Private Eager to Impress (Kalipher's, Coruscant)

[Zelroga]

EAGER TO IMPRESS

​

It was a warm Zhellday evening in Coruscant and the arrival of Sor-Jan Xantha and Sankt Yora was imminent.

'This is going to be big,' Zelroga was telling his chefs in the Kalipher's kitchens. 'You boys deliver top quality every service, I don't doubt you, but if we nerfherd this it'll be broadcasted beyond the Core Worlds to be heard by thousands. I want all prep checked, sauces tasted and stations ready to go. Understood?'

The crew looked nervous, but were determined as ever: 'Chef, yes, Chef!'

And with that, the plasma ovens and laser broilers hummed to life.


Zelroga took swift steps to the dining room to make sure everything was ready for the night. His ever-charming host and head waiter was carefully holding a wineglass up to the light and peering through it.

'Lazru!' Zelroga barked. 'Are those matching plates? Remember the washboy put them all in together last night so they got mixed up.'

The handsome Zeltron seemed offended. He lowered the glass and tutted his tongue: 'Of course the plates all match, Chef. Whatever do you take me for?'

'Hmmm.' Zelroga's eyes did a quick dash from place to place set at the table. He was right -- they were all matching, but you always had to check these things for yourself. It was the little details that made all the difference, kicked a four star up to a five. All of a sudden Zelroga felt a wonderful weight of calm upon his shoulders, one that had no right to be there; he shot an accusing look at his head waiter. 'I know when you're using your pheromones you know.'

'Was worth a try, Chef,' Lazru said with a wink.

'Hm. Now hop to and make it a good night. I have my eye on you...'

'Well finally~' The zeltron made a dramatic sigh as he swaned away.

Zelroga managed a small smirk, but it was quick to go again. He was far too preoccupied with all sorts of nonsense. What if his guests didn't turn up? What if they had got caught up in that horrid news he'd heard about on HoloNet? ( Travel Advisory in Effect | HoloNet News Otto Shule ) No, ridiculous. Why would such esteemed guests be anywhere near that low in Coruscant... besides, those levels had always been a wreck. He should know.

That was the problem right now. Too much thinking and not enough doing, and on that thought he returned to the kitchen to ensure everything would be spectacular.

The candles were lit...

The house musicians started to play softly as other booked guests arrived, chatting and laughing..

Lazru took his place front of house in his fine blue suit and white shirt, smiling as always and ready to greet..

And now just to wait.

Spoiler: IMPORTANT OOC

*This thread is only accessible to those who have reason to be here (Kalipher's is not taking any other tables tonight. Please contact the guests ooc by pm first to get permission if you wish to rp with them here. This is fine by me as long as it makes ic sense. )

*Please see the Kalipher's page for menus and an ambient track!

*Feel free to use this thread for your over-dinner conversations! No rush from me.

*Call for Lazru the host when you are done with each course and when you are ready to leave, otherwise I will just enter in now and again as flavourtext and leave you to your dining experience!

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

He'd been born on Corellia, but he'd been raised on Coruscant.

It had been over eight hundred years ago, but it was still a second home to him. It would take more than a travel advisory to have discouraged him from traveling to the capital of the Alliance. He'd invested significantly in the development of the Coruscant System before there had even been a Grayson Imperium or a New Republic. Before the fall. When the planet had been recovering from the collapse of the One Sith Empire, much as Corellia had at that time.

The whole idea behind the Holoflix showcase was to remind people that there was more to Coruscant than the Undercity that filled the tabloids and the headlines with whatever the murder du jour of the scare media might be that day.

As appearances went, he'd been told that he'd struggle to pass for twelve. Few, if any, younglings dressed like he did though. A cloak of fine silk adorned his shoulders, overlaying a shirt and vest combination that was open at the throat. A pair of slacks was decorated with a Corellian bloodstripe. A Hololink circled his wrist on an aurodium band.

As a stylistic touch, he had an anachronistic pocket chronometer tucked in the pocket of the waistcoat, with a decorative chain that caught the light as the tow-headed young vampire sat in the courier speeder that ferried the pair across Coruscant.

At home, on Drall, he handled business in his pajamas. He didn't have to put on a show there. Corellia Digital, Corellia Defense, and Holoflix were all major employers across the Five Brothers. He didn't have to impress anyone there. And, even if he did, he likely owned the bank that held the mortgage on their home.

But this was Coruscant. Formerly home to the Dark Lord of the One Sith, now -- once again -- home to the Galactic Senate. Appearances mattered. So he had to look the part.

...even if his usual pajama attire was much more suited to him.

