Business or Pleasure?

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Ceto drummed his fingers idly against the small package in his hands, rocking slightly between his toes and heels as the transparisteel-encased elevator conveyed him up the outside of one of Cloud City's upper spires. It was a breathtaking view, but also one that Ceto had never quite become entirely comfortable with. From his own penthouse suite of accommodations and offices atop the Grand Bespin Hotel, Ceto was able to look out upon the sprawling vista of the city in relative comfort; but balanced precariously here, several stories above a messy and painful impact with the all-too-weighty upper surface of Bespin's capital, with nothing beneath his feet but transparency? That he was a long way from becoming comfortable with.

I need a jetpack, he mused to himself, as he focused all of his attention on the slowly ascending indicator of what floor he was on, ignoring the view around him entirely. Just in case.

The elevator lurched to an all too welcome halt, and Ceto strode out with all the purposeful swiftness he could muster before the doors had even finished opening. The foyer to the lair of the Baroness was a welcome relief: a nice, solid, opaque floor beneath his feet for starters; plenty of elegant and expensive comforts scattered around, just in case the death-defying ascent had caused you to forget who it was you were here to see.

A pair of eyes glanced up from a computer terminal, the full attention of the receptionist following quickly in his wake. "Moff Rübezahl," she greeted, with a pleasant smile that was slightly undercut by the formality hidden beneath her tone. "You're right on time. The Baroness asked me to send you straight in."

Ceto's response was a smile that had been practised and honed across decades of media attention: charming, lopsided, and just genuine enough to seem plausible without really having to work at it all that hard. "Thank you, Dayna," he replied as he passed, noting the familiar surprised and pleased reaction that most people in her position had when Ceto remembered their names. It didn't matter that Ceto had casually asked one of the security guards downstairs to check who was working reception today; she'd never find that out, and the result was her day seeming a little less mundane than usual. Everybody wins.

Squaring his shoulders as he stepped through the door into the Baroness's office, Ceto slowed his pace from his purposeful march to a more casual stroll. "I can never remember," he offered by way of an announcement of his arrival, shifting his parcel-filled hands to rest casually behind him. "Am I supposed to curtsey when I greet a Baroness, or is this the one where I drop down to one knee and bow my head?"

[Sanya Tagge]

"On your hands and knees."

Had those words ever been spoken so smoothly? They hung in the air, held for an uncertain moment. Stepping out from behind her desk, there was a gleam in the Baroness Administrator's eyes as she regarded her guest. Sanya Tagge smiled, her chin lifted ever so slightly.

"But... you can stand. If only to save the knees on that suit."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

A smile settled itself onto Ceto's features, skewed ever so slightly to one side. "Mr Okar will be thrilled to hear that," Ceto quipped back.

Casually, Ceto allowed himself to advance a little further towards the Baroness. She was a fascinating woman, both in person and in her absence. There were stories, both those that were muttered from person to person in the corridors, as well as those that weren't quite so eagerly shared. Ceto had taken the time to acquaint himself with all of them, fully aware of the vast gulf between truth and rumour when it came to the lives of people as much in the public eye as she or he. Rumour was based on real events in much the same way that many of the holodramas he had performed in had been: which was to say not very.

Even so, beneath all of the malicious rumours, the confused facts, and the misinterpretations, a glimmer of a true narrative peeked through like sunlight through Bespin clouds. Behind the reputation, behind the persona that Sanya Tagge embodied when attention was on her, was a real and genuine person. Ceto had no idea who that person was, or what kind of a person they were; but he knew a fellow actor when he saw one, and knew how to appreciate a damned good performance.

A moment of silence persisted, before the mystery package was presented into the gap between them.

"Lutrillian chocolates," he explained, extending the paper-wrapped box towards her. A moment of better judgement solicited a few additional words of clarification. "My mother always taught me never to show up empty handed when you intend to ask someone for something."

[Sanya Tagge]

She received the gift graciously and leaned in to place a kiss on Ceto's cheek that never quite made contact with skin. The chocolates were deposited with care on her desk, before Sanya turned to walk away.

"Come, sit."

Behind the broad desk that greeted visitors to the Baroness Administrators office, there was a small seating area, backed by a floor to ceiling panoramic window. The view of Cloud City was striking. Not as impressive as a penthouse view of the Coruscant skyline, but there was a provincial charm about Bespin. Sanya sank into one of the deep, inviting armchairs that clustered by the window and smiled across at Ceto as he joined her.

"So, what is this charm offensive in aid of?"

[Ceto Rübezahl]

"Oh, come now," Ceto protested, letting his smile broaden and letting a little more warmth creep into his voice. "Surely my charms aren't that offensive."

He fell silent for a moment as he moved to join the Baroness, allowing his attention to stray to the vista beyond the window. Though Ceto's responsibilities to the combined sectors of the Greater Javin often forced him to attend to business on Jovan, Gerrenthum, Isde Naha, and the other more populous worlds elsewhere in the Sector, Ceto had swiftly found himself thinking of his extended stays on Bespin as a homecoming. There was a peaceful tranquillity to it; Ceto often found himself wondering if the engineers who had built the city had realised the breathtaking beauty they were created, and if they had intended for the city to - on the surface at least - have such a striking resemblance to the heavenly citadels in which the gods of ancient mythologies dwelt.

He let his focus drift back towards the chief goddess of Bespin's little cloud dwelling pantheon, his smile slipping just a little as a reluctant business tone crept it's way into his voice.

