Guardians of Change

[Elias Akasha]

That he had finally been liberated from Rübezahl's presence came as blessed relief. In truth he could not not abide the cloak and daggers of politics, no matter how intricate and graceful a dance the participants chose to weave. It was a pursuit for those with the patience and persona of a vibroblade; Elias himself was more of a blaster, perhaps better suited to Wilhuff Tarkin's approach to politics than the - slightly - less ruthless approach of his daughter.

Released to roam the Demici estate, Elias' mind retreated to his standing orders. Though the palace itself was hardly an accurate representation of the planet as a whole, it was pleasantly reassuring to see the intense scrutiny being paid to his presence by the security personnel. While he did not doubt that his years of training and experience would allow him to overcome them with relative ease, the simple fact that they were not complacent to his presence - in spite of his diplomatic status and the individuals he represented - buoyed his hopes that the Imperial tacticians were justified in their belief that Serenno would suit their needs.

He delved through his memory, seeking out the construction plans for the complex that Imperial Intelligence had gone to great lengths to complain. A building of this age and nature was likely riddled with unmarked passages, hidden corridors, and other details that were absent from the official drawings either through intent or neglect on the part of the architect. Even so the memorised diagrams provided him with sufficient information for his current purposes; striding confidently through the heart of a grandiose crossroads of corridors, he deviated left and marched onwards, heading to what intelligence claimed was the nerve center of the palace security.

Simple science, he mused. The easiest way to analyse an entity was to observe its behavior over time. What better way to enact that plan than to watch the security staff through their own electronic eyes and ears?

Though retaining the same style and warmth, as he began to stride away from the more publically populated quarters of the complex, he noticed a steady decrease in the opulence of his surroundings. While completed with the same high standards of craftsmanship by the engineers and masons that undoubtedly built it, the corridor he walked along now was far less adventurous; more simply styled with less ambition towards bold, architectural statements. The fabric drapes that broke up the constant smooth lines of the summer-warm walls had become understated, relying on simpler patterns and less bold colours than the lush and indulgent spaces he had occupied earlier.

His face twisted a little in displeasure. Servant's quarters, he supposed. Though the Empire certainly held soldiers such as himself in lower regard than political figures like Ambassadors, Moffs, and the Empress, their bias towards such superior occupations were far less blatant. He only hoped that what the Demici's had saved in their budget for construction of this wing had been wisely invested in something worthwhile, rather than thrown casually away on trivia and minutea.

He finally came upon a warren of rooms that, if his understanding of the Serennoan script was correct, housed his destination. A few empty rooms - barracks it seemed, based on glances through the doorways - passed by him, before he came upon what he was looking for: a large chamber filled with flickering banks of electrical equipment, hoardes of monitor screens being swarmed over by dozens of like-clad guards. The way that the cold and practical modern technology had been so mercilessly thrust into the almost artistic curves and corners of the building created a jarring contrast that seemed almost as harsh as the clash between Elias' midnight attire and the sunrise colours of the walls.

Already filling much of the entrance with his tall and broad frame, Elias folded his arms across his chest to add to the imposing figure. "I'm looking for someone in charge," he announced, the note of menace in his tone cutting through the ambiant noise with ease. "Would someone care to point me in the right direction?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

Practice makes perfect. Yes, it was an old saying but also a one perpetually applicable and thus, Imogen's life motto. When life became unbearable and problems amassed, one could always take a rifle and rid oneself of frustrations via excessive shooting of imaginary targets. Surely, the Echani often resorted to this kind of stress relief - especially when she was serving as an officer at CorSec - but there was very little stress on Serenno to begin with. A peaceful, civilized planet, with literally non-existent crime rates; in other words, heaven compared to worlds like Nar-Shaada and Taris where Imogen used to operate during her active career.

While other officers would consider themselves blessed to be posted to serve on such a planet as Serenno, Imogen found this lack of action annoying and pensive. Hence the silver-haired woman enjoyed her time spent at the improvised firing range she set up herself, as she had been doing when the Imperial delegation arrived on the planet. The Countess dismissed her, granting her a free afternoon and evening. Free time was a luxury on Corellia, so Imogen learned how to make best use of it.

