Everything Changes

[Ceto Rübezahl]

The ice-white dagger of the Imperial Star Destroyer Warspite stabbed out of Hyperspace into orbit over Serreno, the pristine jewel of a planet looming large in the panoramic viewport of the bridge. Looming ominously over the officers he commanded - Empress Tarkin had been kind enough to leave him with this one remnant asset from his time as Moff of Bothawui - the now-Ambassador Ceto Rübezahl clasped his hands tightly behind his back, and imagined himself as the ruthless and respected politician and commander that his father had always hoped he would be.

In truth, any respect and fear in the eyes and hearts of the officers below him was likely in response to his companion: the towering and linguistically spartan Elias Akasha. the Empress had cited valid reasons for his presence, but the unspoken truth was plain as day. The Agent of the Empress was there to hold his leash: to be her eyes and ears on Serenno, and ensure that he didn't stumble into another blunder like Bothawui.

His chest tightened once again at the memory of his disgrace, and he wondered if the presence of the Empress' emissary would have made a difference in how things had unfolded during the Rebel attack. The presence of the Inquisitor, Reinhart Thul, had ultimately not led to victory. Ceto allowed himself to speculate over which of the two soldiers would ultimately emerge victorious in a fight between the two. He had not yet witnessed Elias in combat as yet, but if looks alone amounted to anything, the disconcerting tightness of Elias' uniform around his biceps when they flexed probably said quite a lot.

Movement in his periferal vision brought Rübezahl's head around, vision focussing on Captain Ellis: commander of the Warspite. Ceto offered a tight and carefully-calculated smile in greeting. "Yes, Captain?" he added, inviting the man to speak.

"We have arrived in orbit, Ambassador," Ellis stated; apparently he had adapted to Ceto's new title much faster than the Ambassador himself had. "We have also recieved a communique from the Demici Estate, inviting you and your entorage to the surface. Coordinates provided indicate a landing site somewhere in the region of Saffia."

Ceto nodded vaguely, paying only the barest attention necessary to the Captain's words. The arrival of the Warspite was expected, and Countess Demici had assured that the proper preparations were made.

"Very well," he said aloud, adopting his long-practiced press conference voice. His volume was just enough to not be noticed as elevated, and yet still be captured by the accoustics of the bridge. The officers would no doubt be eavesdropping regardless of the measures they took to keep their exchange private; better to make the task easier for them, and leave them with more attention to dedicate to their assigned duties. "Prepare a shuttle; Agent Akasha and I will depart immediately."

At the mention of his name, the Agent shifted; the Captain's eyes flicked in his direction, and then away immediately as they met with Elias' cool and intimidating glare. Ceto glanced in his direction as well, a ghost of an appreciative smile forming on his lips. You must teach me how to do that, his mind muttered, but he kept the thought non-vocal for now.

"Agent," he said curtly instead, with a quick nod to match, before turning on his heel and marching smartly from the bridge. He had not quite mustered the courage to snap his fingers as the Empress had done; hopefully Tarkin's orders to him included not killing him regardless of how much of an annoyance he became.

Well, not killing him yet, at least.

[Naadia Demici]

The Countess nervously paced back and forth in front of a large window that spanned across an entire wall of the Council room, a luxuriously furnished assembly hall the Demici used to congregate. It was a cavernous chamber with high, domed ceiling supported by broad marble pillars and equipped with a massive sandal table and chairs with abstract ornaments carved in its auburn texture.

Golden-orange hues of the Saffian afternoon bathed the interior in warm light, attributing it with impalpable amenities so pleasant to the senses. In this environment, Naadia Demici, the Countess of Serenno, awaited her guests that were scheduled to arrive all the way from the Core. However, the brunette rarely displayed such anxiety; it was others who were apprehensive. Counts of Serenno were the ones who made others taut.

For the first time in her life, the bronze skinned woman was unsure if she would be able to perform. The delegation was sent by the Empress herself; such a gesture surprised her greatly, as she did not expect to receive such attention from so high up, let alone so soon… All necessary preparations were made prior to their arrival, so that the delegates would feel like home. Serenno had lot to offer in more ways than one. Naadia was uncertain whether it would suffice.

‘’Weigh every word. They must never know where your allegiances lie. You will learn how to dance with the wolves…or they will devour you like a lamb.’’ She mused briefly with eyes pasted to the open sea that dominated the horizon, then assumed a seat in a throne that chaired the oblong table.

Clad in a bronze colored satin dress that delicately pressed against her curves, Naadia appeared regal and austere, with hair arranged in a simple bun tied at the back of her head. Her secluded cleavage was accentuated by an archaic necklace forged out of gold and platinum and encrusted with splinter jewels of various colors to accomplish a mosaic effect. She placed her palms onto the bulbous carvings on side handles of the throne and straightened herself out, her facial expression turning to one of complete neutrality.

‘’Let them enter.’’ she spoke in a solemn voice and the quiescent creak of the metallic door marked the opening of yet another portal; the one Imperials would use to subtly invade her world.

[Ceto Rübezahl]

While the Serennoan decor was an artistic display of warmth and oppulence, the Ambassador's choice of attire was an exercise in understated modesty. Unlike Empress Tarkin, or her guard Akasha, Ceto had siezed his liberation from the uniformity of the Imperial military with both hands. If their surroundings and the Countess had chosen to emulate the warm, golden hues of the sun, then Ceto had chosen the cool and clear tones of the sky. A simple and understated shirt of a light, sillky fabric hung loosely around him, the clean and crisp white broken by a diagonal weave of pale and pastel blue. A tall collar conjured a vague recollection of Imperial stylings, but lay open, slashed clean from throat to chest.