"I just had a -"

He hesitated. Typical parlance encouraged him to describe his time spent on Lutrillia as very productive, but in reality all that had come from it was questions, and possibilities. Nothing definite. Nothing finalised. No hard decisions, or hard funds to push anything forward with. It was the frustrating reality of everything that Ceto was attempting to do here, in gentrifying this corner of the Outer Rim. The Treaty had left the Empire's corporations and economy in dire need of a new Corporate Sector to replace all that had been lost on the other side of the Alliance border, and the Greater Javin was possibly gasping for the opportunities that such an effort would provide. The corporations, though? They were even more glacial in their decision makings than the Senate of old had been. No one wanted to take a risk; or rather, no one wanted to be first to take a risk. Kuat Drive Yards, Industrial Automaton, Cybot Galactica, and all the other affiliates and sponsors of the old Corporate Sector; they were all waiting for someone else to lead the way.

The Baroness knew all this, of course. TaggeCo was one of the only major corporations who had backed any of Rübezahl's efforts thus far. Hopefully though, that would soon change.

"- an interesting meeting with the CEO of Santhe/Sienar Technologies. He is hardly the most amiable of men, but he does have a need; one that I believe it's within our power to satisfy."

Ceto shifted a little; instead of his usual casual poise, arms sprawled across the back of the Baroness's elegant couch, he instead lent forward intently, hands grasped together and resting against his knees. His keen eyes locked with Sanya's, eager to convey just how much of an important step in the right direction this could potentially be.

"Santhe/Sienar is based out in the Tion Cluster, way off on the wrong side of the Treaty line. The Alliance have Tion's borders locked up tight; if you want to get anything from a shipyard or a factory or a facility in the Cluster to any part of Imperial space, you're fresh out of luck. The Empire isn't going to run out of TIE Fighters any time soon, but -"

He stumbled over the right choice of words.

"- it's a point of pride, I suppose. Sienar is worried that people will start to smell blood in the water, and that's a terrifying prospect for a corporation with such a history of contract exclusivity with the Imperial military."

His brow furrowed, gaze dipping to the floor for a moment as he collected his thoughts before returning.

"Santhe/Sienar has a corporate headquarters on Byblos, but they've never been fond of being close to the Core. They want production facilities, research facilities, corporate facilities, all firmly within Imperial borders; and our little corner of the galaxy is exactly the sort of thing they are looking for. But -"

Ceto grimaced.

"Cloud City is the gem that we're trying to cultivate; the Hidden Jewel of the Greater Javin. The influx of wealth and tourism from just the corporate staff alone, especially when other companies start flocking to the Tagge and Sienar banners... it's a business opportunity that we'd be foolish to pass up. But Cloud City just doesn't have the space. It's not like we can bolt a new corporate district onto the side of the city; we'd have to displace half the population of Down Below just to squeeze them in."

Another pause stretched out between them; another frowning glance was cast at the floor.

"I want to take over Tibannopolis (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Tibannopolis); separate sky cities for business and pleasure. It'll be expensive. It'll be risky. But if you ask me..."

He trailed off. Shrugged. He wished he hadn't; hardly the most confidence-inspiring of gestures.

"I think it's a risk worth taking. And, given your experience in -" More careful phrasing, dodging around the word propaganda. "- conveying the most positive truths possible, I think we have a chance here to make Bespin a world where the Empire's corporations can't afford not to be."

[Sanya Tagge]

"It would be risky. There's quite a stigma attached to Tibannopolis."

The reputation of Cloud City's counterpart wasn't one that the Empire had actively cultivated. Equally, they had made no attempt to elevate Tibannopolis from what it had become: a ghost town. In assuming the office of Baroness Administrator, Sanya had been briefed on the abandoned colony, had seen images of what it had once been and what it was now. Looking out at the cloud-dappled skyline, Sanya recalled the pictures of abandoned homes and empty streets frozen in time. Even tibanna prospectors had foregone the opportunity to set up operations in the city, knowing that they could never hope to compete with the success of Cloud City. The only way a company could thrive around Bespin was by ignoring the abundance of tibanna gas and focusing on a more unique business venture.

Reclining, the Baroness brushed two fingertips over her lips as she considered Ceto's proposition.

"Did the CEO offer any... suggestions about what might encourage his company to join us?"

[Ceto Rübezahl]

That was the million-credit question, wasn't it? The stigma wasn't just attached to Tibannopolis: it was Bespin; Anoat; the whole damn Outer Rim. Present company excepted, Cloud City was not the sort of place you expected to find the classy calibre of person that Santhe/Sienar would want to rub shoulders with.

"The Santhe family are a bunch of arrogant sons - and daughters - of bitches."

It was a brutally honest statement, one highlighted with the slightest hint of tiredness in his tone, the facade of formality and propriety falling away from his voice. Proper decorum said that Sanya was far too important and connected to speak to her with anything but carefully chosen words, but there came a time in situations such as this where the acting had to fall away; where you had to pick an ally, start edging up a little closer, and set the verbal dancing aside for a little frankness and honesty.

"They're from the Tion Cluster, and they're the root cause of the kind of stereotype that goes along with that sort of a person. They liked it in the Cluster because it kept them removed from the riff-raff in the Core. Duros, Neimoidians, Corellians - to them, there were far too many cultures dragging the tone down for their liking. In the Cluster, and in the Corporate Sector, because it was mostly the higher brow corporations from the classier worlds that gravitated there - Kuat, Nubia, Tepasi."

One of Ceto's hands raised to his mouth, the crook of an index finger drumming against his lips as he thought.

"Between Lando Calrissian, the Iron Blockade, Hoth, the Ugnaughts, the Lutrillians; there's a lot about the Greater Javin that's making Santhe/Sienar uneasy. They don't want any of Anoat's reputation to rub off on them. But we've got a secret weapon here on Cloud City, and she's as cunning and intelligent as she is beautiful."