''Commander Rhysode is outside.'' a short, bulbous officer replied, motioning to the window where a dark figure lay on the grass, equipped with a sniper rifle.
''But I would not go there if I were you. She does not like to be disturbed during target practice.'' the plump man added knowingly, then returned his attention to the game of dejarik he was enjoying prior to Elias' interruption.

Vibrant sunlight of the Saffian afternoon was slowly replaced by dark hues of the evening as night descended on the gardens of the Demici estate, visibility decreasing with every passing minute. Tapping against the black helmet that obscured most of her face, Imogen turned the nightvision mode on. With left eye peering through the scope, the Echani focused on an apple set on a wall some 200 standard yards away. Steadying her hand, she lightly set her finger against the trigger and readied herself to exhale and fire away.

[Elias Akasha]

Wordlessly, Elias peered out through the indicated viewport, regarding the silver-haired and black-clad woman with a mix of confusion and intregue. Granted, his vision lacked the enhancement provided by the rifle's telescopic sights, but following the line of the barrel she seemed to be - well, she seemed to be aiming at nothing in particular, really.

Driven by curiosity as well as purpose, Elias chose not to heed the officer's warning and, after a quick visual survey that yielded the location of the door, strode confidently towards it. A fleeting thought of possible security measures and access codes flashed across his mind; luckily it appeared to be the kind of security door that was easy enough to get out, but nigh impossible to get back in again without permission.

As the portal opened and allowed him through, he was struck by his first lungful of uninhibited Serenno air, stirred around by a gentle breeze that danced merrily between the surrounding buildings. For a moment he was overcome with an almost zen-like calm, and felt all of his self-inflicted concerns and worries washing steadily away.

His eyes settled on her. Specifically, they settled on the region connecting her legs to her lower back: a portion of her anatomy that her current choice of attire was doing a fantastic job at emphasising. He'd often heard people describing women as having 'a face that was carved by angels'. Extending the metaphor further, it seemed like the moon-dwellers of Iego were responsible for her ass as well; his calm flushed rapidly away, and he was particularly greatful for the helmet that was providing him with a little visual protection from the Commander's gaze, at least for now.

He waited in patient silence as she continued her shot; squinted against the failing light for a glimpse of her target; watched as a few seconds later a small plume of exploding debris appeared some 200 meters away, as a blaster bolt that had spat forth from the rifle apparently obliterated whatever her crosshairs had been resting upon. He cocked his head to the side slightly, arms folded loosely across his body as he assessed the way her curves had shifted to accomodate the rifle butted up against her shoulder. His eye traced the line of her her thighs, her hips, onwards and upwards -

Her head twisted, the faceplate of her helmet turning in his direction. A little startled, Elias snapped his head back up again, and fidgetted his arms swiftly into a more formal pose, hands clasped together. It wasn't the thought of his visual appraisal being noticed that worried him; back in the Stormie Corps he'd had a reputation for collecting sexual escapades with the few female officers that his unit encountered over the course of his career, and had long ago learned that if the woman managed to determine your intentions and chose not to flee, turn away, or roll their eyes in disgust, it cut out a great deal of the pathfinding required during the early stages of flirtation.

This was hardly a mark in a bar, however; not even a fellow officer in the mess. This was meant to be the head of security for royalty; and he was meant to be an individual of similar standing and status. Perhaps, he mused, recalling the subtle shifts in Rübezahl's behavior when they had first encountered the Countess Demici, I should take a lesson from the Ambassador, and learn to file those sort of thoughts away for a more appropriate time.

He cleared his throat, fighting belatedly to do just that. "Commander Rhysode, I presume?"

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Shaaazam.'' she victoriously whispered to herself upon hitting the designated target. Shooting under such faint light and at great distances required substantial amount of skill and composure, but Imogen had plenty of practice and a good teacher during her years spent with CorSec. Certainly, an inspector like herself had few opportunities to shoot from a sniper rifle, with her work mostly concentrated around investrigating criminal activities both on the planet and offworld.

