Private Drinks Between Vode

[Bright2]

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THE BRIEFING​

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Location: Bastion, Azula Ordo's Apartment​

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It wasn't exactly her preferred way to host, but Azula figured it wouldn't hurt to try something new. At current, she kept to her conservative attire, a pleasant black gown that concealed her war scars from prying eyes. Her protocol droid laid out several bottles of Tihaar, as well as several meat dishes that were to her own liking; grilled Acklay strips were a personal favorite of hers. She took her seat, looking out at the landscape of Bastion before her, taking up a bottle of Tihaar and popping it open; which seemed to be summon her service droid to her side. "Mistress, am I to escort the guest here when he arrives?" T-8KP inquired, the droids silver skin aglow from the several lights of the cityscape out before her.​

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Azula paused, drawing out her datapad and setting it on the table, before giving her droid a response. "Yes, KP, please see him in when he shows." The droid gave out a quick response in binary, and vanished back into the apartment, leaving the ISB agent to ponder to herself. Taking a sip from her bottle, she let out a long sigh, her mind going to the mission she had planned, and just how many people she could trust to help her with it. Amon seemed the righteous sort, but she needed a better read into him before bringing him in. Tonight would be that test.​

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Amon Vizsla​

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

Bastion.

The last time his foot had stepped on the fortress world was during the New Imperial's reclamation. He had led the 16th 'Pre Vizsla' into the fray and enacted violent retribution upon the Sith. It had been the Day of Reckoning, for Imperial and Mandalorian alike. Now? He donned no armor and no vengeful darksaber. Soot and fire did not envelop the skies. Ruin did not depict the cityscape. The Imperials had reclaimed their world and made it a home.

Something the Sith made sure was an impossible task for the Mandalorians.

A droid welcomed his arrival on the landing pad of the high rise and led him to the apartment. Or what the aruetii liked to call a penthouse. The home of the mysterious Azula Ordo.

It was a far cry from the watering hole on Concordia.

Azula had certainly adapted to the aruetiise' way of life. Amon was certain that her black gown only was enough to fund a whole war campaign. The thought amused him, a half-smile barely crawling on his face before it dissipated for his usual stone-neutral expression. His eyes fell on briefly on the bottles of tihaar - the only familiar item around - then back to Azula as he approached the seat next to hers.

"Never knew the life of the Imperial to be so spoiled." the Vizsla remarked with a hint of a quip in his words.

Bright2

 

[Bright2]

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BEING THE HOSTESS​

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She knew he had landed from the small security alert on her datapad, a precaution, one of many she had within her place. She was looking forward to showing Amon her personal armory in fact, hopefully it was to his liking. She had a concealed SM-10 under the table before them, and a vibro dagger was tucked beneath the right armrest of the couch. Just two of many weapons she had in case her 'dates' decided to try and make the night more exciting than it was meant to be; she was happy to report that she only had to resort to them on two occasions. Being an operative, you had to take precautions.​

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She was honestly surprised that he had arrived with no armor, chuckling as he made his way towards her, taking the words he threw her way as a proper jest.​

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"Oh, you have no idea darling."​

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Indeed, she had been 'pampered' by this new life, but as she had told him on Concordia, it was something she had to do to adapt. As someone who grew up a slave, she was very good at that. "You clean up nicely, was half expecting you to wear a beskar suit and tie." She responded, grabbing a bottle and offering it to him as he joined her. "What makes it worse is knowing it has to stay this way, work regulations and what not. If I appear to be anything other than Imperial, it's a 'risk to your work assignment'. Though, much preferred over what I dealt with on Dromund Kaas. Like I said, you adapt to what life throws at you. Even if you detest it." She sighed, taking another sip from the bottle, and looking to the view. "In case your wondering, this dress is vibro and blaster proof. Shell spider silk. Sadly it has to look 'trendy' so the target finds it striking." She didn't much care what others thought of her life choices.​

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"I like to think myself still a Mandalorian, but in truth, I'm many things. Our pasts define us in several ways, something I think you can agree with. We are like metal...we have impurities that must be beatten out to become pure, but there are etchings in the soul that cling." She looked to him, wondering if her comments on the Sith world would have sparked something. It was a story she had yet to explain, and one of the reasons she felt confident on striking back at the Emperor's Capital.​

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Amon Vizsla​

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

"Always a trick up their sleeves, these Imperials..." Amon commented, scanning her from top to bottom. Who else would design gowns of shell spider silk? The ISB. Always those with a contingency atop a contingency atop a contingency. In some odd way, he could see some similarities between the Imperials' readiness for anything and the Mandalorians' preparedness for a fight at all times.

but there are etchings in the soul that cling."