He looked up at Sanya directly, offering a small shrug.

"You and TaggeCo are the aces up our sleeve. If you can convince Mr Sienar-Santhe that Cloud City is going places and that this is their opportunity to get a front row seat and early access tickets to that evolution..."

Another shrug, and a slight sigh this time.

"Lets just say that my life story doesn't put me on the kind of pedestal that the Santhes look down from. I don't have the kind of regallity you do, and so they aren't quite buying what I'm selling."

[Sanya Tagge]

It was a testament to the quality of Sanya's ability to tell the truth slant that Ceto remarked on her 'regality'. She was, after all, not noble by birth. She had been adopted into the Tagge family; she owed a great deal to the benevolence of Ulric Tagge and the discipline of the COMPNOR's Sub-Adult Group. If she was regal in any way, it was not by descent but determination.

Ceto was right, of course. There was a lot working against Cloud City, enough that for her 'blue blood' to make any impact on Santhe/Sienar, it would have to come in buckets. The frank and honest manner in which the Moff had spoken to her would doubtlessly seem deferential in comparison with what Mr Sienar-Santhe would have to say. Restless energy teased Sanya to her feet and she walked closer to the panoramic window, watching as a lone cloud car drifted by, stirring the clouds in soft ripples. So peaceful.

"I would be.. delighted to entertain them here in the city." The prospect of visiting the Tion Cluster did not fill her with joy, but if it was a necessity, it was a necessity.

A thought occurred to her. "Perhaps I should invite my brother," she added and turned her head, just enough to see Ceto at the edge of her vision.

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Gallus Tagge: the ace that Ceto hoped they could play, but knew better than to ask for. It had been a long time since Ceto had regarded chasing women as a sport the way he had in his youth - several years on Bothawui would do that to a man with a mild canine allergy - but he remembered enough of those days to know that he wouldn't earn any favours from overtly using the Baroness for access to her brother. It wasn't that Sanya herself wasn't enough; but now wasn't the time to be sparing with their political capital. They needed to go all in; and the husband of the Empress was quite the gambit.

"That," Ceto replied, trying to carefully walk the line between the right amount of agreement, gratitude, and deftly feigned surprise, "Would make a huge difference."

Following the lead of the Baroness, Ceto eased himself casually to his feet as well, advancing a few paces to join her in gazing out the window. Out of deference, he kept himself an arms reach away and half a step back; more relics from his acting days, seeking to avoid upstaging the person to whom he was trying to convey respect. His hands loosely clasped behind his back, fingertips drumming against the inside of his palm.

"Achilles Sienar-Santhe is the kind of man who responds favourably to a good ego stroking. The fact that we consider him important enough to make that sort of gesture will appeal to his arrogance, while at the same time reminding him just how well connected the Baroness of Bespin is."

[Sanya Tagge]

"Mmm," was all the reply Sanya offered.

What she'd wanted to say, perhaps even sigh, was: I'd thought as much.

The trophy husband of Empress Tarkin was hardly a man you stood up or ignored. That Gallus should be a deciding factor in this matter was a regrettable fact. It would have been foolish not to make use of her brothers status, however much she would have preferred to stand or fall on her own strengths. Where TaggeCo was, her brother inevitably would follow. Gallus was as much the company mascot as the 'Biscuit Baron' they plastered over the TaggeCo fast food chain. Perhaps he was more like a grav-ball team mascot, though; a larger-than-life, child-friendly caricature, who would dance on command. An indulgent little smirk tugged at her lips, but Sanya smoothed it away, turning back to face her guest.

"You've met.. Achilles. Is there anything about the man himself that would be.. useful to keep in mind?"

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Anything? Ceto had a whole sundry list of things that clung to his own mind about Achilles Sienar-Santhe. His posture, stride, the cadence of his voice, subtle mannerisms, the things that caught his eye, the subject that seemed to ensnare his attention and hold control of his voice for the longest; every aspect and detail that Ceto had been able to observe about the man's performance. Once upon a time it had been a challenge to observe such things, but over the years it had become second nature; and it was a talent that had proven far more useful beyond the end of Ceto's acting career than he might have expected. There were times when he idly mused that such a talent was wasted on his paltry human genes; such a flair for dramatic observation was perhaps best suited to one of the more visually pliable, shape-shifting races of the galaxy.

But that wasn't the kind of input that the Baroness was asking for; or at least, not the kind that she was presumably expecting. Ceto fought against a faint grimace as he wrestled to find the words to succinctly describe such a slimy, unpleasant human being.

"He's a Hutt." The words came out brutal, but unwaveringly honest. "He's a skinny, two-legged Hutt dressed in the skin of a pompous Tionese asshole and bathed in fifty gallons of stupidly expensive cologne; but he's a Hutt none the less. No matter where he is, he's the most important person in the room, and no amount of reality will ever convince him otherwise. He gets what he wants, he wants what he can't have, and everywhere he goes - everything he touches - gets coated in a clammy, sickly film of slime that won't wash off no matter what you try."

He caught himself half a moment before the observation turned into a tirade, a small breath reigning in his judgement and steering it through a filter to strip out the unnecessary opinionation and metaphor.

"About a hundred or so years ago, Sienar was struggling financially. The Santhe family exploited that situation to seize control of Sienar's tech empire, and married off one of it's sons to one of Sienar's daughters. Achilles Sienar-Santhe is the great-something-grandkid of that union; and both families hate him for it. To the Sienars, he's a living reminder of the way that the Santhe name clings to every single aspect of their legacy. To the Santhes, he's a tarnished symbol left over from days gone by that they are stuck with, and don't really want any more. The fact that he, somehow, managed to climb his way to the very peak of Santhe Technologies despite all that just goes to show how stubborn, determined, and resourceful this man is."