Nevertheless, versatility with all types of weapons was something towards what the Echani had an innate, natural affinity; such expertise had proved worthy on more than one occasion. Thus Imogen deemed target practice worthwhile and essential, also viewing it as an excellent drill for the somewhat sloppy, incompetent security officers she commanded on an every day basis. Prosperous times produced diplomats, not warriors. Serenno had not seen true war for centuries, apart from a few isolated conflicts between two royal houses. Subsequently, the citizens of Serenno forgot how to fire guns. Thankfully, Imogen was there to remind the Demici lot of how it was done. After all, it was why they hired her after her unfortunate dismissal from Corellian Security Service - to turn royal guards into something more than just well-dressed cannon fodder.

Imogen had heard someone approach long before a pleasant baritone resonated across the garden. However, this presence did nothing to her concentration; she remained focused on the apple a servant placed on distant wall. It was only when the fruit dissipated into a thousand minute pieces that the silver-haired woman pulled the rifle down from her shoulder and crouched up to stand, brushing a few residual grass stalks away from her dark combat suit. Stretching out to full height of over six feet, Imogen was by far the tallest female being in the Demici palace, even towering over most of the officers she worked with. But not over the man who stood before her. Under the visor of her helmet, Imogen briefly regarded him, scanning his features momentarily. A silver eyebrow arched in mild annoyance.

''Where's the leash?'' she mused in sarcasm, mentally processing the sheer bulge that was his tall, muscular body hidden under layers of dark fabric. She felt small, for a change. When the Echani finally pulled the helmet away, revealing the paleness of her visage and flashy silver irises, her face plastered with neutrality, an expression she perfected back on Corellia. With Imogen, smiles had to be earned.

''Yes. And you are?'' she retorted and pressed the knuckle of her right hand against her belt, while the rifle kept nervously dangling at her left side.

[Elias Akasha]

Tall. Apparently in these instances, Elias' mental capacity was reduced to a bear minimum. Fortunately it refrained from subconsciously naming the other body parts that Elias now had the opportunity to appraise; although that may have been his better judgement preventing him from focussing on them properly, now that she was actually looking directly at him.

Elias - a little over two meters on a good day, hair style, footwear, and ambient gravity permitting - was used to towering over people; and while his height did force him to angle his gaze downwards in order to focus on her face, it was only a slight deviation: a pleasant if somewhat disconcerting change from the norm.

His eyes mapped out her appearence, following the delicate curve of her jaw to those soft and full lips; scaling those gentle cheeks before being ensnared by her icy, piercing and yet captivating eyes. He forced himself to remember that he was here on a mission, with a purpose, as a representative of the Empress; and that she had asked him a direct question.

He considered making an attempt to replicate the winning smile that Rübezahl had demonstrated earlier, but judging from the expressionless mask that Commander Rhysode wore, he doubted it would achieve the desired effect.

Instead, he settled for simply reinforcing his own mask of professionalism. "Elias Akasha," he introduced simply. "I am an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau from Empress Tarkin's personal staff; I am here assisting the new Ambassador, at her request."

[Imogen Rhysode]

Her gut tied into a knot when the burly male introduced himself; Imogen had special dislike for all everybody and everything Imperial. Having seen too many of her friends slain for not being of the right species, the Echani had little sympathies towards that particular political system to the point where she covertly aligned herself with the Alliance. There were individuals within the Empire who even had problems with her near-Human heritage. For them - and some high officials in the CorSec - she was just not pure enough. Well, not pure enough the be promoted without having to sleep in beds other than her own. Producing nothing but a sour smile of acknowledgement, Imogen cunningly kept her viewpoints for herself for the time being. He was probably posted to snoop around anyway.

''Assist him with what? Is he some sort of an invalid so that he may not hold his own?'' the silver-haired woman voiced sarcastically and pulled her rifle closer to inspect the charged who seemed to be half-depleted from the target practice the agent interrupted.

''Serenno is probably the most peaceful planet in the known universe. The worst that can happen around here is as a pigeon defecating on his shoulder. But I am sure you would be right there, by his side, to wipe it off.'' she finalized, adding a knowing smile in the mix. There was no law against being snide.

[Elias Akasha]

Any glimer of attraction to the woman disappeared instantly as the tirade of confrontational sarcasm hit. His mouth drew into a tight line; eyelids and eyebrows fought hard against the urge to scowl. It was hardly the first time that Elias had been on the recieving end of negative sentiments: as a representative of the Empire, and particularly as a member of the Imperial Security Bureau, he often found himself in the presence of people who were quite vocal in their opposition to his presence, and what he stood for. But those were dissidents; malcontents; rebels. Never in his whole career had he encountered such an attitude from someone who was apparently cultured, educated, and supposedly a social equal. In truth her attitude stung; he allowed no visible sign to manifest in his expression or body language, however.