Around it wrapped a two piece suit of a delicate pale tan that almost matched the creamy tones of the ISB. Understated Simplicity epitomised the gently tailored curves; the jacket was unmarred by the neadless fussings of pleats, folds, and extraneous seams. Ceto had spent hours carefully choosing his attire: something that would visually disassociate him from the Imperial stigma - if he needed to impose the harsh, ruthless edge of the Empire, he was sure that Agent Akasha would be more than capable of performing.

Ceto was not a man who liked to wander into a situation unprepared; the same unwavering scrutiny that had gone in to his wardrobe had been applied to research of Serenno, its customs, and its notable personalities. Even so, the bluewashed visage of Naadia Demici that Imperial Intelligence had provided could not prepare him for the true radiance of the Countess's beauty. His breath caught a little in his chest - an affliction that he was sure had stricken many a man before him. But his carefully fashioned mask didn't slip one iota: a testament to the skills from his earlier career that Tarkin had believed would serve him so well here.

Perhaps this is why you sent me here, Empress, he mused, once again speculating over Miranda's motivations for choosing him over any of the scores of much more qualified diplomats in the Empire's employ. You know the circles in which I used to move. Am I so accustomed to such beauty that I am the only one you can trust not to succome to Demici's charm?

The notion brought a smile to his lips, which he twisted and manipulated before it appeared on his face: contorted into a delicate, understated, and charming expression that had on many occasions enticed an unsuspecting woman - or sometimes women - to his bed of an evening. Not that he expected the Countess to succome to such cheap parlour tricks of course: though perhaps later, when his duty to the Empress was complete, he could explore the sorts of charms that would be necessary to reach that end.

Extending a hand, he gently took Naadia's fingers in his, and brought them gently to his lips. "Empress Tarkin sends her greetings," he said, with a gentle, almost feline purr to his voice, dialling up the charm of his smile by a few degrees. He continued to keep his head bowed as he spoke, as a sign of deference. "I am Ambassador Rübezahl."

[Naadia Demici]

Naadia was accustomed to such docile gestures, given the ambient of the courts where she spent most of her life; the dark haired woman offered a measured, subdued smile in response. His entrance and manners suggested that the Ambassador had crafted his skills of social interaction among the aristocracy and the affluent alike, as Naadia did not fail to notice the prudent, yet tasteful choice of his attire, his subtle body language and cunning facial mimic of a versatile negotiator.

Bowing her head to acknowledge him, the Countess motioned the Imperial to take a seat by her side. When Ceto released her palm from his grip, Naadia folded her hands in front of herself, placing them on top of the table. The jewel-encrusted necklace that adorned her somewhat entrapped cleavage glimmered under the radiance of the afternoon light that permeated through an array of spacious windows covering an entire wall of the chamber the Demici congregated in. Thus, the ornament assigned much more prospect to the part Naadia tried to hide, teasing the imagination of those who dared to glance over her corsage-incarcerated bust.

''I'm most honoured to have you here, Ambassador Rübezahl. It is my pleasure to host a delegate appointed by Her Majesty herself.'' she spoke with even intonation, temperate in her diction.
''I am Naadia Demici the Third, Countess of Serenno. May this humble planet feel like home.'' were her final words, weighed meticulously in an attempt to neutralize his smug advent.
A hand was waved dismissively when one of the servants intruded to leave a silver tray equipped with a pot and two silver cups. Instead, Naadia knowingly placed her hand on the silver handle.
''Tea?'' the brunette asked simply, one side of her mouth tugging upwards in the faintest of smiles. Her serving the adversary some tea was an artful strategy she had already employed in politics, so Naadia hoped it would bear fruit in this particular situation too. There was no reason why these negotiations would be any different than those she partook in before.

[Ceto Rübezahl]

Ceto bowed his head graciously as he settled into his seat. "Please," he replied, with another second-long flash of his smile. His fingers interlaced as he rested his wrists gently against the edge of the table, allowing his eyes to roam the room. He noted the surprising lack of servants, guards, or any other kind of company; he and the Countess were alone. He considered the connotations of that - an indication of trust, perhaps; although even if Ceto did attempt to harm the Countess in any way, he didn't doubt that palace security would descend upon him long before he had the opportunity to make his escape. Hopefully the Empress wouldn't order such an attempt from him, though no doubt his disgrace had made him somewhat expendible should his diplomatic efforts fail to achieve success.

His roaming eyes stumbled upon her necklace, and lingered for perhaps a moment too long. When they clawed their way free, he struggled to keep a hint of a nervous smile from his features; fortunately, Naadia seemed too occupied with her preparations of their tea to notice.

"Thank you," he said, refocussing his efforts into charm once again as he accepted the delicate cup and saucer that Naadia offered. The pungent scent drifted gently against his olfactory senses, the rich and indulgent aroma almost suffusing the taste into his body without the brew needing to pass his lips. Ordinarily he would augment such a drink with sweeteners, but in the diplomatic interests of graciously accepting the gift as offered: straight; black; raw.

I wonder, his mind contemplated idly, as he sipped at the china cup, If that description could apply to my host as well.