Dorian Marshall
Oct 22nd, 2015, 12:27:12 PM
*knock knock knock*
"Ugh, two more hours!" The figure rolled over in his expansive bed.
*knock knock knock*
"Two more minutes?" He threw an arm over his eyes, trying to shut out the daylight, leaking in through the windows of the Diktat's mansion.
*knock knock knock*
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you! I'm up. I am officially no longer sleeping. Congratulations, you did a wonderful job."
He was Dorian Marshall. He was an acclaimed daredevil and extreme athelete. He dated starlets and models. He was the recently appointed Diktat of Corellia, replacing his late sister. He was one of the most recognizable faces on the planet. But this morning, he was just another guy with a killer hangover.
He was no fool though. He would work through this hangover like he had hundreds of others and he'd do a damn good job of it because today, today his people needed him. Only a few days ago, a bunch of assholes had taken it upon themselves to crash a space cruiser into the surface of his planet. His job, which had for the previous two months consisted mostly of showing up at parties and press conferences to parrot the official doctrine of the Moff's office, suddenly became much more difficult. Much more real.
In the immediate aftermath of the attack, there had been little time to really appreciate the enormity of what had been done; he had been too busy helping to organize the relief efforts and keep the reporters placated. Yes, the government had things under control. Yes, the perpetrators would be found and brought to justice. No, he didn't have any comment on whether this attack had any connection to the Corellian Reistance or the Alliance of Free Planets. Yes, search and rescue operations were continuing and he had every belief that more Corellians would be rescued from the crash site.
It wasn't until last night that things really hit him. And it had hit him hard. He had never really mourned the death of his sister, who had been lost in a freak speeder accident, but last night, he had suddenly wished desperately that she was here to handle things. And with that wish, a crack had formed in the wall he'd put up and all the bottled up emotions had come crashing through. To defend himself against those, he had relied on a time-tested weapon - the raging party. Close friends. Very hush hush. Copious amounts of alcohol.
And today, with those feelings bottled back up where they belonged, he would give his speech at the memorial service. And he would rock it.
"Ugh, two more hours!" The figure rolled over in his expansive bed.
*knock knock knock*
"Two more minutes?" He threw an arm over his eyes, trying to shut out the daylight, leaking in through the windows of the Diktat's mansion.
*knock knock knock*
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you! I'm up. I am officially no longer sleeping. Congratulations, you did a wonderful job."
He was Dorian Marshall. He was an acclaimed daredevil and extreme athelete. He dated starlets and models. He was the recently appointed Diktat of Corellia, replacing his late sister. He was one of the most recognizable faces on the planet. But this morning, he was just another guy with a killer hangover.
He was no fool though. He would work through this hangover like he had hundreds of others and he'd do a damn good job of it because today, today his people needed him. Only a few days ago, a bunch of assholes had taken it upon themselves to crash a space cruiser into the surface of his planet. His job, which had for the previous two months consisted mostly of showing up at parties and press conferences to parrot the official doctrine of the Moff's office, suddenly became much more difficult. Much more real.
In the immediate aftermath of the attack, there had been little time to really appreciate the enormity of what had been done; he had been too busy helping to organize the relief efforts and keep the reporters placated. Yes, the government had things under control. Yes, the perpetrators would be found and brought to justice. No, he didn't have any comment on whether this attack had any connection to the Corellian Reistance or the Alliance of Free Planets. Yes, search and rescue operations were continuing and he had every belief that more Corellians would be rescued from the crash site.
It wasn't until last night that things really hit him. And it had hit him hard. He had never really mourned the death of his sister, who had been lost in a freak speeder accident, but last night, he had suddenly wished desperately that she was here to handle things. And with that wish, a crack had formed in the wall he'd put up and all the bottled up emotions had come crashing through. To defend himself against those, he had relied on a time-tested weapon - the raging party. Close friends. Very hush hush. Copious amounts of alcohol.
And today, with those feelings bottled back up where they belonged, he would give his speech at the memorial service. And he would rock it.