Private Call The Lockesmith || John Locke

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Armor of Darth Metus​

VERUN - ENCAMPMENT

Sundown was a reprieve.

The world that the Remnant found itself on was called Verun, at least according to the locals. It was a harsh planet, unforgiving in terms of heat. But there was potential for agriculture. A little shade here, a little irrigation there, and the population would be able to freely eat. Freely eat. Now there were words Isley never thought he'd fret over. But, in the blink of an eye, he found himself overseeing the rationing of supplies. To go from the peak to nothing overnight was jarring - especially for the people. But they would endure. Such was their way.

As the sun dipped beyond the horizon, so too did the landing zone's activity. Vessels still moved to and from orbit, but at a far lesser pace. The civilians were all but settled in their tents. The night watch was beginning their rotations. All was starting to quiet - and Isley emerged from his tent. He had been standing within the fabric walls for practically the entire day; and stretching his legs was long since overdue.

Yet, despite the rest sweeping the encampment, the Sith's evening was far from over.

He wandered a bit, taking the longer route to his destination: which ended up being yet another tent. But, compared to his own, the contents within were far different. The centerpiece of Isley's was a table laden with maps, datapads, and various reports. But, when he entered this one, he found actual terminals. The sable-skinned man chuckled lightly at the sight. "You work quickly, John."

His compliment was coupled with a nod in greeting. The Exarch was one of the two most fiscally-minded people in his circle. And for this next bit of work, he would need the man's insight. "I assume you've gotten the latest reports about our status?" Supplies. Ships. Manpower. All flowed from the Vicelord to his Exarchs like a river. "It's bad, so we need a gameplan. Thoughts?"

John Locke​

 

[John Locke]

Wearing: Would you believe, a suit?​

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VERUN - ENCAMPMENT​

Tagging: Darth Metus
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There were few things that were inevitable in the galaxy, death, taxes and the fact that you would find John Locke wearing a suit.

Today was no exception.

The cyborg stood in the middle of the command tent surrounded by holographic screens, surrounded by human and droid assistants poised to act on his wishes to relay commands or gather information. It could have been a scene out of history, any general surrounded by his aides and although this wasn't a battlefield it didn't mean lives didn't hang in the balance. If anything it could be said that the stakes were even higher. This wasn't just a battle that they were fighting, it was a war for the survival of their people and all those they had adopted, the multitude who looked up to them for protection and guidance.

A brief gesture of the hand dismissed those aides for now, sending them off on their allocated duties as the dark-haired exarch turned his head to face Isley, his eyes still glowing a piercing turquoise. For a moment the man's psyche extended across the camp that they'd claimed as their own, the city that they had chosen. A million battle droids worked across the city, guiding workers, aiding refugees or building structures all their eyes glowing the same shade of turquoise, their actions bound to the singular will of the dark-haired man who observer the tired Sith for a moment before cocking his head to the side and offering him a wan smile.

"If something's worth doing…"

Slowly the man's eyes lost their glow, returning to the standard shade of brown they always were. Establishing control of all these droids was a trich he'd picked up on Atrisia, driven to desperation to find a way to protect the Confederacy from the depredations of the Blackwing Virus. He'd needed to be everywhere at once, do more things at once, so he'd delegated in a way, stolen the bodies of the droids to accomplish his tasks. It was…taxing, even for a man as capable, as heavily cyberized as John was but it was the most effective way to handle the crisis which they found themselves in today. It…was tempting, so tempting to believe that he was the only man who was able to save them, to fix the situation but that would be wrong. It was a group effort, always a group effort but…in the world of numbers and tasks there was a relief from the reality of the situation. From their failure at the task which they'd turned there attention to.

A glance to the side as the cyborg slumped into a seat, waving a hand wearily at one of the chairs bordering a table as he reached for a bottle of water.

"I never knew you had such a talent for understatement Isley."

That smallest smile, that joke to break the tension both men found themselves under.

"Honestly, we need income and badly but till then, sink everything we have into infrastructure. Not houses or labs but warehouses, roads and especially plumbing. Everyone wants a home, but they can make do for now, but supplies left in the open can be robbed or degrade. They'll never get where they need to go without the roads. Everyone always underestimates the importance of the basics. Beyond that…we need an economy, or at least something to sell, resources if nothing else. We need a way to get back on our feet."

A hand scrubbed over the man's face, fingers brushing at his trimmed beard.

"It's…rough out there. We failed and people know it, they know that they were beaten and had to leave. Everyone's kinda wandering in a daze and you're the one they're looking to for some meaning. Gotta have something to believe in, something to fight for, it's what makes us better than well…them."

A hand gestured towards the door, waving in the vague direction of the fighting still going on. The fighting that never seemed to end.

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