Ceto paused for a moment, running the next packet of thoughts through that same filter.

"He's also incredibly well-connected. The Santhes thought it would be a great idea to marry off some of the Sienar-Santhe's to some of the other ruling houses on Lianna; that whole arranged marriage political alliance thing that certain aristocracies get up to from time to time. Achilles was married off to one of the daughters from the Tion family itself: a miserable, loveless marriage that Achilles seems to step out on every ten minutes; but the Santhes and the Tions do that aristocracy thing of pretending it's not happening because nothing has gone public enough to cause a proper embarrassment to the families just yet."

A new pang of worry crept into Ceto's mind as the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of Sanya beside him. A young, beautiful, powerful woman forced by circumstances to want something from Achilles. Perhaps it really was for the best if Gallus Tagge was here, to stay at Sanya's side: not because Ceto doubted that the Baroness could look after herself; but because he doubted that Sienar-Santhe would leave Cloud City with his balls still attached if he made the stupid mistake of trying anything, and Ceto somehow doubted that would be conducive to Greater Javin's economic future.

"The real thing to be mindful though is of the political situation back on Lianna. Thanks to the Treaty, the Tion Cluster has found itself unexpectedly castrated from the Empire, and the populace isn't really sure what to do with their surprise independence. The ruling families - Santhe especially - are far too dependent on the Imperial economy for their wealth and power. If Tion joins the Alliance of Free Planets, they lose their TIE exports; the foundation of their corporate empire crumbles beneath them. The rest of the Cluster, though? Most of the populace has been subjected to aristocratic and Imperial rule for so long that the socialism and freedom-for-all principles that the Alliance preaches are mighty tempting. The upper classes are scared, they're looking for strong leadership that will lock in a guarantee of Imperial aid -"

He trailed off, sure that the Baroness could fill in most of the blanks on her own.

"Achilles wants what is most profitable for Santhe/Sienar, but he's also looking for any and every opportunity to make himself look like the perfect candidate for leadership. That's our selling point: not just that Greater Javin is the perfect opportunity for his company, but that getting himself on the good side of Sanya Tagge is in the best interests of his political career as well."

[Sanya Tagge]

As a Sector Monitor in the Coalition for Improvements, she had faced the egos of dozens of individuals like Achilles Santhe-Sienar. Like, but not the same. Whatever she may have thought about her own abilities, she was not about to underestimate the staggering size of Santhe-Sienar's self-belief. The same could not be said of the reverse, she imagined. What would the man see when he arrived on Cloud City, or when he looked at Sanya Tagge? A loyal servant of the Galactic Empire, perhaps, or an irritating distraction?

She understood all to well the fragile political game being played in the Tion Cluster. It was, after all, not a far cry from many Imperial systems. House Tagge hadn't married its competition, but it had ruined them, very deliberately. No one even knew the name Balfed anymore, did they? Sanya hadn't even been alive when that particular machination had come to fruition, but the thought of it still elicited a smile as she recalled her father and uncle talking fondly of the all en-compassing character assassination. Then again, no one could say that House Tagge hadn't married into prosperity. The fact that it had been Miranda Tarkin had propositioned the alliance, rather than the other way around, was a fact that escaped public knowledge.

Brushing away the introspective consideration, Sanya returned to her chair.

"It would be.. wonderful if you could arrange the meeting for me, Ceto."

[Ceto Rübezahl]

There were moments when Ceto forgot himself; moments when it briefly slipped his mind that this life, this career of leadership and politics, was nothing more than the most elaborate, drawn out acting role he had ever been cast for. Everything was a front, a performance; every word carefully scripted, every action carefully staged to play into the expectations of his audience. Ceto was good at it, too: good at the faked sentiments, the honeyed words, the mental separation that allowed him to seem the way a Moff should seem, without ever quite becoming that sort of a man.

There were moments, though. Every actor suffered from them at one time or another. The performance of a psychopath that became a little too real. Scripted animosity or romance that persisted even after the scene ended. The emotions of fictional loss and fictional hurt that cut just as deep as reality. Sometimes you moved past it; realised how foolish you were. Sometimes they stuck with you, and you just learned to move on. Sometimes, if you were unlucky, it ended in drugs, or therapy, or tragedy.

This time, performing here with an audience of one, what Ceto forgot was so seemingly insignificant, and yet he knew how dangerous a lapse it was. For a moment, he forgot that being the kind of man who couldn't resist a pretty smile from a pretty girl was only an act. He forgot the unspoken agreement between the two of them that this banter was a battle of wits and nothing more.

"For you?" he answered, charm oozing into his smile like honey drizzled across dessert. "I'm sure I can manage something."

[Sanya Tagge]

Absolved of the task of instigating what would undoubtedly be a tiresome engagement, the Baroness breathed a silent sigh as she sank back a little deeper into her chair. She turned her attention fully to the face of her guest. He was, she conceded to herself, quite handsome. Remarkably handsome, in fact, for a man of his station, she further acknowledged, thinking briefly of the rat-like features of Yeart Quenn, the Moff of Kuat. She could allow herself to enjoy how pleasing he was to the eye, perhaps as something of a mental palate cleanser after her earlier thoughts of cynicism.

"Is there anything else that I can do for you? Any more business to discuss?"

[Ceto Rübezahl]

While the forefront of Ceto's mind was still focused on acting his way through this particular mix of social and political interaction, the background of his mind had already set about contemplating the potential arrangements for the meeting that he was about to orchestrate. A man such as Achilles Sienar-Santhe was hardly the type to decline Ceto's invitation, especially if the sister-in-law of the Empress was involved; but such men needed more than just fancy words and expensive card stock to put them in the kind of pliable mood that they needed him in. Dinner and beautiful women were a start; but the more extensive and theatrical their efforts to pander to the man's ego, the more his inclination to disagree with their proposals would be eroded.

