From the Shadows [Cira]

[Sarge Potteiger]

The Prex's Office
Fondor

Gloved hands slid deftly over the small detonator he was affixing to a small indentation on the underside of the Prex's desk, slender digits expertly arming the small explosive device that would end the life of the head of the burgeoning merchant-government entity known as OmegaPyre.

As he put the finishing touches on the device, he wondered just why it had been so easy to break into the office. He'd expected much more of a challenge from the lock. Paranoia told him that someone wanted him in here, but truthfully, word through the grapevine was that one of OmegaPyre's own employees broke the lock so much the system may as well just unlocked itself the moment anyone approaches the door.

Still, he kept his holdout blaster pistol near him... just in case.

With a satisfied smirk, the little red light switched to green. Armed.

Khor stood, eyes scanning the near pitch-black office with it's corners of deep shadow offset by moonlight. All clear. Time to make his escape.

Pausing just long enough to make sure everything was in the position it should be, Khor steps around the desk and towards the door. He didn't even make it halfway before a masculine figure appeared from a recessed corner of the room.

The shadow that gave birth to the man wasn't even big enough to hide him, and made it hard to discern if the shadow itself had taken form and stepped forth, or if the man had truly been able to squeeze into tha-

Khor's final thoughts were cut off by a puff of light and the burp of a suppressed weapon firing. The assassin's head split open from the impact of the bullet and his body hit the floor with a meaty thud. Lowering the pistol, the figure, clearly dressed head to toe in a black bodyglove, face fully hidden behind black cloth and a black visor, stepped over the body and to the desk.

"Not in my gorram house.", Sarge grumbles before leaning down to diffuse the explosive.

Unlocking the door, which had bothered the assassin, hadn't been the trap. It was actually the act of opening the door; which sent not only a warning to Cira (which likely said something to the effect of 'Sarge isn't listening again') but also a much more terse one to Sarge (Intruder). Cira didn't know about the second message.

Hopefully, Sarge could clear out before she arrived.

This would be awkward to explain; unless, of course, she'd been here the whole time.

 

[Cira]

"Well, you're not one to mince words," came the soft voice from the shadows, "Or actions."

From the far right side of the room, the rather familiar voluptuous figure of Cira, Lady Protector of the Omega Protectorate stepped out. Course, it wasn't with her usual fire and brimstone. She still had the faintly sickly sweet smell of bacta around her; she'd been in a tube for the past week, slowly regenerating and healing the wound over her belly since the incident at Denon.

Her hair was wet from the recent trip to the refresher, and as always, while it taxed her, she chose to do so in the shadows, wrapping herself in her signature illusionary cloak through the Force that allowed her to easily move in and out of her office.

That's what most didn't realize; that she could move so easily force cloaked and invisilbe to the eye. Few masters would have to strain to spot her, but her kind were well used to walking in the dark.

She made her way over to what remained of the would be assassin, trailing her gaze over him. Upon first glance, she would appear paler than usual, but as always, it was hard to discern just what her thoughts were. Unless you pushed the right buttons of course.

"Unfortunately.... now I can't ask who sent him." she said rather bluntly, then with a mild sigh as her fingers rose up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge paused momentarily before blinking. She's got wings and she's got hiding skills to match mine. Not sure if I should be turned on or scared. Briefly, he entertained asking her how she was, if she felt OK or if she was still in pain... but she was his boss, and he couldn't stupidly hit on her forever.

Sighing, he pulls the explosive away. "No, you can't. But, here's what you can do." Standing up from where he'd been under the desk, he throws it her way. It wouldn't go off. It was disarmed. "He was good, but you can trace the explosive and go from there. You can also identify him by his blood and give me the name. I'll hunt down his aliases and we can raid some of his property."

There was a faint smile somewhere behind that midnight mask. "Trust me. I've been doing this too long to not know how to hunt down people like him once they're dead."