"Serenno may be peaceful," Elias countered, his voice polite and formal, but with an underlying edge that belied a slight hint of his frustration, "But the rest of the galaxy is not. I'm sure you are aware that Moff Xaanan of the Corporate Sector has begun to make arrangements for Serenno to be used as a refuge from pirate attacks against supply convoys operated by innocent, civilian businesses; unfortunately, that is likely to attract a certain amount of unwanted attention towards your planet."

He offered her a faint, hollow smile; it was unclear whether it was ment to reassure or condescend. "The Empire will of course commit resources to bolster your own security forces against such threats. Unlike Ambassador Rübezahl - who is a diplomat and a politician - I have the requisite military experience to assist in those areas of the negotiations."

He cocked his head to one side, and frowned slightly. "To that end, I would appreciate the opportunity to review your current military assets and protocols, so that we can draft a plan that will augment your assisting capabilities with minimum disruption to Serenno security. If you -" He hesitated. Or an aide; or an aide; or an aide, his subconscious urged, eager to avoid any prolongued contact with the already disagreeable woman. "- or one of your senior officers could spare the time to work with me towards that end, that would be greatly appreciated."

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Military experience, mhm? Oh, I can see that...'' she mused over his cultured approach, her mental prodding remaining virtually ineffective. Her mercury colored eyes ran over the creases of his formal attire, noting bulging muscles confined in narrow frames of dark fabric, accentuating his athletic posture. Imogen knew how vigorous Imperial training got at times and given his references, she assumed he was part of an elite unit, without a doubt. The cultured mask he put on as a response to her sarcasm only convinced her Elias Akasha was the pinnacle of the Empire's armed forces. Quite unexpectedly, the Echani smiled.

''Didn't the Imperial Academy teach you how to loosen up,hm?'' she inquired lightly, tossing the rifle over to a nearby rack, her hand running up her chest to grab the zipper that kept the upper part of her uniform tightly wrapped around her torso. Despite the substantial temperature drop that ensued during the Saffian night, the atmosphere was still far too hot and humid for the Echani. Corellia was a chilly, rainy world - a complete opposite to the almost tropical climate of Serenno.
''I was kidding. No need to turn all formal, agent Akasha. If we are going to work together, you might want to get used to my sense of humor.'' she said, slowly pulling the zipper down and slipped out of the jacket, sporting a black tank top underneath. The simplicity of the garment suggested Imogen was a practical person.

''And get that stick out of your arse. Relax... you're on Serenno now. Consider it a vacation of sorts.'' the silver haired woman added, completely ignoring his request. They would have enough time to go over security schematics. His close affiliation with the Empress had sparked the interest of the ex-CorSec officer; he was probably a gold mine of information. The Echani was not going to let such an opportunity slip. Thus, she dropped her attitude, at least for the time being.
''Tell me...agent Akasha. Do you like Corellian whiskey?'' she asked finally, adding a mischief-tinged smile to her question. It was nothing too obvious, merely sufficient to keep him interested.

[Elias Akasha]

Sense of humour? Stick in my ass?

Inwardly, Elias seethed. Granted, it had been a long time since he'd truely allowed himself to relax his guard, but with good reason: the nature of his occupation since then had barely allowed him a moment of respite. Protection of Miranda Tarkin - whether Moff or Empress - was a formidable task, and the events that had transpired on Doldur when he'd allowed himself a day off of all things drove home how important it was that he dedicate himself fully to his task. He had hoped that the Commander would view her own responsibilities with the same decorum - that he would find a kindred spirit of sorts, thus making this tiresome process a little easier to bear - but unfortunately that seemed unlikely now.

Outwardly, he remained the picture of calm and controlled professionalism. The calculating and logical portions of his brain had demanded sole control of his motor cortex, and fixed his stance and expression to comply with a single thought. The Commander had been correct: if they were going to work together, he would have to come to understand her sense of humour; as well as a good many other aspects of her personality.