He doubted that Sankt Yora would have appreciated if he had dressed down for the occasion, even had he opted to conduct their business aboard the Intervention. Falleen held the entire galaxy to a rather particular standard.

It was part of what made her perfect for the show they were putting on here.

Tell people that Coruscant was a safe place, with good locations for tourism and food? You might convince a few people.

Get a Falleen to say they liked it? More people were apt to take note of that. They were critics without compare.

There was a certain... sadness as the courier ferried the boy toward the restaurant. Across the cityscape, his eyes were drawn to the iconic vigil of the Jedi Temple. The place where he'd been raised. The place where his trials had been recognized by his knighting. The place where he'd had the honor of knighting his own padawan. The place where he'd born witness to his former pupil taking a padawan of his own.

The memory of a blue skinned Twi'lek came to mind. How well Sor-Jan could recall the face. A tear slipped down the boy's face, as he blinked his eyes and quickly averted his gaze to try and hide the momentary slip through the mask that he ordinarily wore.

From his perspective, it had only been twenty years since the Declaration of the New Order. The end of the Clone Wars. And the end of the Jedi.

Twenty years that he'd been living in this far-flung future as a result of a happenstance accident in hyperspace.

More then eight hundred since the new Galactic Empire had descended upon his former pupil and his padawan. Had they wondered where Sor-Jan was? Had either of them looked to see if Sor-Jan was coming to their rescue?

"You ever miss the Senate?" the boy asked, feigning a smile so that she might hear it in his voice, as he gave a slight nod toward the Galactic Senate building that was visible on the other side of the speeder. With that distraction at hand, the boy used one hand to clear the signs of the tear from his face.

There is no emotion. There is peace.

Strange. The Jedi Code made no mention of failure. And if Sor-Jan's experience as a Jedi had taught him anything, there was failure. He had failed his Master at Yinchorr Prime. He had failed the one person in this universe who was like a son to him, at the purge. And he'd failed to keep the Silver Jedi from abandoning their oaths to Voss, Shri-Tal, Mon Cala or Vaynai. There was a lot of failure to go around. And the Jedi did a terrible job of preparing their own for it.

"Here we are, I believe," the boy remarked, as the Veda Pearl building came into view.

As the speeder landed, the boy disembarked, flanked on either side by a pair of holo-recorders. Extending an arm back toward his guest, he politely offered a hand to help her step from their transport to the pavement.

"Showtime," the boy murmured, more to himself than for his guest's benefit, as the doors opened and the cameras began recording. As they wound their way to the restaurant, there seemed a Zeltron waiting to be their maitre d.

"Good evening," the boy offered warmly, flashing a smile as he said, "My name is Xantha."

They had reservations. Or so he'd been told.

If not, a certain protocol droid was about to find new life as a soda can.

Zelroga​

 

[Zelroga]

Lazru flinched with excitement when he saw the guests arriving outside with their holo cameras. He took a careful moment to fix his rosy locks and check his teeth in the huge window at his side. 'You have this, Laz,' he reassured his ghostly reflection with a flirtatious grin.

As soon as the pair were past the doors the host was making a beeline for them; one could never let such wonderful guests suffer adrift in a restaurant! And hmm.. Okay, interesting start. It was a boy.... or was it? He had the air and manner of someone much older, and that fabulous outfit! Never to worry. Years of avoiding faux-pas had prepared Lazru for such ocassions. A guest was a guest... and there were ways of checking these things without causing upset. He made sure not to show his surprise, though some guests did turn their heads from corners of the room.

'Ah! Such a pleasure. Master Xantha and his most esteemed guest, most honourable Sankt Yora.' Lazru offered a shallow bow before rising and smiling widely at them both (and then the holo-cameras for good measure). 'Welcome to Kalipher's. We are most glad to have you here. May I say you both look wonderful.' - a tender gesture of the hand- ' Come right this way. Your table is all ready and waiting.'


The table was a quiet, round one set for two and sat by a window that stretched from hardwood floor to the lofty ceilings. A large, purple candle flickered away in the middle of the tablecloth and bathed everything about it in warm, welcoming light. And that view of Coruscant Plains as mentioned in their marketing material? Astounding. The table linen was spotless and a pair of holo-menus, both drinks and food, flickered away waiting for them.

The handsome waiter would wait until they took their seats before he clapped his hands together and leaned in, positively bristling with delight and zeltron pheromones. 'Now what can I get you to drink? We have a special menu here, but if you would prefer something non-alcoholic we serve the juice of about every berry worth drinking in the galaxy.'

He waited patiently, his eyes flicking to the lovely lady first. He had no need to whip out a pad to make notes -- indeed, he could remember full course meals for a table of twenty.