An event, then. Not something explicitly tailored to Sienar-Santhe per se; but a gala perhaps, with him as an invited guest of honour. Something that made him feel like a respected embellishment; perhaps something where his attendance felt like a favour, so that any business proposals could be presented as reciprocation. Half a dozen potential excuses had already formed, and were undergoing a complex algorithm of scrutiny; but that did nothing to provide an answer to the Baroness's query.

"Do you suppose," he began to ask, a hint of a smile once again forming at the corner of his mouth, "That Mister Okar could be convinced to offer us a discount on new formal wear if we order something for the both of us?


* * *

A Few Weeks Later

Catching a glimpse of himself in a convenient reflective surface, Ceto stopped for a moment to ensure that his collar was adjusted exactly the way the overly handsy Hutt tailor had intended. Rübezahl was too much a child of the Republic to share the kind of bigotry that affected many of his peers, but there was still something a little off-putting about the amount of physical contact the Hutt was required to make with him every time he arrived for a suit fitting. True, he could have imported silk ensembles from Nubia, or the latest fashions from the Core; but what message would it send if the Moff of the Greater Javin wasn't willing to wear something local?

One of the staff caught his eye from across the the ballroom, and Ceto replied with a smile and nod of recognition. There was something about being here at Cumulus that put him ever so slightly on edge; there were whispers about the kind of shady benefactors that the casino had, and the appeasement Ceto hoped to offer by choosing this venue was a gamble. Not a tossed into the river with a duracrete brick tied to his ankles sort of gamble, but certainly something in the slippery slope category. Even so, Cumulus was uncontested as the fanciest establishment Cloud City had to offer; and the plush, opulent surroundings made for the perfect backdrop for the kind of stage that Ceto sought to present.

The underlying idea had actually come from one of Ceto's COMPNOR subordinates: someone he'd made a note to keep an eye on, both for her bright ideas and refreshingly high hem lines. At the core of it, Ceto's business efforts here on Cloud City were a response to the Treaty, and the corporate displacement that it had caused; so why not embrace that? A charity gala, raising credits for a refugee fund to help those displaced from worlds now across the border. It was the perfect function to invite a prominent member of the Tionese nobility as a guest of honour: for those in the Tion Cluster, the new borders were a painful thorn in their side; one that left them completely surrounded on all sides by Alliance space. Playing to Sienar-Santhe's ego was one strategy to make him receptive to Ceto's business plan; but playing to his anger at the injustice of it all seemed far more reliable.

Content that he was as well presented as he was likely to get, Ceto breathed out a small sigh, mustered his resolve, settled his most charming smile firmly on his face, and set off into the crowd of invited business folk, politicians, and celebrities with one reluctant objective: to mingle.

[Tonyh Vankar]

While it wasn't Tonyh's first visit to Cloud City, it was the first one purely for business. Of course, he never had problems mixing it with pleasure, should the opportunity arise, but previously, he had only stopped there for menial tasks such as refuel. Over the last while, he had heard about how the place was becoming quite the hub and as a CEO, he had planned to make himself acquainted with the professional options this could offer. Given the nature of his illegal affairs on the side, he had twice the reasons to make himself known. Until now, the right moment hadn't happened, but the gala he was attending this evening, to which he had been invited thanks to some intimately pulled strings, he had made sure to show up on his best.

As he shared some idle chat with a few beauties - who sadly lacked brains they tried to make up for with their generous charms - he kept his keen observation sense on alert, ready to seize the scene and figure out introductions opportunities and chances of not so random conversations he couldn't afford to pass up. Regardless of the quiet start of the evening, he was glad he had made sure to look the part with recently custom-made suit and shirt. His family had relied on the same designer for years and he wasn't going to break tradition when the results were so good.

Accepting another flute of champagne, he excused himself and headed towards the buffet while eyeing the still quiet ballroom.

[Victor Montegue]

There were two kinds of people who attended this sort of charity gala. There were those who found a reason to strategically position themselves as close to the buffet as possible; and then there were crazy people.

While it was true that Victor Montegue was here because he had to be - orders from the Holy Slug who owned the company that Victor ran - the prospect of a gourmet buffet had been responsible for keeping his protests to a minimum. There was something special about a good buffet. Foods that it just didn't seem right to eat at other time. Flavour combinations that should have been sacrilege in such opulent, fine-dining style surroundings, that were somehow permitted to sit side by side upon your plate. Special variations of common foods that somehow became so much more fancy and respectable when you miniaturised them to an inexplicably small size. It was a rare, special experience. Not quite enough of an experience to negate his frustration at being trapped in a casino with a bunch of moronic and self-important tossweeds, but it certainly softened the blow.

All of Victor's years of military and Sector Ranger training had conspired to help him find this particular location. He wasn't loitering at the buffet, but rather close to it: close enough that his frequent voyages to restock his plate wouldn't attract any real attention, but far enough away to not seem as if he was gorging himself like some kind of ridiculously handsome bipedal Hutt. He'd also paid careful attention to the wait staff, watching the routes that they meandered through the crowd. Every five minutes or so, a slightly balding individual with a disappointingly reedy moustache passed by with a tray of drinks, swooping past the buffet to recon the various platters, and feed back any deficits to the kitchen. Victor had been careful to cultivate the right kind of relationship with the man: eye contact, the occasional smile and off-hand comment about how I bet you just love working these kinds of gigs, huh?, careful not to liberate a glass from the man's tray too often. With any luck, another twenty minutes or so and he'd have solidified their dynamic enough to try and ask for something specific from the bar. Not directly, of course. Whew, this wine and these entrées aren't mixing so great. Wait for the waiter to offer a solution. Play into his desire to feel useful, and to deviate even a little from the monotony. Witness Manipulation 101.

