Private A Noisy Hand Off

[Sergeant Omen]

Planet: Thule

Omen was sitting in a local sports bar, enjoying a brew while watching the widescreen display of a boloball game in a noisy local sports bar named Legends & Tihaar.
Just like many other Mandolarians and Locals here, he had come from a brief break. Except that the other people in the bar didn't have a data stick that could bring down an entire station to its knees. Having sent Aren and Jett off in Korda's ship, he had managed to convince Aren that he could make this handoff in person without getting shot. And it tool alot of convincing. But this was his one chance to find out who Aren primarily worked for. Might as well take the chance to meet them in person.

Absentmindedly twirling the data stick in his hands as he winced at a particular gruesome tackle, the Clone wondered who he was meeting up with. Their contact had said anyplace on Thule, and so he had picked out here. If this wasn't their contact's cup of tea, while they could shove it in this mug of ne'tra gal he was about to wolf down. Checking his watch, he saw the meeting time was upon them. Now it was just time to see who walked in through the door.

Sidonia

 

[Sidonia]

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Tag: Sergeant Omen​

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Sound shifted first; subtly, almost imperceptibly. The layered noise of the bar—laughter, shouted bets, the dull roar of the boloball match—thinned at its edges, like something unseen had drawn a quiet breath through the room. Conversations faltered not out of fear, but instinct. Even those who didn’t look toward the entrance felt it: a change in pressure, in presence.​

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Then she stepped inside.​

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Sidonia did not announce herself. She never did nor had to. The dim, flickering light of Legends & Tihaar caught along the fall of her hair—pale and icy as frost, smooth as glass; framing a face carved in stillness. Her expression held no immediate warmth, no overt threat. Only a quiet, unyielding awareness, as though every person in the room had already been measured and dismissed in the span of a single breath.​

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Those who did recognize her did not react loudly. They simply lowered their eyes and tightened their shoulders. Those in her direct way of passage carved out space, opening in her path as naturally as water giving way to a blade.​

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The Warden of Thule had arrived.​

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She did not look toward the screens, nor the bar, nor the group of patrons clinging to their drinks and distractions. Her attention settled exactly where it belonged, as if it had never needed to search at all. Her eyes locked onto the man that she was here to meet. It was perhaps the way he didn't react to her presence like the rest of the others that gave it away, or perhaps she just had a keen eye. Sidonia made her way towards him, the tapping of her stiletto heels hitting the ground the only sound against the silence of the area, her midnight black dress trailed slightly behind her as she walked.​

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“An interesting choice of venue,” Sidonia said at last, her voice low and even, threaded with something almost conversational; if conversation were a thing she tolerated rather than enjoyed. Her icy blue eyes immediately fell to the object in his hand. “But I suppose,” she continued, tilting her head just slightly, as if considering him from a different angle entirely, “it tells me exactly what I need to know about you.”​

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Her hand came to rest lightly against the table; not reaching for the data stick, not yet. Simply there, anchoring the space between them as hers.​

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“Let’s not waste each other’s time,” Sidonia added, her gaze holding his without wavering. “You’ve gone to considerable effort to make this exchange… personal....why?”​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Sidonia reminded him a lot of Aren, cold, calculating, and ready to strike at a moment's notice, which he could deal with. Living with Aren had trained him enough for that. As for what Sidonia would see... She would see a weather-beaten man with a 9 o'clock shadow for a face. His hair would be starting to gray if all of it hadn't been shaved off. If she had read any history books, then she would quickly recognize who Omen really was and where he was from.

The Warden of Thule was the only woman alive who could rock a black dress and actually look like a Mandolarian that could kick your butt. It was quite interesting. He let the Warden sit down, letting out a chuckle at the tone of her voice being actually the same as hers. If it weren't for the eyes, they might have been sisters. "Ehh, the food's above average, and the noise helps if anyone placed bugs in here." Not that he thought anyone would, but the Warden was a high-placed person who gathered a lot of attention, some of it the wrong attention. Better to be safe than sorry.

At her comment about making their exchange personal, he just shrugged. "I'm like most people. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to know who I'm working for and if they are building a superweapon behind my back. But you are right, you paid up front, so here you go." Sliding the data stick across the table, Omen regarded her once more. "You know, from what I heard, you remind me of my partner, cold as an icy wind and just as sharp. Part of me just wanted to meet you to see if it was true." The Clone half expected her to get up after receiving the data without any comment, but if he caught her in a good mood, maybe she would decide to torture herself by talking to him for a while yet.

