Private Directing War

[Darion Kithero]

Another shuttle. It seemed he was being carted off to many different places, of late. A necessary thing, for many responsibilities now laid upon his shoulders. Not all of them, he was prepared for. Such was the very reason why he was here, aboard the transport that ferried him to one that may yet discuss such a matter -- and, hopefully, provide fruitful results.

Unlike most of the fanatics that littered the upper echelons of the Military.

The looming shadow of a battlecruiser, a star brilliantly burning behind it as it cruised through space, began making itself apparent after some time had passed. Darion’s destination.

His legs cross over themselves, his brows furrowing in thought. Wrestling with ideas of what to say, how to present himself. Military matters and Politics were, so grossly intertwined. It had become almost routine to think of such things even over matters like this.

Was he…anxious? No, that didn’t seem like the proper word for it. Restless, perhaps, suited what he felt better. His was a bold askance - especially in an organization like the ones they remained in. Michael Hightower was a Legate, the highest of honors in this Military, and Darion’s commanding officer in battle if the time so called. To ask for advice from such a figure could be seen by many as disrespectful at the least. Or, grossly incompetent at worst.

To reach out for advice regarding commanding the lives of others was a daring ask, and there was little to be done about it.

Still, he had done his research. They struck him as different, if only that tiny bit so. All it took was some semblance of proper mindset to stand apart here.

It wouldn’t be long before they would be cleared to land. Nitpicking at his collar, he dressed befitting his new rank - clad in deep red and black, a uniform neatly and meticulously tended to. After all, the Director would be loath to ruin first impressions with a mere sloppy uniform. He would opt to go without the pretenses of a faux smile, the sickly-sweet attempts to appeal to those higher in the chain. That was his preferred way, but when operating with Sith, it was something one simply had to get used to at times.

A calm and collected expression, a grim resolve. That was who he was, and who he would be presenting himself as, today.

With that, he stood, and readied to exit the shuttle.

Michael Hightower

 

[Michael Hightower]

A ship was a living organism, there was no better way to describe it, it was never quiet, never still. Even now, as the behemoth hung still in space, it's bulk blocking out the light of the stars as the shuttle approached the ship was a warren of activity. Crew members flowed from one end of the ship to the other, like a well-oiled machine. There was never a shortage of jobs to be done, the tasks that kept the ship alive and functioning, from cleaning to updating systems or running drills. Like the cells of the body they flowed back and forth on an astounding display of coordination that never slowed no matter the time of the day or night.

It was into this precisely ordered chaos that the shuttle arrived, jets lowering itself carefully to the hangar floor as the side party came smartly to attention, blaster's falling into place at their shoulders as the trooper's armour glinted as it caught the overhead lights. An officer stood waiting at the foot of the shuttle, waiting for Darion to arrive, snapping a smart salute as the man sat foot on the hangar deck. bright red hair was bound up into a professional-looking bun under the woman's hat as jade eyes met his.

"Captain Kithero? A pleasure to have you on board, I'm Commander Bethyl, aide-de-camp to the Legate, he's expecting you, if you'll follow me."

A sharp turn and a quick jaunt into the ship brought the pair into the guts off the ship as the reed-haired captain nodded to a pair of marine guards who thumbed the door open for the officers, allowing them past.

"Legate, he's here."

The large man settled behind the desk and waved a hand distractedly at the chairs in front of his desk, his eyes still glued to the datapad in his hand as the woman offered Darion a smile before exiting the room as the datapad clattered to the surface of the desk, dark eyes lifting to meet Darion's, examining and judging, storing away datapoints to use later..

"Apologies, I'd have met you at the shuttle but, I think that there's a conspiracy to kill me with paperwork. I never seem to be able to get through it, just when I think I've caught up the ever-efficient Captain Bethys somehow manages to magic up another batch, I swear the woman's a sorcerer. Can I offer you a drink?"

Darion Kithero

 

[Darion Kithero]

The ramp opened with the customary hiss of steam, the infantry from inside taking point outside on the sides, before turning inwards in a neat 90-degree alongside the troops already present. Olive green met jade hues as he was greeted by the formal salute, to which he offered a small salute of his own in return. He was a guest, after all, and he wasn’t the kind to exploit differences in rank.

“Likewise, Commander.” Was his pleasant acknowledgement, careful to maintain a cordial tone of voice - tinged with metallic undertones, as it unavoidably was. “By all means, lead the way.”

As the boots of his clean-cut uniform clacked against the metal floor, his eyes could not help but to wander across the ship. Part of a closely-kept awe, and the rest mere curiosity, for he had never been aboard such a vessel. Not any vessel so large, in fact - it was a marvel all its own. How could one even manage such a large thing in the midst of battle? Questions like those, he supposed, was why he was making his way to the very top to garner the best answers possible.

As they ascended through elevators, long hallways and corridors full of technicians, marines, and the many jobs that worked to ensure smooth functioning, he was eventually led to the side. Offices, he presumed. Eventually stepping into a sleek, chrome room, no doubt prim and proper. At the head of it all was the man he aimed to speak to, sitting behind a desk with a datapad in hand.

His head dipped in acknowledgement and thanks to the Commander, as she made her leave. Once his head rose, he stepped up with a straightened posture and salute of his own. Much like the Legate, he was noting all he could about the man that he faced. It was good to get a general profile of those around you, after all - and this was especially the case for one as important as Hightower. He knew not if the man was a stickler, but it was generally better safe than sorry.

“No apologies needed, Legate Hightower. I can sympathize,” Darion hadn’t opted to take a seat until after his initial presentation, but he did as he began talking. “I’ve often found myself buried in paperwork as well, lately...And I feel I will gain a great deal more, in the near future.” Upon the offer of a drink, the Director’s gaze flitted to meet the man. “I would be glad for one.” Opting for the polite thing to say.

His legs crossed as he settled into the chair, doing his best to remain casual yet formal - an undoubtedly difficult balance to strike. “I apologize for the impromptu meeting. The Order’s efforts are expanding upon the warfront, and I had…” Mulling over the appropriate thing to say for a moment. “Concerns, I wished to ask. You’re someone who understands weighing the costs and demands of a war, no doubt?” Using the question akin to how one would set the stage for a discussion. Seemed to be the topic of the day - inviting an initial response in kind upon the subject.

Michael Hightower