But then across the room strode a complication; or perhaps an opportunity - Victor was a corporate businessman now, and they loved that ridiculous little exchange of concepts. All kinds of red flags resonated in Victor's mind. The man had broken away from the larger herd of pretend philanthropists, rather than gravitating towards the buffet with his conversational partners. He held a glass but not a plate, which meant this might be his first visit: that threatened the monopoly that Victor had managed to establish over the crunchy spice rolls, and meant that he might linger longer than the other patrons who'd filled their plates and disappeared.

Worse though, he seemed young and handsome. Or at least younger than Victor, which was the only distinction of any importance. Victor hated those sorts of people. Or rather, he hated those sorts of people when they decided to stand in his general vicinity. In isolation, Victor had aged pretty gracefully, all things considered; but on the off-chance that someone attractive made their way to the buffet, this new guy would be standing right in the path of his flirt game, all strong jawed and pretty eyed.

Intervention was necessary. Victor needed to seize control of the situation; make sure it proceeded on his own terms. He almost shuddered at the thought.

Small talk.

As casually as he could manage, Victor carefully eased himself away from where he'd been holding station, disappearing the last few items from his plate in a display of gluttonous sleight of hand, and eased himself into place alongside his fellow buffet attendee.

"Piece of advice?" he offered, grabbing a few tiny sausages, and spooning a quick dollop of the appropriate sauce onto his place. "Those miniature Rendili cheese steak sliders? Pretty sure there's a contraband substance in the seasoning; they're addictive as hell."

[Tony Maxwell]

Galas, parties, and other assorted events were a prime location for one to strut their stuff, and Tony was no exception. True, he wasn't wearing his very best suit. After Arcan he learned to not wear his OKwear suits everywhere. They tended to get mud and other assorted fluids on them. Instead he wore his second best suit, which was still worth more than a mid-range speeder. Like a Hokkin bird he strutted into the room, hands in his pockets, a million credit smile on his face. Behind him shuffled the mechanic legs of a droid. It was slim, compact, with rounded limbs and plates that had been painted a glossy black and white to imitate the colors of a suit; raising it to a level of class and elegance not normally found among droid-kind. It kept a step behind him at all times.

Snagging a champagne flute from a passing waiter, he pressed on into the crowd; stopping and saying hello to numerous men and women as they passed. Few did not return his greeting, but most reacted warmly. His father had told him a long time ago, when he was just a child, that it wasn't about what you do but who you know. Tony was the new guy on the block. The up and coming droid manufacturer from Naboo who was just hitting the galactic market. Javin had become his home away from home and it was here that he was making the necessary contacts and networks to get his product recognized.

That's why the droid was with him. Not just because he enjoyed having a personal servant at all times, and a body guard if necessary, but because it was the product. The new product anyways. His father's legacy, Maxwell Industries' agricultural droids, were already well received back on Naboo and now shipping across the galaxy. Tony wasn't satisfied with that legacy. He wanted his own, and the name of it would be Battle Droids. There had been a lot of hick ups along the way, but now he had a solid droid to work with. He was a little lacking in unique firepower to really drive it's effectiveness home, but that was a problem he would fine a solution for eventually. Networking solved most of his problems, and this one should be no different.

And as such, when he saw a new face, he zeroed on it immediately. Striding across the room, past the buffet table, he sidled right up beside the two men just in time to catch a bit of the chatter between them. "If you like them you should try them with a bit of roth sauce. It's messy but the taste. Mm! Exquisite. Anton, fetch me a bite." The droid nodded it's head and strode away, hands behind it's back like a proper butler, and headed for the buffet. "How're you gentleman doing today? Tony Maxwell." He held out a hand to each of them. His father had been the handshaking type and while Tony would hate himself for it later, he never could give up the ingrained habit.

[Sanis Prent]

"Welcome to Cumulus. I hope you enjoy your time here. Let me know if you need anything."

The meet and greet wasn't my usual set. Even for high rollers. Maybe on a hot streak I'd put the personal service out there, but for the most part, I trusted the people below me to keep the high standards of the casino. It allowed me to keep hands-off the front end, so that I could keep focus on the big picture.

Tonight was different. Captains of galactic industry bumping shoulders with Imperial apparatchiks. There was a lot of money changing hands, albeit not in the literal sense. Instead of gambling, the VIP's were schmoozing and striking deals. While I'd prefer deep pockets to at least spend some time playing sabacc or cubet, there was still something to this event. For one, the Empire paid my hosting fees, zero questions asked. Cumulus had earned it's reputation, and they didn't even blink at the premium it cost to book the Sky Room.

The second, and most important part, was being the fly on the wall. A tip here. Inside information there. The Company dealt in a lot of things. Information and leverage was more valuable than spice, if it was the right kind. Knowing where a military contract might splash helped me to pass the information up through the Company, to make sure that somewhere, we had people on it. The best part was that it was a revenue stream that was mostly legitimate. The Empire would be putting a lot of credits in my hand tonight, at least in a roundabout way. Distantly, I considered whether that made me a sellout. There was a time when I might have pointed a blaster at a few faces in this room.

"Governor Rübezahl."

I offered the Imperial boss of Greater Jovan my hand in greeting. The man was rare among Moffs, in that he didn't have a hatchet face or look like the sort of strong man the Empire would install to lord over a sector. He'd been an actor. He had charm, looks, and a general affability that a con artist like myself could appreciate - or be watchful for.