Consider it a vacation, he repeated in his mind. An involuntary, strictly-business, and not even remotely enjoyable vacation.

He forced a slight release of tension in his shoulders, relaxing the severity of his stance. His parade ground blank expression shifted as well, the angle of his eyebrows subtly altering to mimic the slight smile of his lips. The Commander wanted him relaxed and informal; Elias had learned from past experience that such settings were the easiest localle to analyse a target, and truth be told he did like Corellian whiskey. As he allowed himself the briefest appraisal of the curvatious physique revealed by her now removed jacket, he also decided that his eyes probably wouldn't mind a little extra time spent with Rhysode, even if his nerves and patience weren't entirely happy with the arrangement.

He breathed out a brief sigh of resignation. "Depends where abouts on Corellia its from," he said, in answer to her question. The industry had become somewhat overpopulated as firms leapt on the commercial bandwagon, flooding the market with cheap immitations of traditional Corellian whiskey that was barely worth the effort of pouring it. A few of the older, smaller producers still kept to the traditional values however; fortunately for Elias, his time on Imperial Center - and the corresponding increase in his pay - had allowed him to become somewhat more selective in what he allowed to pass his lips.

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Whyren's Reserve. The Demici only drink the best.'' the Echani retorted, the subtle smile persisting to curve her full lips. Imogen hoped some highly alcoholic fumes would make Akasha lower his guard and drop the formalism; she had not hoped to read him as a book - he seemed to smart and trained for that - but at least to make herself look less suspicious. The fair-haired woman had to convince him her sole disatisfaction with the Imperial intervention was due to his inherent meddling into her professionalism. It was supposed to be a job, a calling, her duty. Nothing more. But he had to believe it was otherwise.

''It's easy to accustom one's tastebuds to the exquisite tastes reserved for the affluent, agent Akasha. But it's not polite to turn a drink down when offered one.'' she stated, turning on her heel to head indoors again, hoping he would follow. The jacket was casually thrown over her shoulder as a clear mark she was off duty, a gesture that would ensure the two were uninterrupted by other members of the security staff.
''It's funny you should talk about politeness. Never turning a drink down....pfttt...'' the commander cerebrated as they made their way back to the main security quarters in less posh wing of the Demici residence.
''But I am sure a person like yourself had learned the true value of an aged malt beverage, especially after a long day at work. Or am I mistaken?'' she inquired, briefly glancing over her shoulder in a semi-flirtatious manner, left corner of her lips tugged upwards in a seclusive smirk.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias' eyebrows arched in appreciation at the rare and expensive brand of whiskey she cited; they crashed downwards again at her jab about politeness, however. As she turned away, his eyes narrowed into a scowl at her criticism, hands tightening into fists as he trudged silently in persuit of her unspoken invitation. He had hoped that Rhysode would treat him as an equal; unfortunately, he hadn't been banking on the near total lack of respect. Perhaps the permenantly defferential attitudes from his subordinates back on Imperial Center weren't so bad after all.

As he followed, he fought hard to focus his attention on anything but Imogen's curves - particularly the tight, eye-grabbing curves rolling away beneath her trousers - but with only minimal success. He mentally chastised himself for the thoughts running through his head; it was hardly professional to be regarding a collegue in such a way, particularly such an annoying and infuriating one. But his mind apparently paid no heed to that logic.

She glanced over his shoulder; almost caught him looking. Flashed him another smile. He squeezed his eyes shut with a wince.

"I usually don't have much time to indulge," he admitted when, after a few seconds of blind walking, he finally opened his eyes again. The statement was a half-truth: while Elias may have had time, he chose not to allow himself to use it, instead frequently working away into the small hours unless the Empress ordered him otherwise. On those rare occasions that Tarkin insisted he take some time to relax and unwind, he usually dedicated it to fitness, exercise; honing the skills that would ultimately keep his Empress safe.

That said, Tarkin had gifted him a bottle of rare and expensive Alderaanian Brandy for his birthday - a somewhat unexpected surprise - which he indulged in on occasion; a private drink and a classic novel was the closest he allowed himself to come to time away from work.

