”Correlian Brady, please. Neat.”
The Moff's eyes were drawn to the strangely familiar voice a few meters away. Non-government, definitely not military. *Unusual.* he mused. It wasn't difficult for the Minister of Security to learn much about a person at a glance. The way they carried themselves, their posture, subtle undertones of their voice. This one was different though. *Murky* thought Dante to himself. With a twist of the glass in his hand the ice and amber liquid swirled before being raised to his lips. He savored the flavor, a distant memory coming to the forefront of his mind - no, he knew who she was. Slowly but surely a name began to form in his mind. *A Zambrano.* A crooked smile briefly flashed across his features before resuming their naturally neutral state. He observed the woman for a moment longer, his brief attempt at analyzing her behavior largely ineffective, but something had changed since the last time the two had crossed paths. He remembered the musty smell of the jungle as he'd hiked through it, the burn of his legs after ascending the extensive stairway to the Bastion - a disciple of the Supreme Leader or not, it was a memorable experience.
In short order, Ms. Zambrano had made her way across the room, snagging something from a tray before coming to a halt near one of the ornate pillars around the central room. There she paused, as if looking for someone specific. It was then his feet began to carry him in her wake. Carefully he navigated around several groups of talking dignitaries and attendees - some in uniform, others in regal gowns and dresses. *Dosuun High Society no doubt.* He would have sneered at the thought, but instead he assumed a gentle smile.
"Nice night for an event, don't you think Ms. Zambrano?"
His steps had led him just to the woman's side, glass switching hands as he extended the other in greeting.
"Decent turnout so far - expecting someone specific?" he said, nodding towards the arches towards the entrance. An almost knowing grin spread across his features. Even the unknown could come to light, if one feigned knowledge. At very least, it was one method of discovering her interest. Collecting information was one of his strengths. How she responded should likely tell him what he needed to know, and if not? Every action was a move in a perpetual game of chess, each feint revealing another weakness, another move to be made. Social events were rife with maneuvering - this was no different.