"Like the Sith scars on your neck?" the Vizsla asked, his eyes shifting to the markings in question. His brows furrowing at his own reimagination of the way she had acquired them. The Mandalorian's hatred for the Sith knew no bounds. For all they had done, they still had much more to pay.

They had to be exterminated to the last one.

"Are they the reason you run with the Imperials?"

Amon had never been the curious type, but something about the Ordo woman riveted his attention.

Bright2

 

[Bright2]

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EXPOSITION​

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He caught on quickly. Azula's face darkened, the humorous look on her face vanished as Amon mentioned the 'Sith scars' she bore, her hand setting down the bottle she held in her hand. She supposed it was obvious, given the hints she had laid out, her current position, and the fact she was so far removed from the warrior culture that had liberated her. Her hand brushed over the scar tissue, feeling the faintest tinge of pain at the mention. She wasn't angry, rather put in a bad mood by having to recount the ancient history of her scars. There were many that she bore, and Amon had only seen the surface of it. She didn't share this tale with many, hardly anyone outside of the ISB knew about it. She strode towards the view of the city, hands clasped behind her back as if she was walking on the bridge of a starship.​

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"It's a little more complicated than that, but I suppose you should hear my reasons."​

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She paused for a moment, collecting her words together, before speaking.​

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"I wasn't born into the life of the Mandalorians. My blood, is that of a slave, if you must know. A Sith slave, to be more precise." She started, turning to face Amon with a stern glance, before shrugging her shoulders. "Through cunning, I deceived my 'owner' into letting me into the Mandalorian culture, and as such, I broke away from the Sith. Was my own woman for once." The thoughts of her early days were of happier times, when she believed she was strong, couldn't be hurt anymore. She was younger then, dumb, drunk on freedom. Blind from consequence. "My owner held a grudge, and when Mandalore became a target for the Sith fleets, he personally came to...mark me." She looked to Amon once more, her eyes hard as durasteel. "He burned me, stabbed me, planned on killing me then and there. I got lucky. Now, I can breath through a lung implant and filter out the Sith poison in my veins once a month." She smiled faintly, though there was no mirth within it. "So, there you have it. I hope your curiosity is now piqued, why my hate for the Sith is on par with yours, and why I work with the Imperials at current." She would stand there a moment longer, waiting for Amon to add any input, before finally sitting down.​

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It was probably her least favorite story to recount truth be told.​

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Amon Vizsla​

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

As a warrior, nay, as a Mando'ad, Amon was disciplined to never be surprised. Always be ready and prepared for everything. Death was one misstep away. Yet, Azula's sudden shift of disposition took him aback. His eyes tracked her as she stood up, approached the window overlooking the endless cityscape before turning her gaze back on him. Sharpened daggers in her stare.

If her change of attitude - which had even made the luxurious surroundings bleak - hadn't surprised him enough, her story took him off-guard. Something Amon hadn't felt since...well, almost forever. As Azula recounted her tale, silence befell the penthouse; only the hum of distant engines and ticking of various kipple in the room reigned supreme. The Vizsla was unsure on what to say or what to do, he had never been one for much talking nor socializing. Out of instinct, he set his untouched bottle back on the table and gazed back at Azula.

There was only one way he knew how to demonstrate his solidarity.

Action.

"The Sith have a debt to pay to our people..." he began, his eyes narrowing, "I know of the planned strike on Vjun the Imperials have been plotting." he paused only for a moment before continuing to lay out his plan, "The castle there, Bast, it is sure to hold secrets, knowledge, that you have been seeking of your family."

He inaudibly cleared his throat and added with conviction in his usually neutral tone, "You have my darksaber, Azula. And my commitment to see your vengeance - your cause - achieved."

Amon's own path to his family had long been cut off forever, but if he could aid another vod in their righteous quest then he would rally to their cause.

Bright2

 

[Bright2]

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PLANS FOR THE FUTURE​

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She hadn't spoken everything about her past, not all the complex details and...questionable choices she had made. But that was fine by her. The amount of living people who knew her whole past could be counted on one hand. And she was fairly certain more than half of them were currently dead and gone. Amon seemed to understand where she came from however, which meant to her, she had found a worthy ally in the man.​

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She smiled as he mentioned Bast Castle. She knew there would be a strike on it, but as a security officer, it was hard to request onto a mission without someone to request her. It seemed she had found just the person to do that. Indeed, she had chosen her companions wisely. She bowed her head towards Amon, humbled by his desire to see her revenge played out in full. "You make this dying woman very happy, Amon. It's been too long since I was without an ally. Especially one that I didn't want to strangle in their sleep." She smiled, finally sitting beside him now, with a plan and a method of attack now ready to go.​

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"<I think this calls for more drinks, wouldn't you say?>" She questioned, her words taking on that of Mando'a, as her mood had been lifted quite a deal by the mans vow to see her cause carried out.​

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Amon Vizsla​