Private Illyrian Nights || Faye

[Var Talon]

TAG: Faye Malvern

Why were the lift rides so long?

Of the numerous thoughts racing through the Echani's mind, this was the one Var held fast to. The closest runner up revolved around the circumstances that saw him here, waist deep in a monarchy with no way out. Months prior, he had been two or three jobs away from sitting pretty in a penthouse somewhere. Now, a penthouse was the last place he wanted to be. Yet it was exactly where he was headed. If anything, this was a lesson learned. There was never an instance where taking intel off a Xeno ended well. They were always out to feth over Humans, didn't matter the flavor - and in this case, Var was just the unlucky man in the cantina. An easy job they said. Now look at him. Wired with enough chrome to double as a starfighter.

Headed up the longest lift in the history of forever to report to the "boss."

Ironically enough, the woman who had "saved" his life hated being referred to as such. Though she had many lofty titles to her name, she preferred that he address her simply by name. It was...odd...especially for a creature cut from this world. People from these sorts of backgrounds lived and died by how long it took to introduce them. The longer the fanfare, the better. Yet, she wanted him to call her by first name. Moreover, when she had every reason to let his throat be torn open by her guards, she chose a different route. Restored his injuries via cybernetics. Gave him a steady flow of credits whenever he did her bidding. By all accounts, Var should have been grateful for the arrangement.

He was well fed. Well paid. Employed. What more could a man want, right? Even well-fed lions know they're in the zoo.

Nonetheless, Var kept his personal thoughts on the matter to himself. He wouldn't settle for things always being this way...but for now, he was not in a position to do anything but what was asked. And tonight, he was made to visit one of the tallest buildings in the Illyrian skyline. Next to the palace, this imposing structure was easily one of the most impressive. The Minister of Influence's Offices - a home away from home. And at the apex was an apartment fit for a King. Or, technically, a Princess. Ding! The trip finally concluded and the doors slid open. Var was firstly greeted by the bright lights of the penthouse, followed by the smell. The air was fragranced - light. Welcoming. Rich. The Malvern never changed.

Striding forward, Var simply rapped his knuckles on the nearest flat surface. "Honey, I'm home!" he called, snark thick in his tone.

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[Faye Malvern]

Tags: Var Talon ​

The not so subtle sound of the turbolift arriving alerted her to the presence of guests, yet Faye made no motion to stand from her desk. She had known who it was before the sharp sound of bone against wood, before he had stepped onto the lift, even. Just like the jarring ding that shattered the silence, Var had never been one for subtle. His distaste for his situation radiated from him like heat from a sun. When he was close enough, Faye could practically taste it in the air. It lingered. Like the stench of food slowly growing foul.

“Honey?” Her sugar-sweet tone questioned him with lilting curiosity. “How endearing.” She responded with the same thick snark, thrown back at him with equal force.

He was, currently, one of her greatest assets. She respected him, so much as in the fact that he got the job done, but she disliked his cheek. His general disregard for what she had done for him. If it had not been for Faye, he would be rotting away limb by limb in some dank jail cell. He was ungrateful, and for some reason, he had promised to remind her of that every single day. “Well?” She asked, still refusing to take her charcoal gaze of the smattering of datapads spread wildly on her desk. “What is it this time?” One of her hands danced over the array of pads until it plucked one from a central pile.

Faye stood but kept her eyes trained on the thick white text streaming over the screen. “Did you destroy another bar on some backwater planet?” She asked as she crossed her office to get to the tray of drinks set out atop a chest of drawers. “Bet away all your credits?” Her free hand reached for the signature glass bottle emblazoned with patterns of glistening gold, filled to the brim with a blood-red wine. “Start another street fighting ring?” She had grown used to Var visiting when he had bad news, or when he needed credits. In his short time in her service, Faye had fixed more ”accidents” caused by Var than she had done for everyone in her entire tenure in the Confederacy.

It was just his little way of showing that he loved her and appreciated her saving his life. The fact that she did not kill him for it was just her little way of showing it back.

When two glasses had been filled, Faye finally abandoned the datapad and swapped it out for a glass in each hand. Finally, her gaze landed on the half-man, half-cyborg. It was a shame that they’d had to replace so much, really. But he was still something of a marvel to look at. “How much have you cost me today?” She finally reached him with both glasses in tow. One, she offered out to Var. The other, she took a deep drink from, but not before offering him a smile he would have seen a thousand times before. It was deeply dressed in classic Malvern finesse, with a twist of her own subtle charms.​

 

[Var Talon]

TAG: Faye Malvern

How endearing.

As per the usual, the "boss" was surrounded by finery - but she did not sit upon a golden throne. Rather, a comfortable office chair was the seat of her power. If one didn't tell Var any better, the woman looked like an overworked intern. Datapads were basically covering every square inch of her desk. And what wasn't covered in tech, there was stationary. Just how much of those affairs belonged to the Ministry of Influence versus her own ambitions, Var would never know. But if he had to guess? He'd wager maybe one - two tops - of the datapads was actually for work. The rest? Having as many fingers in as many pies as possible.

That's where he came in, he supposed.

Normally, the jobs she sent him on required the sort of approach one couldn't find in a common soldier. One needed to have the grit of a supermax prison to get these jobs done. Well. Shortly after greeting him in that honied tone, the Princess went about listing his less than stellar exploits. Destroyed another bar? That totally was not his fault - it was his day off and the Mandalorians were being knuckle draggers. Bet away all your credits? She had sent him to a casino to gather intel. Was he not supposed to look the part? Start another street fighting ring? She needed someone dead and it needed to look clean. He got it done, didn't he? Third round knock out - mark never got back up.

She called them fixing "accidents" - he called them getting the job done.

Such was the nature of their little game. He'd do as much as she demanded. He'd make sure not to bite at the leash publicly. And she'd throw the weight of the Malvern name behind any aftermath. In the end, the "boss" made out like a bandit. "In my defense, the ring was a thing of beauty." came his response. As she drew near with a glass of wine with his name on it, Var accepted it and raised it in thanks. "And, today's visit comes free of charge - unless you count the parking meter." He indulged in a sip of wine. The taste was, in a single word, expensive.

"Intel delivery."

He momentarily fished within the pocket of his bomber jacket before providing a single chit. Inside would be the latest on a number of subjects. The pulse of the Knights Obsidian since the new Lord Commander took office. Troop movements of the organization. Recruitment numbers. Things that, for the most part, one had to jump through bureaucracy to find out. But it was the boss' job to know everything. Influence and all that. Typically, there was a system in place for handing off these sort of things. Drop it with the Sisters of Death and they'll walk it up to the Princess - pronto. But, protocol and the Echani went together like oil and water.

Besides. Pushing his luck was basically standard at this point. Speaking of.

"You're always cooped up in here, y'know that?' he remarked, taking another sip. "Need to get out more. See the real city."

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