Cabinet of Curiosities

[Sanya Tagge]

It was bittersweet, returning to Chateau Malreaux. Although the damaged caused by the bitch Van-Derveld (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=16233) had been repaired, ghosts of it still haunted the houses ancient walls. Sitting in one of the manors studies, the presence of a slightly off-colour patch of plastering had gotten so deeply under Sanya Tagge's skin that after a time she could no longer bare being in the same room as it and so stalked restlessly to another part of the house to continue her reading.

Save for the ever present guards, she was alone. Whilst on Coruscant she was monitored night and day - from within and without of her own Ministry - on Vjun she could be truly certain that her time was her own. She treasured the solitude and secrecy, which granted her the rare chance to relax. Relaxation, however, did not necessarily mean an end to work.

Curled against the arm of a cushioned chaise lounge, she leafed through the pages of yet another intelligence file, her eyes leaving the text only long enough to tilt her chin upwards and blow a thin thread of smoke into the air.

It was fascinating, the things her predecessors had been responsible for. Though the Ministry of Truth had been created at Miranda's behest, there had always been a propaganda machine fuelling the Empire's expansion and it was the truths behind the truth that fascinated Sanya. Stories which, in her girlhood, had seemed trivial suddenly became fascinating as the archives revealed what had really happened. Abandoned weapons initiatives, ill-fated research projects – a history of those failures necessary for true brilliance and success to be possible.

She had just finished devouring a report on Project I71A – codename Blackwing (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Blackwing) – her heart all aflutter with secret excitement, when another dossier caught her eye. The covering label read, in crisp dark ink: AXIS.

[Ibaris Varanin-Jacobs]

"Now, honey. Remember what the doctor told you?"

She glanced at her brother. He was watching her with avid interest. He only smiled, looked to the side, then smiled at her again before looking back at whatever it was he was reading now.

"It only pinches if I'm not tense. I can't be tense." She nodded, for herself, knowing she remembered right, casting her eyes to the floor, which was much farther down than normal, because she was sitting up so high. It was like sitting on the table at home, which mummy always told her not to do. But she could see so much more up there! Especially if she stood on it... the dark-haired girl looked up at the nurse's pretty face again, a look of resolve on her own. "I won't be tense. I promise."

The nurse smiled. "That's a good girl. Now let me see your arm. Hold still and remember to relax."

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Empress Teta - Late Night

It was here of all places that she had lost him. She still didn't know how this happened without her knowing, how she couldn't feel him anywhere. She never felt even anything so much as their connection to each other being severed. This is where they grabbed him and for some reason, did not wait around for her. Maybe it wasn't personal.

She smirked. No, it couldn't possibly have been. She was just simply too careful. Except she hadn't been careful enough, hadn't been a few steps ahead, hadn't cleaned up with nearly enough fastidiousness. Every time she thought about it, went over every detail, she got frustrated. She screamed in anger and utter hatred at an unknown person, perhaps an unknown thing. She tried not to think about it. Redik had offered to help her with that. She hadn't known quite what he meant until she asked, but declining on the first count turned out to be the better option. She didn't want to forget, she just didn't want to destroy herself.

Oh, no. She was smarter than that. Much, much smarter. Enough to be dangerous. Enough to make people think she wasn't. Enough to make them believe it. More than that. Redik wasn't here. She wouldn't bring him here. If he came here himself, she had no right to stop him, but this was hers. A thing her own. A thing not shared. He wouldn't be sharing the same pleasure of end that she granted the others. Redik gave her pause. There were qualities to him that reminded her of her beloved. No mistake, however. It was not him.

She liked Empress Teta. It reminded her of Coruscant, but it had this air to it that made it worthy of its name. No matter the planet, however, there was always someone, always enough someones that she had to choose. Club Corellia's patrons might perhaps provide some answers. There were only two questions.

Masculine or feminine? Who would enjoy her company, a one-way ticket, this night?

[Sanya Tagge]

The mandate of the Ministry of Truth was simple: to spread the word of the Empire, within and without of its borders. To this end, the Minister cultivated what were known as journeymen. They were students of statecraft and oration, chosen for their unshakeable belief in that power of good that the Empire represented. Only a handful had been dispatched into non-occupied territory, and fewer still had returned. This did not bode well for the young woman in white who had just entered Club Corellia.

A chill crawled over her skin, beneath the heavy fabric of her tunic and travelling cloak. As she cast a glance about the inside of the cantina, the Minister's words still echoed in her mind: “Find them. Bring them to me.” Though the journeymen were not soldiers or spies, they were the nearest thing that Sanya Tagge had access to – at least without alerting others to the fact that she was doing something out of the ordinary.

[Ibaris Varanin-Jacobs]

She always preferred to perch at the bar, fair bottom seated on a swiveling stool, long and pale legs crossed daintily in sheer nylons that rose up those legs and disappeared underneath pinstriped black short-shorts. From there, up, came suspenders buttoned in place over a white blouse that did little to keep anything for the imagination to chew on when it was interrupted by the pinstriped suit jacket that matched the shorts and nearly swallowed them up as well when she would stand. Her shoes suppored the outfit, a low, shiny black pump with a white, shiny band around peekaboo toes and a stark white fedora sat comfortably over pinned-back waves of hair of blackest night. She ordered a drink - something sweet, something to knock me off my feet - and sweetly accepted it when it came, swiveling in the chair to face out on the crowd.

She toyed with the pin of fruit floating in her drink, stirring it idly as her eyes rolled across the generous smattering of patrons. Her eyes never left them as she took a slow draw from the fluted glass of vibrantly coloured liquid.

There was beauty here. Intelligence, as well, but not so much as to make the room overfull. Eyes occasionally passed over her as hers passed through the crowd and she began to toy with the thought of making the rounds as she settled back against the bartop.

[Sanya Tagge]

Though her uniform bore no markings to speak of, the journeyman's all-white attire drew a few knowing glances. Anyone who was familiar with the Ministry of Truth – which many would be, given the frequent appearances they made on the HoloNet – knew that it's agents wore white-on-white. It was a stylistic choice intended to convey simplicity, purity and orderliness.

In their propaganda broadcasts, they cut striking figures – but in Club Corellia, the desired effect was lost. The minimalist cut of the tunic and trousers did hide the young woman's alluring curves, but her doe-eyes and pouting lips were not concealed. She looked this way and that, trying to appear inconspicuous as she moved towards the bar.

“Good evening,” she hailed the bartender, her access the perfect neutral of the Coruscanti. It was the voice of HoloNet reporters throughout the Galactic Empire, the reassuring and respectable sound of human-kind, which enunciated each word as it should be spoken, clear and crisp.

[Ibaris Varanin-Jacobs]

She'd seen the woman in white approaching and suddenly, her attentions were only for that woman. It was almost as if the rest of the club fell away, but she alone knew better than that. Her focus was not so singular that she would be caught so easily unawares. She'd grabbed the bartender as the woman in white approached and gave him express orders to allow her to pay for anything the woman should order and to simply state that the drinks were 'on the house'.

Upholding the illusion of being engrossed in her own drink and watching the canoodling and careening members of the club, she kept steady tabs on the angelic-looking lady. One glance from tip to toe had been all it took for a fairly thorough physical appraisal. One that remembered every nook, dimple, cranny and... inconsistency that betrayed the presence of a weapon. She could accurately gauge the measurements of a form, male or female, from many paces off. If it were at all a marketable skill, she could not have been bothered to care. Her stock and trade was more than enough and the inherited fortune allowed to her had made it such that she should want for nothing.

She was, however, always left wanting, in a way.