Sarge moves around the desk and over to the body where he begins to feel around the bodysuit he'd been wearing. Usually they carried something to remind them of mission objectives... nope. Not a thing.

"Sorry, boss. But I couldn't let him live."

Shaking his head, he looks up to her for a moment. Ah, what the hell.

"How ya feelin'...? You're lookin' a bit pale." How he could tell this in the abysmal lighting was beyond most, but he lived in the dark. It wasn't that hard. There was a definite note of concern in his voice, but it was an improvement over his usual flirting.

 

[Cira]

"I'll live," she said curtly, as always, but there was no bite to the words. She caught the explosive in her hand, frowning as she studied it. This was no crude made instrument. Her thumb brushed across the flat steel in the back.

Drawing inward slightly, she closed her eyes. Flashes came to her. Random pictures. The frown over her brow deepened. "He's from Tatooine." she said plainly, the picture of twin suns and familiar dune seas came to mind. Sometimes Psychometry was a plus. But weak as she was, she couldn't get more beyond that.

"I'll have Anika run a security check on all incoming transports from that sector. She should have something soon." Blood... was not something she was too keen on using psychometery with. That opened a whole new door of memories she did not desire to have. Blood DNA sample would have to do.

She set along collecting the items necessary to do so, when she wryly stated, "You just can't stay out of my office can you?..."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

He nodded and looked to the body once more, slightly sad he'd aimed just a hair too high and taken out most of his face. While he'd hoped to hit the man in the throat, he'd been noticed too soon and had made adjustments. Adjustments of the 'closed casket' variety.

"Let me know what she finds. I'll stop this at it's source."

Sighing, he places his hands on his knees as he pushes himself up to a standing position. "You're Ayden's superior. You're afforded the same protections I give him."

Ayden and Sarge had a curious relationship; one some might term 'slave and master'. But Sarge had always seen it more as soldier and weapon. In truth, that's more what it was. A man and his rifle.

There was more to it than that, and he visibly paused as he considered saying more.

To open his mouth, or not.

For once, Sarge was actually watching his mouth and thinking about what he was going to say beforehand.

 

[Cira]

Both brows rose at that, in the midst of collecting the blood samples for the security division to run. She gave a slight grimace as she knelt next to what remained of the would be assassin, her abdomen still tender.

"Yet you are not constantly attempting to infiltrate his domain," she said freely, her attention still on collecting the sample. Curiousity tugged at her, however, at his pause.

Now there's a curious thing.

"Now that's a first," she said, giving a glance over her shoulder before returning to her task at hand. "Nexu got your tongue?"

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"That's because he lets me come and go as I please.", he retorts blandly. There was no anger in his voice, merely amusement; almost as though she should have thought of that herself.

Amused they'd changed spots; her kneeling, him standing, he looks down at her momentarily before his gaze shifts to the floor and away from her.

He was, for once, entirely thankful she couldn't see his eyes or read him through the Force. Actually, sincerely, thankful.

When her head moved, his attention returned to her, metaphorical hackles rising at the sudden movement. Then he remembered who she was, where they were. He forced himself into calm.

"No, no.", he begins absently. "Despite the persona I keep, I'm rarely unprofessional and even less lecherous. But now that I'm alone with you - disregarding our friend - I confess that my thoughts regarding you have been a sight less appropriate than they should be. And I say that as me, not Sarge."

Briefly clearing his throat, although he does so with amusing lack of sound, he looks to the body once more. "...sample ready?"

 

[Cira]

@[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

"That's because he lets me come and go as I please."

You don't say?

Cira studied the small vial she'd used to collect the blood sample, her focus upon it as she idly replied, "That he does. "

"No, no.... Despite the persona I keep, I'm rarely unprofessional and even less lecherous."

Is that right?

Blood stained her hands, and for a second she lightly rubbed the still warm liquid between her thumb and forefinger, giving a slight cant of her head in amusement at that. The man was a void in the Force. A frustrating one, but a void none the less.

