Oran Jsorra
Sep 9th, 2010, 07:52:59 AM
Welcome to Bothawui, Oran mused, as he stared at the intimidating structure of the Intergalactic Trade Mission: home of the Bothan Spynet, and now of Alliance SpecForce and Intelligence. It wasn't his first visit to the building. It wasn't even his first day on the planet - he'd been here a week, ever since Dorn Force had been called in (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=20996) for a meticulous debrief by General Oruo'rel himself, after their last mission had gone horribly wrong.
Though the team had since been vindicated, the debrief hadn't gone without repercussions. Greater scrutiny was promised for the future, and several members had found themselves reassigned: Oran was one of them.
Unlike Captain Tallen however, who had freaked out and coughed up a hairball at an assignment that seemed like a demotion to her eyes, Oran was extremely pleased with his. Sure, he'd gone from a tech specialist to a raw recruit: but when you were a recruit for Alliance Intelligence, suddenly the job seemed a whole lot cooler.
Damn right, he thought to himself, unable to fight a grin from his face as he finally coaxed his body into moving towards the menacing building. Oran Jsorra: Interstellar Superspy.
The self-inflated ego converting his usual walk into something of a swagger, Oran strode through the grand doors, and crossed the foyer to the reception desk, not bothering to pay much attention to the lowly cretins hanging around. They were probably just lowly SpecForce people anyhow. Pah!
Leaning his arm against the counter, he cast a glance behind him, checking the exits - and checking the cretins for guns - before he turned back to the receptionist and, tugging the dark shades down his nose a little, he flashed her his most charming smile. "Agent Oran Jsorra," he said, forcing a faint Corellian drawl into his accent, to make himself sound more rugged and cool. "I believe I am expected."
The Bothan woman narrowed her eyes at him with a tired look, but dutifully input his details into her terminal without saying a word, save for: "Someone will collect you."
Collect me? Even that innocuous phrase sounded snappy, and dangerous, when you threw it into a spy context. It was like some sort of clandestine drop, and he was waiting for his contact. Who would it be? Director Van-Derveld, perhaps? Or maybe one of her Subdirectors; no doubt she was too busy with important spy business to deal with him directly.
Whoever it was, no doubt they would be someone extremely cool, and extremely important. He turned his back to the receptionist and, propping his elbows up against the counter, he leaned, and waited.
Though the team had since been vindicated, the debrief hadn't gone without repercussions. Greater scrutiny was promised for the future, and several members had found themselves reassigned: Oran was one of them.
Unlike Captain Tallen however, who had freaked out and coughed up a hairball at an assignment that seemed like a demotion to her eyes, Oran was extremely pleased with his. Sure, he'd gone from a tech specialist to a raw recruit: but when you were a recruit for Alliance Intelligence, suddenly the job seemed a whole lot cooler.
Damn right, he thought to himself, unable to fight a grin from his face as he finally coaxed his body into moving towards the menacing building. Oran Jsorra: Interstellar Superspy.
The self-inflated ego converting his usual walk into something of a swagger, Oran strode through the grand doors, and crossed the foyer to the reception desk, not bothering to pay much attention to the lowly cretins hanging around. They were probably just lowly SpecForce people anyhow. Pah!
Leaning his arm against the counter, he cast a glance behind him, checking the exits - and checking the cretins for guns - before he turned back to the receptionist and, tugging the dark shades down his nose a little, he flashed her his most charming smile. "Agent Oran Jsorra," he said, forcing a faint Corellian drawl into his accent, to make himself sound more rugged and cool. "I believe I am expected."
The Bothan woman narrowed her eyes at him with a tired look, but dutifully input his details into her terminal without saying a word, save for: "Someone will collect you."
Collect me? Even that innocuous phrase sounded snappy, and dangerous, when you threw it into a spy context. It was like some sort of clandestine drop, and he was waiting for his contact. Who would it be? Director Van-Derveld, perhaps? Or maybe one of her Subdirectors; no doubt she was too busy with important spy business to deal with him directly.
Whoever it was, no doubt they would be someone extremely cool, and extremely important. He turned his back to the receptionist and, propping his elbows up against the counter, he leaned, and waited.