"Welcome to the Cumulus."

[Tonyh Vankar]

Tonyh quirked a brow as another businessman spoke to him as he was at the buffet, making up his mind - thus having some time for himself in the midst of small talk and introductions. His observant self couldn't help but having remarked the previous strategic positioning of the other man; for he had seen him on his way to the buffet. There was something about it that had reminded him of his years in the military when looking for the more efficient way to take down a target and yet be ready to evacuate.

He was about to answer him when another businessman approached them both. He grinned as he selected several canapés and bites to put on his plate. "I am partial to the Commenor sauce, even if it's not handmade by Chef Daren. That would be my addiction to accompany these steak sliders." He replied without hesitation, though he had mentally filed away both men's comments.

He wondered what was up with one of the men's servant droid. He hoped that it was a way to promote his own creations, otherwise having a walking majordome would just be obnoxious. When he introduced himself, he accepted the handshake and offered one to the first who had spoken to him as he introduced himself. "Well met, Mr. Maxwell. I am Tonyh Vankar."

[Gallus Tagge]

It was difficult to overlook the arrival of Gallus Tagge. If not on account of his face, which was plastered on Imperial propaganda and fast-food billboards alike, then the compliment of Imperial Knights would have done it.

They surrounded him in a loose, elliptic orbit, never too close to obvious but never too far away to be ineffectual. They gave the Baron of House Tagge enough room to breathe, but not enough that someone could spring in and steal that breath away from him. They wore plain clothes and were doing their best impression of being normal party-goers. Though he didn't like the idea of being chaperoned, Gallus had to admit that after the Pallaxides incident, it couldn't hurt to have some extra security at hand.

“Ceto picked a rather.... unusual venue for this event,” said the woman on his arm, a platinum blonde with durasteel eyes, her curves wrapped in a dress the shimmering colours of a supernova. His sister, the Baroness Administrator of Bespin. Even though the siblings were sharing a private word, Sanya's attention moved smoothly around the room. They'd hadn't spoken to any of the gala's other guests yet, but Sanya made a point of offering a smile here and there, in the right directions.

Gallus turned an appreciated eye over the floor of the Camulus casino. “I've been thinking of buying the place. Maybe put a couple of air-gravball tables here, huh?” he added with a grin. The bait went untouched though Sanya did arch an eyebrow at him.

“I thought you were going to build somewhere of your own,” she remarked, as her gaze touched for a moment on the figure of Moff Rübezahl, not too far to their left.

Gallus gave the smallest shrug. “Perhaps I'll do both.”

[Ceto Rübezahl]

"Mr Prent."

Ceto offered a perfected smile: just the right amount of warmth so that it felt genuine even if it wasn't, but not enough forced enthusiasm to risk seeming false. It was the kind of smile you practised for when you were introduced to holo critics, or to the directors and producers of art holos and docudramas, who felt that your purely entertainment endeavours lacked the kind of pretentious complexity that made their own productions so noteworthy. With them, the carefully constructed smile was about the preservation of your career: detestable examples of humanity they might be, they were still the sources of credits and acclaim that allowed for your ascent through the complex acting hierarchy. It was an odd and often unconsidered facet of the job that had unexpectedly prepared Ceto for his current career in politics.

Today though, it was about staying on the good side of an important business figure. Whether whispers of Prent's criminal connections were true or not, it didn't matter: Cumulus was the single most important casino in the city, and if Ceto had any intention of getting anything done within the business community, he needed to be able to consider Sanis Prent and his sizeable social and financial influence an ally to his cause.

"You throw quite the party, Mr Prent," Ceto remarked, finally close enough to find their host's hand and shake it. "I'll admit that I had my reservations, but -"

A glimpse of something in the peripheral vision of Ceto's right eye distracted him for a brief moment. A quick glance found the Baroness; her brother as well, though that fact somehow seemed secondary at that point. A quick flash of a greeting smile was cast across the space between them, before he forced himself to shift his attention back towards Sanis Prent. He would have to rendezvous with the Tagges shortly; but he'd need to to retrieve the true objective of this entire endeavour first. If they were to erode Sienar-Santhe's reluctance about embarking on business here, they'd have to begin as early as possible. But first, the host. Propriety and gratitude.

"- you more than delivered. You and Cumulus have my gratitude." A careful tug of a lopsided smile was allowed to manifest on Ceto's features. "And a not insignificant number of my credits, of course."

[Victor Montegue]

"Careful there, Mr Vankar," Victor replied warily, momentarily resenting them both for having less similar names; more so for asserting that their backwards sauce beliefs somehow superseded the wisdom and culinary skill of the chef responsible for crafting these perfect flavour experiences.

From right back in his law enforcement days, Victor had settled upon the opinion that using surnames and misters made people sound like a pompous jackass. It was great if you were trying to interrogate a suspect, or pander to their ego as part of some business deal; but every time Victor found the words tumbling from his lips, he cringed internally. As far as he was concerned, the only time it was truly permissible was if it was miss instead of mister, and you were trying to schmooze your way into her fine and lacys.

"Stand near this guy too long, and you'll find yourself a few hundred grand out of pocket for a droid you never even realised you needed."

Victor didn't have any particular personal animosity towards Tony Maxwell in particular; but if there was one part of the job that he eagerly embraced, it was the concept of brand loyalty, and being completely devoid of any kind of genuine respect for any of your competitors. Granted, Maxwell Industries didn't compete with Czerka Arms directly: since their acquisition by Rath Ouishii Dae, Czerka's minor forays into droid manufacture had largely been handed off to the Ubrikkian Steamworks. Since his counterpart from Ubrikkian Industries wasn't here at the moment however, Victor was more than willing to step up and mildly antagonise her competitors.