"You are correct," he stated simply, deciding that one of the fastenings on her jacket was the best focus for his eyes at this point. "Although with the temperature on Serenno being somewhat higher than I am used to, I may have to indulge in a beverage that is typically served in larger volumes." His tongue moistened slightly at the thought of a foaming pint of ale, and the satisfying mental numbness that would undoubtedly follow the first half-dozen: an effective way of distracting his mind from his concerns over how the Empress was coping without his constant protection, perhaps?

[Imogen Rhysode]

The Echani strolled down a long corridor, the clunk of her steel-tipped boots echoing against the weathered marble floor. She knew he would follow like a well-trained dog; the Imperials had their ways of stomping servitude into the minds of people, making them soulless robots, marionettes to the cause. Imogen could tell Akasha was not just an ordinary security officer; the complete emotional blockade he mustered, making his inner core intangible, was something she only witnessed in the elite. Hence, she remained wary but did not let that reflect in her behaviour. After all, she was a woman and those were, on all accounts, masters of deception.

''One always needs to find time to indulge. What's life without some pleasure?'' the silver-haired female projected casually, completely aware of the implication of her words. She walked right into a spacious chamber with one entire wall plastered with monitors and commands, with a control panel and large armchair placed in front of the surveillance equipment. It looked like her working place, but Imogen skipped the introduction. He probably had every single digit memorized before she reached for the bar. Leaning downwards, Imogen opened the fridge.

''Beer or whiskey?'' was her sole question, asked in a comradely question. Imogen smirked when her eyes settled on a heap of ice in the freezer.

[Elias Akasha]

Elias weighed up his options. On the one hand, whiskey was the kind of beverage that one savoured and relished; on the other, more than a few glasses would ultimately dull his senses, which was hardly conductive to the kind of intelligence gathering operation he planned to engage in. Elias could certainly handle his liquor - and based on body mass alone, was likely to be able to put away more than his drinking companion, but he didn't have enough information to determine how impared his own senses would be by the time she reached a malleable state.

Silently, he cursed himself for not having come better prepared; the Empire had developed certain chemicals that, when ingested in tablet form, could neutralise the innebriative qualities of alcohol entirely. One of those would make this evening considerably easier.

He wrinkled his nose, in a slightly judgemental manner. "Beer sounds good," he replied, "Provided it isn't one of those 'light' ones that tastes like it was filtered through a bantha's urinary tract before bottling."

He allowed his attention to roam casually around the areas of Rhysode's private quarters that was in easy view. The size, and the quality of the architecture and craftsmanship hinted at her noteworthy status within the Palace staff; he doubted that many of the other security personnel on the Demici payroll lived in quite such -

He searched for the word. Luxury wasn't correct; while certainly luxuriously proportioned and appointed, Imogen's chambers were configured and decorated without the same over-indulgence as Elias might have expected of an employee of the Countess. There were comforts yes, but they were kept tastefully in check by logic and practicality. It was tasteful; rich and expensive, but without the over the top display that one might find in the home of a politician or a bureaucrat. Unnervingly, it reminded Elias very much of his own quarters back on Imperial Center; a fact he decided to ignore, in the interests of preserving his dislike of the Commander.

"Nice place," he muttered, simply.

[Imogen Rhysode]

''Yeah, you should have seen it when I just arrived here. The statues were everywhere. It was like a fucking museum.'' the fair haired female cursed upon pulling two bottles out of the fridge, not really watching her language. They were alone and there was no need for formalities; she hated excessive ornaments that adorned all royal houses, but it was not out of disregard for art. Having spent all of her conscious life at CorSec, Imogen grew into a pragmatist who thought all items that surpassed practicality in their aesthetics and function were indeed redundant. It took her several weeks to accustom to the level of comfort of the quarters she was assigned to, but she managed to customize her living space to reflect some of her specific personality. However, there was nothing more than a few trophies on the shelves, together with a faint holopicture of a man stashed between CSI books.

''Your quarters are down the hall. Apparently, Naadia thinks you deserve one of the best guest rooms in the house, a sizzling, steaming jacuzzi included. If you fit in it, at all.'' the Echani said, extending a bottle of dark beer towards the agent. The beverage was icy, a welcomed refreshment in still hot Saffian evening. Imogen clung to her own bottle, pressing it against the side of her neck and letting a few loose droplets trickle their way over her collarbone and meander down to her bust contained within a white tank top. With one quick twist and a subsequent hiss, the beer was opened and soon enough, Imogen's full lips encircled the tip of the bottle to take a large gulp. With silver eyes pasted to the screens and the mainboard, the Echani decided her last words were far from a prudent taunt.

