Stockholm Syndrome

[Apolline Wynver]

​

Apolline never tired of the breathtaking view of Coruscant to be found directly below her if she strolled to the west window of her penthouse which overlooked CoCo Town and the heaving ecumenopolis beyond the towering buildings.

She presently made more credits than she ever had as a prosecutor for the Court of Justice, but her heart ached for more - for the change that she longed to see in her beloved city and for a better, less alien-infested existence. The honey blonde squinted at the horizon, picturing a giant space wall to keep immigrants out. With technology as advanced as it was it did not need to be an eyesore, she reasoned, but a futuristic marvel of security.

In her head, she planned an event, a crime even. But Apolline needed a villain.

The Hutts. Everyone hated the Hutts right?

Still she had to make it all so believable, and the Hutts had been run out of Coruscant since the Galactic Alliance had wrested the planet’s control from the One Sith. There was still loads of crime of course, but less of the kind generated by those obese and repulsive slugs. And since the holonet personality had no desire to go anywhere else - she absolutely loathed traveling and was a slave to her routine, her press coverage and her local CocoTown stimcaf, why not make it a local crime?

Besides, it was easy to blame nefarious activity on offworlders, but much more damaging to the SJWs at the Alliance headquarters if the corruption hit close to home.

A mercenary named Sol had been contracted to help her and checking her chrono, she saw that he was scheduled to arrive in three minutes. “Tick tock,” she said absentmindedly fondling an azurite chandelier earring. “I hope you’re the type who arrives on time.”

[member="Sol Damerin"]

 

[Sol Damerin]

Most mercenaries couldn't afford to be too picky. They took whatever job they were offered without worrying too much about things like morality or decency. Their only loyalty was to their bank account and so long as it was full they were happy. Sol was an exception to this mentality for a few reasons. First, because unlike many mercenaries he prioritized being a decent human being over his own well being. Second was because he had no vises that he needed to fuel, family to take care of, or ship he had to keep in shape. He was a hobo in all but name and because of that, he was usually fairly flush with credits. The third reason was, of course, because he was a Force user and if he advertised as such he could command whatever exorbitant price he wanted.

However, despite all of this he did still occasionally take jobs for people he didn't want to. Partly to keep up the illusion that he was an average mercenary. Partly to mess with those people. Actually mostly to mess with them. For example, he'd been hired by some hate speak spewing nut job on the holo-net to act as personal protection for some event or another. Out of curiosity, he'd watched her show and his assessment of her character could best be summed up in three words: loud, hypocritical, evil and If she wasn't shilling her beliefs solely to pander to a particular portion of the population he'd add moron in there as well. People who took hard-line stances against the harmless actions of other people counted among Sol's least favorite character traits. So, of course, he took the job. It was amazing how crazy you could drive someone with The Force if they didn't know you had it.

The meetup time rolls around and Sol knocks on the door. The stone-faced merc was dressed as he ever was. Black pants littered with pouches, black long sleeved shirt, a silver grey battle chest piece on top of that, his blaster and protector pistols in their holsters on his belt, and his twin virbroblades strapped to his back. In short, he would not mesh with her intended image at all as he'd flagrantly disregarded the bit in the contract stating he should dress professionally. He was dressed professionally for his profession not his fault that didn't mean a shirt and tie to him.

[member="Apolline Wynver"]

 

[Apolline Wynver]

The soft sound of Quenk jazz could be heard throughout the penthouse, alongside the faint odor of smoke from either a candle or cigarra being snuffed out. Two bodyguard droids stood at attention in the living room. Sol entered appearing like your run-of-the-mill galaxy mercenary, one you’d find at any downtrodden spaceport on some of the inner core planets. Why all of those pockets? How much did a mercenary need to travel with?

Combat was for scruffy nerfherders and brainbolted spacers, so the holonet host did not even try to understand.

At times Apolline was aware of her zealotry towards her cause so she attempted to keep the manic excitement from her voice straight out of the gate. The smirk on his face made her think he may have known who she was. But an introduction upon first meeting was never a bad thing. “I’m Miss Wynver. Welcome to my home,” she said, and as though choreographed ahead of time, a small serving droid wheeled out drinks and snacks. “Help yourself.” Apolline plopped down on an expensive but uncomfortable looking sofa. “How much do you know about CoCo Town?”

Yes, they would take the circuitous route. Spending time with her hired hand - a thorough Q & A even - was the only way that she could know if she could trust him with the assignment.