"Victor Montegue, by the way," he offered, watching in mild horror as both men continued to defile their sliders. "CEO of Czerka Arms. You here with one of the corporations, or are you just some rich guy looking to blow a few credits on the betterment of the galaxy?"

[Emelie Shadowstar]

There was a time when a fancy gala like this could have been counted among the last sort of place you would ever find Emelie. Not that they were exactly common now, either, but they were becoming something that she was expecting to find more and more a part of her life rather than some warehouse party overflowing with deathsticks and glow in the dark body paint. Ah, the good old days.

She probably had Atton to thank for the invite that found it's way to her, Elysian Acquisitions wasn't that big of a name just yet, after all, but as an up and comer in various pursuits it was more than important to make herself known. Especially here. Cloud City was home now, for better or worse, and a girl had to make herself shine and be seen before she could even think about the sorts of long term dreams the half-Zeltron had cooked up inside her pretty little head.

Not that she was especially opposed to this sort of gathering, either. Never turn down free alcohol. Life lesson number one. True it had numerous addendum but this was hardly the sort of crowd you had to worry about waking up in a refresher somewhere, drugged to oblivion and down a kidney. No, these ruthless sorts were just after your credits. Not that that was any easier to avoid losing.

The choice of locale left something to be desired though. Emelie knew damn well who owned Cumulus, and while tonight was something of a neutral event, she was still more than aware of just what she was walking into. She rolled her shoulders at the entrance, thinking of the tight silver dress she wore with it's lace overlay as battle armor rather than something far too expensive to wear for only one night.

"Right then," She mumbled to her escort for the evening. "Into the jexxel den, then, shall we?"

[Vhiran Antilles]

"Jexxels?"

Vhiran wasn't exactly comfortable at the moment, but that didn't do anything to diminish the familiar sarcastic tone in his voice. Even so, he was probably more comfortable in this situation than Emelie was. Sure, the jacket that he'd borrowed from that Nen kid - just how many people from earlier in his life did Emelie even have in her employ, anyway? - wasn't exactly fitting right, and was tugging a little strangely across his shoulders; but wardrobe related physical sensations aside, this was the closest to being in his element that Vhiran had felt since he'd stepped foot on Cloud City.

It wasn't that charity galas for the rich and famous were a frequent part of his social calendar: Vhiran was absolutely not one of these people, and he knew it deep down in his bones. But that was the thing. Vhiran was used to that. He was used to walking into a fancy party, knowing that he didn't belong, and doing his utmost to hide that from everyone. This whole fiasco was a special new kind of con: an opportunity for Vhiran to help Emelie steal helpful information and snag useful contacts, for the benefit of her business enterprises. Yeah, this was Black Sun's casino. That guy over by the entrance was Sanis Prent, and he was chatting up Ceto Rübezahl, that hack actor turned sector governor. There was the husband of the Empress and his Baroness sister. There was enough wealth and political influence in the room that a strategically placed thermal detonator would probably collapse the economy of the Imperial half of the galaxy. Powerful people with deep pockets. On any other day, even being here would be dangerous.

But not today. Not with Emelie. Not just because of the fact that Emelie had got them in here on legitimate tickets, either: what felt safe, what felt right, was the fact that one of the most dependable women he'd ever worked with was standing there beside him; and one of the others was sitting back in some secret slicer bunker whispering names and details about everyone he aimed his eyes at. Having a proper job and a regular income was a weird sensation. Staying in one place was a weird sensation. Having Emelie as part of his life again was a weird sensation. But working scam recon at a fancy party, with an undeniably reliable crew covering his arse? It'd didn't get much better than this.

"I think you're givin' them far too much credit, love."

He glanced across in Emelie's direction, a smile quickly and readily blossoming across his features. "Come on," he muttered, crooking his arm and offering it towards her. "Lets go mingle, and pretend we're all respectable like."

[Sanya Tagge]

Sanya looked fleetingly, a place that she would not have been seen under any circumstances. A buffet, their father had said, was the feeding trough of the proletariat. However respectable their hosts might claim to be, Sanya's stomach couldn't abide the thought of eating even a mouthful.

A waiter stepped into her line of sight and held out a tray of drinks.

“No, thank you,” she said with a tight smile, but Gallus had already picked up two flutes. When Sanya shook her head at him, he shrugged and took a sip from one then the other.

[Sanis Prent]

You throw quite the party, Mr Prent," Ceto remarked, finally close enough to find their host's hand and shake it. "I'll admit that I had my reservations, but - you more than delivered. You and Cumulus have my gratitude." A careful tug of a lopsided smile was allowed to manifest on Ceto's features. "And a not insignificant number of my credits, of course."

My polite smile said all that needed to on my understanding of the situation. Moff Rübezahl knew the unsaid truths in all but a matter of proof. The influence of the Company was something that did what his Empire couldn't. It thrived across the galaxy, borders be damned. It was an institution that was too big to fail, on account of knowing where enough bodies were buried, and a hand on the dead man's switch 24/7.

We didn't exist in a vacuum, of course. There was a price to be paid, and I was helping to keep the veneer of Imperial legitimacy well-polished.

"We're glad to partner with the sector government, and show what Jovan has to offer. Everyone knows about the tibanna trade on Bespin. But with the war at a standstill, it's a buyer's market and a slaughterhouse. I intend on leveraging Cloud City as the destination in the surrounding three sectors. You won't find a better view for the real movers to break bread over."

I gestured with a drink in hand at the assorted business leaders and party bosses.

"What can I do to make sure our guests' stay is the tops?"