brushing against Imogen's arm. Electricity coursed through him at the contact; fighting the urge to do more, he simply hooked a finger around the fallen strap, and lifted it gently back into position on Imogen's shoulder.

He flashed a sheepish smile, then hid behind the rim of his glass, and another mouthful of brandy. "Sorry."

[Imogen Rhysode]

The sensation of his touch on her skin awakened long forgotten feelings in Imogen's gut; flutter and quivers convulsed her insides, depriving her of much needed air. Her chest dilated in an attempt to draw in air and supply her brain with oxygen to restore her sensibility and common sense; this man was an Imperial, with ideals firmly hammered into his very essence, belonging to the very same lot that executed her fiancee. Why did he cook her dinner? Why did he go through all of this trouble for her? Imogen could not answer those questions. It would have been much easier if he simply fit into moulds she created within her mind; a cruel, heartless bastard serving a regime no different than himself.

When Imogen first walked through the doors of his quarters, she had not hoped to hear of a sad tale that resembled hers; a story of loss and grief, a reminiscence that fueled their dedication to the cause. The Echani wavered in her intention of merely using him to extract information; this man was a human being just like herself, hurt and lonesome, sauntering through life like a wolf without a pack. Surely, their moral compasses differed, given the opposite sides they unintentionally found themselves on, but there existed a common set of traits in both.

For the sake of that similarity and resemblance on the very basic levels of one's existence, Imogen leaned over towards him, supporting her torso by one of her hands firmly pressed against the leather of the seat, while the other naturally fell to his chest, planted somewhere to the left of where his heart was. Her face neared his to a distance short enough for their breaths to entangle; she lingered there for a few moments that seemed like eternity, with eyelids half parted, ultimately enchanted by his vicinity and strong brandy alike. However, the commander was not brave enough to cross the line; instead, she chose to maim him with the pulp of her lips, a dessert far sweeter than the one he prepared.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest. The gentle pressure of her palm against his body; the sweet scent of the brandy and wine on her breath; the gentle aroma of her hair; the sight of her so close; the tempting invitation offered by her lips; his mind swam, coherancy fading, and his resolve slipping. He knew that any moment now it would shatter completely; he also knew that almost every fibre of his being was prepared to let it happen.

A hand rose slightly, fingertips teasing at the ellegent silver locks that framed her face. The other rose to his chest, gently closing around her hand; for an instant it held it in place, his eyes drifted half closed as well as he relished the sensation of physical contact. He breathed deep, chest rising slightly to intensify he sensation. He imagined the same feeling across his body; her elegant fingers brushing across his skin. The hand beside her hair brushed a finger gently across her cheek. His chest ached; his eyes found themselves ensnared by hers once again. "I -"

Then the moment ended. The hand that pressed against hers gently wrapped around and eased it free, breaking the physical contact. His eyes dropped away, not wanting to let her see the conflicted thoughts raging behind them. He heaved a sigh. "Its late; I don't want to deprive you of rest before work tomorrow."

His brow twitched, unsure which emotion to convey. Still gently wrapped around her hand, his fingers softly stroked hers. "Maybe I should -" He trailed off; released her hand. "- walk you back to your quarters?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

Something broke inside of Rhysode; an vial of poison that infected her insides, made them rot in matter of nanoseconds, the sensation of emptiness overwhelming her. All hope dissolved in thin air, all intentions perished into nothing. Emotional constructions crumbled within her heart when he pushed her away; if she was endeavouring into this sensational odyssey out of nothing else but sheer interest to gather information, why did it hurt so much to be turned down? Save for her ego and pride... those were not the only aspects of her that were hurt.

Imogen swallowed saliva to clear her throat, immediately removing herself from his vicinity, eyes pasted to the floor.
''You're right, agent Akasha. It is far too late. I need to get up early in the morning. Duty awaits.'' she commented formally and got up from the couch to head for the door. Her heart sulked in her chest, provoking her to turn around one last time before making a swift exit.

''Thank you so much. It's been a long time since I was in such pleasant company. I wish you a good night, agent Akasha.'' were her last words augmented with a smile that was not acted or plastic, rather a direct consequence of her mulling over the finest of their moments together prior to this incident. But the wistful tinge that sparkled in her aluminium orbs was impossible to hide; thus she diverted her look to save that little dignity she had left and with finger pressed against the control board, Imogen left his quarters, the hiss of the closing hatch leaving Elias alone with his thoughts.

[Elias Akasha]

She didn't linger any longer than was necessary; Elias wasn't sure if that was a blessing, like tearing a dressing from a wound quickly, but he doubted that the alternative would have wrenched any less. He had half hoped that she would linger; find some way to asuage his concerns, or perhaps display some devil-may-care attitude: something to let him gauge how alike their thoughts were.