"But now that I'm alone with you - disregarding our friend - I confess that my thoughts regarding you have been a sight less appropriate than they should be. And I say that as me, not Sarge."

Well that was a new one.

That was something Cira was not expecting. While she didn't give any indication of her surprise, her thumb froze over the cap of the vial. She blinked once. Twice. Processing it all.

"...sample ready?"

The cap over the vial snapped shut and she shot an inquiring glace at him, but keeping her expression neutral. She rose to her feet, damp locks of her hair brushing her cheeks and the curve of her shoulders. It was an odd situation to be in. A rather awkward silence grew after she gave a small nod, only to be replaced with mild candor as she said, "Well I can be a queen." came the rare quip, rolling a soft shoulder, the blouse shifting over her curves as she turned away towards her desk.

Making anything lighthearted had a tendency of avoiding such odd conversations, so she chose to make a reference instead about his more less than appropriate use of titles for her.

"However, doesn't mean you use that as my title." she tossed the vial on the desk, where it fell with a light clatter. One hand rose and slid through her hair, pushing the damp locks away from her pallid face.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

@[member="Cira"]

It took Sarge a moment to process that despite the reprimand, she was being... personable. Which meant she wasn't always a queen. Which meant that, quite shockingly, she wasn't frigid 100% of the time.

"I'll keep that in mind, boss."

He snorts, "Youll have to pardon the confessional, but when the Plague hit you learned real fast not to keep things like that to yourself - even if you felt little would come of owning up to it."

Sarge, ever meticulous about personal information, had either grown up on a planet where the Plague didn't hit till late... or he was truly old. Briefly he wondered if Ayden and really told her anything about him.

"Tatooine, you said? I know a redhead to talk to. Or rather, I knew her father and hope she's still running the business."

It was a matter of time now until the Major had information on transports coming to the planet that he could use to trace the assassin.

 

[Cira]

@[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

"Time has a tendency to give perspective," she replied with a soft sigh, more to do with personal experience than mere commentary. A second later, she stared down at the dead bleeding body staining her high polished wood floors. A level of irritation filled her. Now she'll need to get the redone. A questioning glance drew over to him at the little revelation of either his real age... or homeworld.

She blinked at him passively for a moment, not quite sure how to respond about the whole confessional deal. That suggested a measure of intimacy, privy to ....things often kept to themselves. Her joke earlier had been to make light of the situation and what he'd implied; what she'd hoped he didn't actually imply. Oh, there were plenty of women and the odd man or two who'd seen her with interest in their gaze. However, with the practiced stare of a barmaid used to waving off advances, the majority knew that the Prex was off limits. Flattered perhaps. Get anywhere? No. Her sex life was something to be wondered about. None knew exactly what was the status of it all, and she like dit that way.

In any event. She chose to continue the much safer route, a redirection towards the mention of his contact on Tatooine. She rose a brow at the mention of another redhead; pardon if the tendency of the red-head brigade making the rounds didn't amuse her so, "That so?" she queried questioningly. "What business?" she asked, picking up the comm to contact clean up.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

@[member="Cira"]

"Arceneau Trade, unless they've changed the name. I believe the daughter is aptly named Danger - no Will Robinson involved, though, I'm afraid.", he quips with a slight nod of his head to one side as though conceding a point to no one in particular.

No sooner had Cira grabbed her comm then clean up came through the door and began setting to work. Sarge may have been annoying, but he was meticulous about his work. He'd probably signaled them the moment he'd realized something was up.

"And when I say 'know her father' what I mean was 'I pretended to be someone else on the way to murdering someone', but that's not something she'd know, now is it?"

Realizing he'd never put his weapon away, he fit it into it's holster and turned to her, arms folding over his chest. "Any word from the Major...?"

Oh, he'd caught the looks she'd been giving him, and realized that perhaps speaking his mind in this instance hadn't been the single greatest idea he'd ever had, but it felt good regardless. As was seeing the look of sheer... curiosity cross her face for a moment.