''Trust me, I would know everything about being out of proportion.'' she offered, neutralizing her former sarcasm with a mischievous smirk.

[Elias Akasha]

The notion of proportions raised, Elias contemplated a defensive comment, perhaps comparing his manhood to an impressively large class of battlecruiser or something, but decided to let the taunt go by unaddressed. Whether her statement was in pure jest, or merely an attempt to provoke a reaction out of him, he couldn't be sure; in either case, making no outward display of adverse reaction seemed like the strewd option.

With a twist, he liberated the cap from his own bottle, moving it idly between his fingers as he allowed a mouthful of the chilled, refreshing ale to settle on the back of his tongue, and wash down his throat. He paced slowly, still fidgeting the cap, casually drinking in the details of her decor, and inferring what insights he could from it.

A few scattered items brought to memory the mention of her prior service with Corellian Security that had featured in the woefully minimal background information provided on Demici's staff. The political situation on Corellia made sourcing records on unremarkable former employees difficult, and Imperial Intelligence had been reluctant to waste leverage on sourcing the information in this instance, when it might perhaps be better used to aid an assignment in the future. While Elias couldn't fault their logic, he'd hoped that his status would have earned him a little leverage of his own; but apparently, even being aide to the Empress wasn't enough to make them any less uncooperative than normal.

His eyes were drawn to the portrait that nestled in amongst one of the shelves. He peered a little at the face, probing for any family similarity between the man depicted and Imogen herself. Seeing none, he glanced back towards her, and gestured in its direction. "Husband?" he asked, his voice laced with a delicate hint of casual curiousity.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Consciously, Imogen let him snoop around a bit. That way he could gain false security and perhaps begin to trust her, given time. What Elias did not know was the fact that Imogen spent days preparing her quarters for this particular encounter, erasing every possible hint to her true affiliation. All key files were stashed away behind multiple hexadecimal barriers, stored on secret partitions of her personal computer. Using her inductive mind, the Echani made sure there was no way he could ever conjure anything else aside from her current employment on Serenno. But there was one item she forgot to hide.

Looking away to avoid eye contact, she slumped into the armchair and leaned over the controls, quickly downing another great portion of the beverage, as if trying to chase a few thoughts away. Hiding a sour facial expression behind strands of silver hair, Imogen attempted to appear immersed in her work.

''Partner. Fiancee.'' she replied to his question, the lighter tone of her voice unable to overwrite the spasm that formed in her throat. Mentally scolding herself for not removing the picture, Imogen lowered her gaze away from the controls and took another sip. She said nothing else, letting him do the math.

[Elias Akasha]

He'd asked merely in the interests of filling in the blanks, and hadn't considered the fact that, whoever the man was, he clearly wasn't here; the appartment bore the hallmarks of a woman who lived alone. Elias' training picked up on the subtle shift in body language; a corresponding clench of guilt twisted a knot in his stomach. Something had happened - something that had clearly upset Rhysode a great deal - but for once in his life, his curiosity failed to rear its head. He knew very little of personal loss, but what he lacked in empathy he made up for with sympathy. No matter how insufferable the Commander seemed to be, he wished with every fibre that he could take back the last few minutes; undo the hurt he'd unwittingly stirred up.

Now however, all he could do was attempt to repair the damage; and yet, from what he had determined thus far, Imogen hardly seemed the type to respond well to lavishings of sympathy. Like the decorated plaster that adorned the walls around him then, his best option would be to skim over the cracks and merely hide them from view.

"I've never been to Corellia," he admitted, steering the subject in a subtly different direction. He paced towards the window, staring out into the Serenno night. "Strange that, really; I grew up on Kuat, which isn't exactly a million lightyears away. I hear that at night, the cities can be quite beautiful." He stared whistfully out into the darkness. "I think this would take some beating, though," he added, gesturing towards the window with his bottle, and glancing over his shoulder in Imogen's direction.

