Soap

[Elsius Brandt]

"I'm the soap that's gonna wash the scum off this galaxy, small time. That's who I am. Now what in the hell is you're story?"

The Special Forces soldier shook his head in anger.

"No weapons allowed."

"1, 2, 3, 4, goddamn mother****ing 5. I see five little lightsabres dangling from the hips of these monks. Tell me, why the **** should I let them chop my unmentionables off?"

"They're Jedi, sir," the curtious soldier was finding it hard to include the honorary title of sir. "They protect the peace. They'd rather decapitate themselves then hurt an innocent," again, it was hard to insert a great many words best saved for a man of more patience and respectfulness than Elsius.

"Yeah, like I'm going to be hearing that noise."

Elsius unholstered his weapon and spun it around, handing the butt to the security guard.

"House rules. House rules. I respect that. Don't think I'm not wise to any little movement though, punk. These Jedi better keep their hands off me or I'm coming after you."

The soldier waved him through, disregarding his statement. "Thank you, sir."

Elsius turned around before fully entering the bar. "Phony."

The bar was a mix of cultures, all of which Elsius could remember putting in lock-up. No species or sex was without the "scum" gene. That fatal flaw that made them sub-par on the ethics wheel.

"My man.... Two shots, baby. Yeah, fill that up."

The bartender filled the shot glasses as requested.

"Ain't had a drink in two goddamn days. My liver be feelin' lonely. Know what I'm saying."

Without an answer, the shots were filled and the bartender was onto another customer. One following the other, the drinks were downed with a pleased groan following.

"Good ****. How many coins, brother?"

After hearing the price, Elsius payed with tip. He respected a bartender. They were like nurses to him.

"Fill them rims up."

Pouring the refill the bartender collected the previous payment. Elsius downed one shot and swung his seat around to face the bar, one fully filled shot glass still in hand.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Two glittering metallic eyes peered from the shadows of a back booth, watching curiously at the entrance of the newcomer, and every so often they took on an amused look.

They belonged to Loklorien s'Ilancy, and right now, relaxing in her regular booth towards the back of Master Yoghurt's Bar and Grill, she watched the new head of the Republic Security Corps with curiosity.

She'd heard of Syrius Cline's little 'leave of absence' so that he could become a Jedi, and had consequently followed up on who his replacement would be. It was always good for business to know who your obstacles were; to keep tabs and cover your back. And in her line of work, it was what either kept you out of prison or in. It was cut and dry; a definite line.

One that she watched very carefully.

Elsius Brandt.

She'd heard the name before, but had never had the distinct pleasure of running into him; she had friends who had, and sadly it was those friends who were still doing time. Her brows raised as she continued to watch him, and her fingers drummed the table lightly before closing around her customary bottle of sake, lifting it up to pour some of the liquid into the small cup in front of her.

Replacing the bottle on the table with the dullest of thunks, she proceeded to lift the cup to her lips and take a sip.

After a few minutes, s'Il stretched, crossing her booted feet as she leaned back in her seat, still observing the new Director. Idly reaching down to brush a hand across the left leg of her grey infantry trousers, she quietly declined to order food as a server droid stopped at her table, and as it trundled off, she let her eyes follow it before returning to their previous task of watching Elsius Brandt.