[member="Sol Damerin"]

 

[Sol Damerin]

If Apolline saw the expression on Sol's face as a smirk of recognition then that was more telling of her ego than his actual expression. The mercenary's general demeanor and expression could best be described as stony as he was famously unemotive. Hell, on those rare occasions where his expression did shift it was only by the smallest fraction and usually only for a few fleeting moments. However, the woman was likely at least somewhat of a megalomaniac so it probably appealed to her sense of self-worth to think that the mercenary would recognize her, then again she wasn't wrong since he had although he hadn't even heard of her until the job offer came to his inbox.

"Sol." Is his monosyllabic response to her introduction and his tone matches it in temperament. He ignores the drink tray not even acknowledging that he'd been offered the courtesy. He comes to military rest staring down at the woman on the sofa, in the literal sense thanks to his position and she might get the feeling he is doing it in the figurative as well. Of course, there was nothing in his bearing or expression that would suggest he was doing so, just a faint tugging at the back of her mind that he was judging her and finding her wanting. But if she was to voice such a sentiment she'd look a tad crazy considering the circumstances.

The question is met with silence though his initial thought was that only an utter idiot would call the city planet Coco town. This opinion doesn't show on his face and eventually, he does answer. "I was born here and raised here so I would say I am familiar enough." Well, this was only partially true, while he had been born on Coruscant he'd been raised in the Jedi temple which was vastly different from the rest of the planet. Still, he'd sneaked out of the temple a few times and had come back to Coruscant on a view sperate occasions so he was familiar enough.

[member="Apolline Wynver"]

 

[Apolline Wynver]

The man was difficult to read, and Apolline tried to recall if the background check on him - conducted by a Core Values intern - had actually yielded anything sketchy. The blonde-haired host felt under threat somehow, but she could not put her finger on it, and Sol stood there completely emotionless. It took little to make her paranoid, so she closed the shades with the touch of a button.

However, a broad grin spread across Apolline’s face as the merc mentioned he was from Coruscant.

“With 1 trillion inhabitants and much of the labor performed by droids or machines, Coruscant will reach a crisis point where not everyone can remain on the planet. Not safely at least. Not without some kind of trade off over resources or comfort.”

Her sheath dress was made of a thick grey wool, and as she crossed her stocking-clad legs, the garment made a whispering noise.

“Why even get to that point? Why not start putting measures in place to limit immigration and allow Coruscanti the first right of refusal for anything.” She stopped herself fearing Sol may not share the same political views. Scratch that. Most of the Coruscanti she met did not at all share her political views but nobody said true change would come easy.

“In any case, the CoCo Town Penitentiary is a prime example of this.” She pressed yet another button on a holounit, and a 3D model of the prison sprang to life, bathing the room in a blue glow. “Bursting at the seams with offworlders and aliens, when in reality, the criminal scum not born here should be deported off to whence they came. I mean, really. Are we going to treat a pig man from Gamorr better than our own residents who have not committed a crime? Because that’s essentially what’s happening. Courtesy of the Galactic Alliance.” After rhose tumble of words, she asked, "What part of Coruscant are you from?"

[member="Sol Damerin"]

 

[Sol Damerin]

The more Apolline talked the more she solidified her own character for Sol. She may have tried to cut herself off before getting too deep into her political beliefs for fear of her zealotry showing, but Sol could read between the subtext. It was actually really easy to read the subtext in the case of Apolline since it was almost as big as the actual text. Her rhetoric wasn't particularly unique or inspired and it was the same drivel hundreds of pundits shoveled out before her to incite the masses.

Why did an off-world Gamorrean in jail get three meals a day, shelter, and work in jail when there were Coruscant natives who didn't have the same luxury! Clearly, something needed to change and it was best to blame the immigrants and the coddling government, get good and angry at them while ignoring the real cause of the issue. In this case the fact that Coruscant prisons were privatized which meant there was an incentive to get a lot of prisoners in them so that companies could get lots of money from the government. This was a simplification but this was the gist of what he was hearing.

Sol didn't really have many strong political leanings but he viewed anyone that spread hate as being bad people. The moment your political rhetoric became about inciting blame and hatred against any group of people you were in the wrong. That was his view on things. Which meant if she was hoping to see some eager light of agreement in his eyes as she spoke she would be massively disappointed as he remains utterly stone-faced. Though she then had something else to worry about as one her earrings suddenly fell free. It appears as though the clasp has broken.

"Quadrant H-46." He answers her question as dryly as he had all the other ones. "What does this have to do with the job ma'am." His tone betrayed not even a hint of impatience or annoyance but his desire to let her dance about the issue was pretty much nill. However, he was still damn near impossible to read so she wouldn't know that. Or that he was subtly messing with her in a number of different ways.

[member="Apolline Wynver"]