[Imogen Rhysode]

Imogen bit her lip inwardly when he tried to change the subject. It turned out pretty awkward; she was in her seat, having a quiet emotional breakdown, while he was admiring the view.
''What the fuck is he talking about?'' the Echani thought, gently shaking her head to regain composure. Pricking around old wounds was always painful, but these ones were old enough to be prodded, but not to bleed excessively. If Elias were to succeed in his intention, she would feel like a weakling for not being able to utter more than those two petty words. Degor deserved more.

''We both worked at CorSec and were partners since CSI academy.'' Imogen started off, erecting herself upwards from her seat, snatching the bottle to take it along. She strode towards the window in a slow, almost lazy step, eyes focused into the distance.

''One day, we were on an undercover mission on Taris. A drug cartel. Unfortunately, due to a mismatch in our intelligence channels, we were unaware an Imperial agent was assigned to the job as well. He shot my partner in the head when he reached into his jacket for a tissue. Right in front of my eyes. He thought he was a narco boss.'' the commander said, finally reaching the window and leaning on the sill, eyes still fixed at the glimmering horizon. Yes, the view was beautiful, but so was the view from their apartment back on Corellia. It had a spare room even. They were working on filling it. It was not until later that day that Imogen found out their efforts paid off. Sadly, she lost not one, but two.

''So yeah... do excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm over everything Imperial.'' Imogen added casually, locking her lips around the tip of the bottle, letting the icy cold liquid wash down her throat.

[Elias Akasha]

You didn't get far in a career with the Imperial Security Bureau without hearing sad stories like that: near every dissident and political activist that passed across the Bureau's books had some sort of sad tale to tell. You learned to make yourself callous against them: you ignored the pain and suffering of others, because otherwise you'd catch yourself starting to stray. Emotion had no place in politics: that was the mistake that dissidents, malcontents, and rebels alike all made. The Galactic Empire wasn't a cause; it didn't want for passion, or glory - or enthusiasm - or any of the other things that got people so fired up about the Alliance to Restore the Republic. All it wanted was loyalty: loyalty to the law; loyalty to order; loyalty to peace, and justice, and lawful government.

Elias knew all these things, and had constructed his emotional barriers well; that was why he was so good at his job. And yet, he'd failed to errect them in time, as the details of Rhysode's plight slammed into him. Such blunders were inevitable when it came to joint operations unfortunately; or any kind of operations, for that matter. No one was truely at fault, despite the obvious desire of all parties to find some focus for blame. Imogen had chosen the Empire itself as her focus; in the same position, Elias didn't doubt that he would have done the same.

At least when you ran away from your old life, he mused, thoughts still churning over in his mind, You ran to Serenno, and not to the open arms of the Rebel Alliance. Perhaps that fact could be taken as a sign that Rhysode was not a total lost cause after all.

Still, the revelation had conjured an awkward pall over their conversation; Elias had no idea where to go from here. "If it makes you uncomfortable," he offered quietly, "I can leave you in peace."

[Imogen Rhysode]

''I'm not uncomfortable.'' the sliver haired woman stated defensively, giving the agent a fleeting look as she glanced to the side, then restored her gaze at the shimmer of Saffian nightlife. Her finger caressed the neck of the bottle, rubbing against the cold, damp surface in an almost affectionate way.
''It's just that it is not something you grow comfortable with over the course of years. Reconciliation - by all means - since this is the only way to move on. Growing comfortable to talk of it... Never. It's an anchor you never shed.'' the Echani explained, then indulged in another plentiful gulp of the foaming liquid. It tasted like water, despite its intensive dark aroma; suddenly, whiskey felt more appealing.

''Don't worry about me, Elias Akasha. I'm can take much more than one would think when they saw me. Crying is for the weak. We take what is given.''
Her conclusion was bold as was the accompanying facial expression that disclosed her resolute, her inner strenght that radiated from her very soul. Like a granite stone column, she resisted the all the weathering perpetual winds of change had installed for her, exhibiting integrity that would make any man ashamed. However, Imogen did not open up easily, so she refrained from further introspection that would allow the agent gain insight behind the walls of the mental fortress her personality resided in. Nobody was allowed there.

''How about you, agent Akasha? Have a similar story to share so I can finally open that bottle of Corellian whiskey?'' commander inquired, shifting her eyes to look at him, briefly skimming the features of his stern, angular face.