Character
Iothen wondered if, in another life, he would have made for a better… something else. Hairdresser, baker, engineer. When he was young, on his home planet of Stanimir, politics seemed much more straightforward. Address the needs of the people. Although he was an heir to one of the planet's leading clans, he knew that his job and the job of leaders everywhere were to be a servant of the civilians. His goal was to give everyone, no matter their careers and circumstances, a livable and comfortable wage. He knew that once he was in power, his and other families' lavish dinner parties and exotic artworks would be traded so that every single person, whether they be a crystal miner or a ballerina, would be treated as honorable members of society. Lavish dinner parties not unlike this one.
A hundred or so noblemen and women milled about in this common room as the food was being prepared. It was adorned top-to-bottom with handmade tapestries depicting species native to Naboo, blue silken curtains draped and woven into patterns, vaguely-posed crystalline sculptures hanging from the ceiling. The hazy warm lighting wasn’t enough to settle his nerves.
"The chef is supposed to be a total genius," Iothen heard someone say behind him. "He's supposed to be depicting—"
"No, don't spoil it for me! I want to see if I can figure it out myself."
He never had the chance to implement a single policy before his planet was invaded. Now, everything was dictated by men and woman with sleek, black outfits and cold stares.
Since then, he learned what politics really was—a bloated cesspool of corruption and unfair compromise. There were so many bills, regulations, new cantidades that Iothen often felt like a fraud trying to keep up. In this galaxy there were a billion politicians all trying to get a word in, most of whom never cared to address the struggles of a working civilian.
"You know, a smile wouldn't hurt," his sponsor cheekily whispered in his ear. Duchess Circe Darr was a dear friend to most. Her empathetic and agreeable nature was magnetic, especially to fellow politicians—she treated every idea with respect and appropriate contemplation. Iothen thought it was almost ridiculous how agreeable she was, even to people who didn't deserve the time of day. Then again, her voice commanded respect in turn. Iothen curled his lips into a clumsy smile. "It's about time you got your name out there," she said as she smoothed out a wrinkle in his shawl. "You're a good man—it's very fashionable these days."
Iothen maintained his smile. A good man, she’d said. She didn't know that he'd abandoned true politics a long time ago. At this point, he may have been even more corrupt than the nobles here he so hated. His name couldn't get out there, not unless he wanted people sticking their noses into his operations. He was small-time. Small-time was good.
Kilea Indupar
A hundred or so noblemen and women milled about in this common room as the food was being prepared. It was adorned top-to-bottom with handmade tapestries depicting species native to Naboo, blue silken curtains draped and woven into patterns, vaguely-posed crystalline sculptures hanging from the ceiling. The hazy warm lighting wasn’t enough to settle his nerves.
"The chef is supposed to be a total genius," Iothen heard someone say behind him. "He's supposed to be depicting—"
"No, don't spoil it for me! I want to see if I can figure it out myself."
He never had the chance to implement a single policy before his planet was invaded. Now, everything was dictated by men and woman with sleek, black outfits and cold stares.
Since then, he learned what politics really was—a bloated cesspool of corruption and unfair compromise. There were so many bills, regulations, new cantidades that Iothen often felt like a fraud trying to keep up. In this galaxy there were a billion politicians all trying to get a word in, most of whom never cared to address the struggles of a working civilian.
"You know, a smile wouldn't hurt," his sponsor cheekily whispered in his ear. Duchess Circe Darr was a dear friend to most. Her empathetic and agreeable nature was magnetic, especially to fellow politicians—she treated every idea with respect and appropriate contemplation. Iothen thought it was almost ridiculous how agreeable she was, even to people who didn't deserve the time of day. Then again, her voice commanded respect in turn. Iothen curled his lips into a clumsy smile. "It's about time you got your name out there," she said as she smoothed out a wrinkle in his shawl. "You're a good man—it's very fashionable these days."
Iothen maintained his smile. A good man, she’d said. She didn't know that he'd abandoned true politics a long time ago. At this point, he may have been even more corrupt than the nobles here he so hated. His name couldn't get out there, not unless he wanted people sticking their noses into his operations. He was small-time. Small-time was good.
Kilea Indupar
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