Sidonia

 

[Sidonia]

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Tag: Sergeant Omen​

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Sidonia didn’t reach for the data stick right away.​

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Her gaze dropped to it, briefly, as though acknowledging its existence rather than its importance. Then her attention returned to him, steady and unbroken, as if the object between them was incidental; replaceable while he was not. “You assume curiosity is a luxury I indulge,” she said quietly, her tone even, almost absent of inflection. There was no bite to it, no immediate reprimand, just a statement placed with careful precision, like a piece on a board already moving toward its conclusion.​

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Only then did her fingers shift.​

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She drew the data stick toward her with a slow, unhurried motion, the pads of her fingers brushing its surface as though testing its weight rather than claiming it. It disappeared into her possession just as easily, without ceremony, without acknowledgment of the effort it had taken to acquire.​

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Her eyes never left him.​

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“But you’re not wrong,” Sidonia continued after a moment, tilting her head slightly. “People who insist on seeing the face behind the transaction tend to believe it gives them leverage....it rarely does” The faintest shift followed; subtle enough that anyone not paying attention would have missed it. Her posture didn’t relax, but it… settled, as if the immediate purpose of the meeting had already been concluded in her mind. “And yet,” she added, quieter now, her voice threading into something almost conversational, “you’re still here, still talking"​

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She paused for a moment, allowing the silence to draw out a little bit longer. The young woman tapped her fingers on the table. “So tell me,” she continued, her gaze narrowing just a fraction, “was it disappointment you were expecting?”​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Yup, she was definitely like Aren alright. Very... methodical. Just with other people rather than machines. Breaking them and what they wanted down like it was an art. He wondered why she was a broker for jobs like this and didn't have an offical position in the government. She would probably balance Isely's fire out. Probably why she was here talking with him instead, so their supreme leader didn't have to listen.

When asked if he was disappointed, Omen only smiled and shook his head. "No, you certainly leave an impression, so you don't have to worry about disappointing anyone. But there was another reason I wanted to meet in person. I heard a rumor that you took a certain young man under your wing. I don't know his name, but I guess the best description of him is long black hair that looks like its never been cut before." Reaching into the napkin holder, he quickly scrawled a comm number ( Jett Vox 's) on it and offered it out to the black widow. "He helped someone I know out when they needed it, and I'm certain that person would like to hear from him again. So, if you wanted to hand that to him and ask him to call, I would appreciate it." Jett needed friends that wasn't him and Aren all the time, and that young man had been nice to her when most others didn't bat an eye. And for that, the old Clone was grateful. Who knows, maybe if things went well, he could boast to Aren that he was a better matchmaker than she was.

Sidonia

For Prisoner #36929 and Jett Vox to use how they wish.

 

[Sidonia]

O B J E C T I V E​

Tag: @​

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Sidonia did not take the offered slip immediately.
Her gaze moved to it, not with interest, but with the same measured attention she gave everything placed in front of her. A name would have meant something. A title, even more. But a number alone; passed across a table in a crowded bar; was simply a gesture. One that carried intent, but not yet value. Her eyes lifted back to him, steady, unreadable.

“You’re asking me to act on trust,” she said, her voice low, controlled. Not dismissive, but not receptive either. Just… precise. “Without offering anything that justifies it.” Only then did her hand move. She picked up the napkin between two fingers, careful, almost absent-minded in the way she handled it, as if the object itself were secondary to the decision behind taking it at all. For a brief moment, she glanced at the number, committing it to memory in the same quiet, efficient way she did everything else. The napkin did not disappear into a pocket. It remained in her hand.

“People who matter tend to be easier to find than this,” Sidonia continued, her tone shifting just slightly. “Names have a way of surfacing when they’re worth remembering. And yet,” she mused, tilting her head a fraction, “you’re not the type to pass along favors without reason.” The noise of the bar crept back in around them, cautious at first, like the room testing whether it was safe to breathe again.

Sidonia finally set the napkin down on the table between them, her finger resting lightly against its edge; not pushing it back, not pulling it closer. Leaving it exactly where it could be claimed or ignored. “If this man is as capable as you imply,” she said, her voice quieter now, more contained, “he won’t need you to carry messages for him. But...that will be up to me to decide..." Another brief silence followed, one that felt heavier, like that of a movie reaching its climax.

“What did he do,” Sidonia asked, her tone returning to that same controlled neutrality, “that earned this from you?”

Her hand lifted from the napkin, but her attention did not.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen let the cold-headed young woman talk, increasingly looking like she had grown a third eye as she went into her mafioso speak. To him, he just wanted to give his kid's number out to someone who had helped his kid out. For Sidonia, it seemed like he wanted to organise a hit with the ragged young man he had seen giving Jett a pep talk to help get her through. After her interrogation, Omen was left holding his head in confusion. "Miss Sidonia... this isn't me trying to recruit this young man or trying to make some big power play. He was nice to my ward and helped her through her Verd'goten. Kindness is a rare and figured I'd give him her number in case he continued wanting to share it. I wouldn't mind meeting him either." Figured he should meet the guy personally if he was going to let him anywhere near Jett in the future. Who knows what he was really like under the surface?

The Clone's posture remained casual as the whole bar seemed to quiet. Sidionia definitely had that aura about it; he would give the woman that. But Omen had come too far, had been around too long, to just back down to anyone. "But that was mainly, that was the only reason I wanted to meet with you. That and offering my services if any other jobs come up." He put his glass of Tihaar down and showed his palms to reinforce the point. "And even if you don't know him, if there is anyone that can track down that young man, its you."

Sidonia