Thran Mrithun
Sep 4th, 2018, 11:55:15 AM
He had been watching her for days now.
A constant vigilance was necessary to learn the everyday habits of his prey; what shop she preferred for her morning stimcaf, the whereabouts of her vocation and the locations in between, her favorite restaurants, and intimately the apartment complex where she resided. In a few days' time, he most assuredly knew more about her than anyone else that unceremoniously passed in and out of her life. She preferred a surreptitious routine, choosing to blend into the background of Coruscant's bustling day to day life and it was easy, easier to hide in plain sight. So many preferred to hermitize, burying themselves in the obscure, ancient worlds where their kind had once reigned supreme. It didn't matter. He would find them, no matter how they chose to hide themselves. It was, after all, his designation.
Thran Mrithun sat at the outdoor patio of his quarry's favorite cafe, strategically positioned to observe the street she strolled down every evening on her way home from work. A stylus drifted over a digital canvas splayed in his lap and a now cold cup of stim tea loitered on the umbrella'd table before him; denoting how distracting his current occupation could truly be. The canvas he scrawled upon displayed a picture of the woman he hunted; mid-twenties, thin and willowy, dark skin and light hair, and wary blue eyes that seemed to take in everything and nothing at once. Not unlike his own. His eyes, however, were a deep dark brown that exuded infinitely more shrewdness when affixed upon a subject of interest; otherwise seeming quite careless in their usual perusal, candidly.
His chrono chimed quietly and he laid down his drawing utensil to silence it, reaching out with the same hand to raise and subsequently quaff his beverage. He winced at the liquid's coldness and replaced the mug back on the table, choosing instead to stash his holopad into the recesses of his two-button, ebony overcoat. A credit chip was removed from his pocket and laid out for his server, the scarf that had come to drift out over his lapels gingerly tucked back into place. He inhaled deeply and pocketed his hands, rounding the balustrade of the cafe and falling into an easy pace behind his target.
He had collected all of the data and passed it along to his employer. His directive was clear. Tonight, tonight.
A constant vigilance was necessary to learn the everyday habits of his prey; what shop she preferred for her morning stimcaf, the whereabouts of her vocation and the locations in between, her favorite restaurants, and intimately the apartment complex where she resided. In a few days' time, he most assuredly knew more about her than anyone else that unceremoniously passed in and out of her life. She preferred a surreptitious routine, choosing to blend into the background of Coruscant's bustling day to day life and it was easy, easier to hide in plain sight. So many preferred to hermitize, burying themselves in the obscure, ancient worlds where their kind had once reigned supreme. It didn't matter. He would find them, no matter how they chose to hide themselves. It was, after all, his designation.
Thran Mrithun sat at the outdoor patio of his quarry's favorite cafe, strategically positioned to observe the street she strolled down every evening on her way home from work. A stylus drifted over a digital canvas splayed in his lap and a now cold cup of stim tea loitered on the umbrella'd table before him; denoting how distracting his current occupation could truly be. The canvas he scrawled upon displayed a picture of the woman he hunted; mid-twenties, thin and willowy, dark skin and light hair, and wary blue eyes that seemed to take in everything and nothing at once. Not unlike his own. His eyes, however, were a deep dark brown that exuded infinitely more shrewdness when affixed upon a subject of interest; otherwise seeming quite careless in their usual perusal, candidly.
His chrono chimed quietly and he laid down his drawing utensil to silence it, reaching out with the same hand to raise and subsequently quaff his beverage. He winced at the liquid's coldness and replaced the mug back on the table, choosing instead to stash his holopad into the recesses of his two-button, ebony overcoat. A credit chip was removed from his pocket and laid out for his server, the scarf that had come to drift out over his lapels gingerly tucked back into place. He inhaled deeply and pocketed his hands, rounding the balustrade of the cafe and falling into an easy pace behind his target.
He had collected all of the data and passed it along to his employer. His directive was clear. Tonight, tonight.