Acting On Your Best Behavior

[Ras'kala'han]

Barbatos | The Sith Academy; Archives​

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It normally is poor form to drink after 19:00 standard, but the rules don't really apply when you can purge the offending chemicals from your system with a thought. With that, you can enjoy the flavor of a nice champagne at whatever hour of the night you wished - which was good, because it was late. Antherion sat, legs crossed, dressed somewhat unusually - none of his normal jewelry, a plain black tunic and instead of any sort of ostentatious outerwear, just the ring and greatcoat his GenoHaradan connections had provided him with. The sort of garb you wouldn't wear to a party - unless it was one of those seedy, Underworld parties where all rules of fashion are, for the most part, waived - but what you would wear to an assassination.

The Sith Lord smiled eagerly - a certain Darth Maliphant had asked him to oversee his apprentice's first assassination job. He would be remiss not to, after all those positively wonderful toys that Darth Maliphant had provided him with. He would shadow the Sith as he went about his grim work, ensuring that he did not get too far in over his head, tilting the scales ever so slightly in his favor if it seemed he were about to, well, die. But not before a bit of maiming - Sith, after all, and he needed these teachable moments.

He reveled in the fact that the Force let him do this from the comfort of his chair - kicking his feet up onto the table, Antherion reached out with his mind, touching the subject, feeling for him. Reaching into the thoughts, to establish a connection.

Are you ready? He projected, along with the faint image of a smirk. Remember, kill him without needing to outright fight him and I'll throw in a prize for you.

[member="Thesh"]​

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[Lief]

To say that the boy was in over his head would be no small understatement.

Though he had lingered within the halls of the Barbatos Academy for a week or so now, getting a feel for the general layout and the habits of those within, as night settled over the structure and lessons came to a close the shadows of the building transformed it into an entirely different space. Tiny hairs stood to attention on the back of his neck, warning him of unseen eyes training over his every move, and yet when he glanced into those pools of inky black that clung to each corner he found only emptiness where he felt certain individuals remained.

As always the boy walked with tome in hand. It was a familiar sight by this point, for the general overseers of the Academy to witness wherever Thesh wandered, and though his eyes strayed over the pages for the first time he did little more than read the same line over and over again. In truth his focus was not on the wonders of alchemy at all, though the heavy book had more than enough to say on the subject, but instead on the quiet hallway around him, and the room he was approaching.

Seemingly lost in his studies, the boy took a few random turns through the labyrinthine walkways and slowly let out a quiet breath.

He knew his task well, of course, he'd been practicing quieting his mind for weeks now in order to mask his intentions, to quench that quivering fear which ravaged his body, and allow him to come to terms with the severity of said task. Even witnessing the corpse which Darron fed from hadn't been enough preparation, however, it was one thing all together to look upon the dead, and another to be the one to bring about that same dance with death.

A voice within his mind pulled him from the depths of his despair, and helped to set his mind back on track. Though the boy did not respond telepathically, for such was not a talent he necessarily understood enough ti feel confident replicating, he sent a wash of affirmation to the silent watcher who was in place not only to keep the boy alive, but to carry out the task should he prove too craven or incapable of doing it for himself.

Thesh could only hope that he would not have to do much more than observe, though those tiny butterflies of anxiety fluttering through his stomach and his chest might have had plans of their own.

[member="Antherion"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Certainty in the act of murder - it was easy for a Sith to take for granted. Vesper searched back in his mind for a time, once, when he felt doubt in the act of killing. His sister's face crossed his mind, and he recoiled from the memory like touching a raw nerve. Then, blinking, he realized that there was still a mental connection with Maliphant's student, so he brought his mind to heel. Exhaling, he consoled himself slightly: Even if he saw too much, he has no context with which to understand it. He briefly considered offering a blithe apology, in case he had distracted him. No, better not to do so.

He felt something else, too - something it had been too long since he had felt. A sort of cordial, swelling eagerness. He had forgotten the fun of seeing apprentices at play. There was something so wholesome about the way they plotted and plundered and murdered, hung on every word for every drop of power. They grew up into ornery rivals all too fast, so this was to be savored. He ought to get one for himself.

Pausing, he glanced at his empty glass. Muttering a quick spell under his breath, he felt the pleasant buzz of the alcohol fade away, his head as clear as it was before his first sip. Satisfied that he was ready for more, he began to pour the next glass. Then, a blackened finger rapped against the table.

"So, you're the one they sent to me." A Force-yellowed eye fell on the signet ring glinting on Antherion's right index finger as a lithe woman dressed in sleek robes, entered the room, chin held high. He offered a silent nod. "Lovely." Unprompted, she took a seat.

"Darth Eros, I presume. Should I pour you a glass as well?"

"I must decline, for a number of reasons." Eros' lips twitched slightly - she seemed a shade displeased by the man's familiar tone. He registered this, but ignored it.

"Darth Vesper. Lord of Avarice, formally, but sadly the whole practice of Lord of 'X' seems to have fallen out of use, by the by. A shame, I rather liked the conceit. Charmed to make your acquaintance."

"...likewise." Her face reflected not even the barest trace of emotion. "I assume you're the one who will be completing the task I requested?"

"Were that true, you wouldn't have even known I was in the Academy. This is a bit of work you need to be as far estranged from as possible - which means that, right now, it's important that you and I are seen together while a certain friend of mine goes about their work. Luckily, the Academy has eyes - and cameras. I don't doubt your flirtations with a strange Lord will be the subject of much gossip."

"This is anything but flirtation, Lord Vesper." Now, she was simply annoyed.

"Oh, but when the gossip-mongers get their hands on this story, it will be. And oh, so much more. Are you sure you don't want a drink? It's an imperfect, but useful tool for dealing with the more... banal frustrations the Galaxy offers."

Eros glared, but this time she didn't refuse, half-emptying her glass with the first drink. "I don't suppose you have anything you want to talk about in particular?"

"Well, I was hoping to get some feedback on some ideas for an opera of mine..."

As his host rolled her eyes, a mental whisper from Vesper to his temporary ward: Don't swallow your fear, boy, use it. Hold it in your heart and hammer it into anger. Something is making you afraid - recognize it. Study it. Hate it. Dissect your fear, and find the power hidden in its guts, and discard the rest.

[member="Thesh"]​