But she hadn't. Her response had been clipped and formal. Her escape had been smooth and swift. That was behaviour that Elias was familiar with; he'd exhibited it enough times when his attempts at female conquest had been rebutted. It was the rapid escape of someone who wanted to evade the inevitable awkwardness that would follow being declined.

He sighed, and drained the last of his brandy, slumping back into the sofa cushions as he discarded the glass. He'd had no intention of the evening progressing in such a way; at least not consciously, though the meal he'd selected could perhaps suggest otherwise. She on the other hand had arrived with allure; whether she merely wished to tease him in yet another way, or if she'd had any genuine intentions for their evening to progress further than it had, he couldn't be sure.

His mind hesitated, trying to fathom what exactly had transpired. Unless he'd read the signs completely wrong, Imogen had wanted more than just conversation, and Elias had ached to provide that for her; but he hadn't, despite having done the same in countless identical scenarios so many times before. Had it really been so long that he'd lost his nerve? Or was he that afraid of being trapped when morning came, unable to escape like he normally did?

I don't want to escape, he realised. That's the problem. His head lolled back against the cushions, eyes falling closed. He wasn't sure what it was he was feeling, or what he wanted, but he knew it was more than a one night stand. And it wasn't his professionalism standing in the way either; it was more than that. Maybe he saw Imogen as a potential friend, and didn't want to jeopardise that with his usual macho routine; didn't want to broker any awkwardness between them.

His eyes strayed towards the closed door. No awkwardness. A sigh escaped him. Way to go, Elias; you did a fantastic job of avoiding that.

[Imogen Rhysode]

As soon as the door was completely closed, a thick plate of durasteel separating her from Elias, Imogen gasped for air. She leaned forwards, supporting herself off the wall by her forearm, alcohol and his actions causing weakness in her legs. Her knees quivered in disobedience, failing to bend to finally move her from the place she buried herself in. A part of her felt like crying, but there were no tears left. Not after Degor had passed away.

''What he said the evening before...he means it. He's right, Imogen. You're a wreck. Complete wreck...'' she scolded herself mentally, biting her bottom lip whilst shaking her head in disbelief. Had she really turned into a completely unlovable being, a mere shadow of her former self? He did apologize for the things he said, but now it looked like it was his opinion after all. Everybody were entitled to one, so Imogen had no right to complain. She pushed herself off the wall then turned to face the door, not ready to give up just yet. Some mystical force compelled her to direct her finger towards the buzzer bell and summon Akasha to the door; she would have done it if a deep voice did not echo inside her cranium.

''You're pathetic.''

Her head dropped to her chest, the once extended hand slamming to her side. For a few seconds, she just breathed heavily, gathering strenght to walk away. And then another hiss sounded quite unexpectedly and the Echani looked up, irises liquid with affliction.

[Elias Akasha]

Go to her. The urge from his subconscious was intense. Appologise. Explain. Something. He frowned against the impulse, battling with it for some kind of sense. Don't leave her feeling that way.

No matter what she wanted, or how she'd felt before, how she felt now was entirely his fault. Twenty four hours ago he had seen the kind of turmoil that lingered in her heart; tonight he had heard more of that woeful story, and it had tugged at his emotions. He saw in her some of what he felt within himself and, he realised, he could not - would not - allow himself to add to that.

Renewed with purpose, he found his feet, and was across the room before he even realised he was moving. He reached the door, activated the control; rehersed what he might say in his mind. But he never got the chance. There she was, standing before him, mere inches outside his door. His eyes fell on her hungrily, but something had changed. The confidence and allure that she had arrived in had gone; instead, he saw in her eyes, sadness and conflict had taken hold. His heart collapsed in on himself as he saw the damage he had wrought.

No words came. No words could make up for this. There was nothing that wit or charm could do. Alongside his sundered heart, his resolve and reservations lay in tatters. His eyes regarded her in new light; not the stunning, seductive woman that had taken his breath away as soon as she had arrived; not the intense and intelligent person whose conversation had held his attention ensnared; not the kindred spirit whose sad tales had struck such a chord. This light cast a new image: one that Elias couldn't describe or define. And yet, as he looked upon her, a blissful clarity descended over his mind.

He stepped towards her, fingers of one hand brushing across her cheek and lacing into the sleek silver of her hair, while the other slipped around her, gathering her into a gentle embrace that brought their bodies closer together. His head bowed, achingly slow, lips inching downwards until they ensnared hers. Their contact was delicate, and fleeting, and yet within it he felt an infinity pass by. His lips lingered against hers; his heart strained inside his chest, drawn to her like a magnet, longing for the kiss to continue. He let his mouth caress gently against her own; felt her breath and his become one and the same. "I'm sorry," he whispered.