'What can I get for you, madam?~' Sankt Yora


( Sor-Jan Xantha , Sankt Yora )

 

[Sankt Yora]

An age had passed since last she had stepped foot upon the oppidan world of Coruscant. For the planet, epoch had passed into epoch, turning the old over into new. Leaders, ideologies, governments, these had changed hands and faces alike. Yet the world and its people weathered like stone, marked by change but unmoved. As it was on her last visit, Coruscant was a mecca of people, of power, and of culture.

There was no greater fare among many of the galaxy's cultures than food. Beyond sustenance, food could be a currency of wealth or reputation. It inspired thinkers, beckoned travelers, drove innovation, sated desires, broadened horizons, and a million others. Along every corner of Coruscant, food was readily found. Not all was inspiring or novel, however, nor did it always curry favor or reputation. For foods of that sort, it took a more dedicated search.

Or a more practiced hand.

Beside her in the courier sat one owner of such. At first glance, a mere boy of few years, the whole of Sor-Jan Xantha defied first glances. He was neither a boy, nor of few years, nor typical of his Corellian heritage and mastery of the Jedi arts. At each turn, those who underestimated him were surprised. For her part, she was amused by how often Xantha was underestimated.

The Falleen woman had other talents to aid her perception, talents that, like her diminutive companion, often passed unnoticed by others. It was to their detriment. Spying talent and secrets from afar was hardly a trait unique to her or her race, yet still she found it trivial to use what others often neglected. Time and time again, errors that mere hatchlings could spot proved the downfall for others. As simple as it was to outwit them, Yora found it far more entertaining to match wits with more capable beings.

Beings such as Xantha. His deceptive looks hid a creature of desire, an unripened fruit whose primal slumber left room for such follies as ideals and faith. With the passing of another epoch, it might yet awaken to see him reach potentials that could even surpass her own. Yora was eager to witness it for herself, though it was hardly mere curiosity that had forged their accord. From business to politics and beyond, Xantha had proven himself a capable actor on the galactic stage, one who had accompanied her own agency from time to time.

It was of one such period that the boy now spoke, gesturing to just one of the overlarge buildings of renown on the world. The Coruscant facility had never hosted Yora for official business within its vaulted halls, yet its likeness harkened a memory of others which had. Two in her past, both serving Republics of different names, evoking the tides of those epochs within her once more.

Yora closed her eyes, taloned fingers moving over the string of beads within her august robes. Out of habit, not prayer this time. Not yet. Iridescent eyes opened back onto the city beyond their vehicle, and a life she once lived before their present. "I carry little sentiment for things that have lost their purpose," she remarked, recondite phrasing for a simple answer. The Falleen had little worry that her companion would suss out its meaning, he was a clever enough sort. She was more fixated on what might lie beneath the surface of that question. An archaeologist who remained mindful of the past was hardly an oddity, yet the woman sensed Xantha was not playing the archaeologist now. "You would be better served by doing the same for yourself, Mr. Xantha."

Yora let the words linger between them until their arrival. The restaurant still prided the newness in itself, as if the very air carried the shimmer of untrodden ground. Objects and places were hardly expected to carry such visceral character on their own, but the reason why became clear the moment that one of the staff made himself known. Bursting with energy, the maître d smiled and scraped as the pair entered the gilded establishment. Yora held her tongue on whether its veneer or staff's demeanor would prove to be worthy or not.

"Good evening," she intoned as well, her words clipped and rushed by the businessbeing's hurried manner in greeting. Yora reserved an eye for the Zeltron's barely-contained excitement, letting him drive the enterprise of the moment.

Ushered to a table near an expansive view, Yora noted the precision in its setting. The angle of the table, the way the cloth draped from it just so, the solitary lit candle guiding the mood. Yora cast a glance at her companion, curious at the wording he used for their reservation tonight. It was difficult not to wonder at the type of relationship the restaurant perceived for them. With their table set away from others, it appeared ideal for discrete discussions between business partners...or lovers.

The woman let the amusement play over her face as she took a seat in the plush chair offered to her, waiting until the Zeltron finished his pitch before picking up the menu. Her senses were bombarded, both by the vivid colors of the ever-shifting menu, and by the pheromones from the hovering maître d. They had little effect on her Falleen physiology apart from irritation, and Yora discarded the annoyance in the moment. It was in poor taste to utilize such naked tactics in sales, though she had nothing yet to gain from taking a stand against it.

Perhaps, in time, it would become more useful to her.

"Tea. Something floral, perhaps from the Expansion Region," Yora requested, neither seeing the item on the restaurant's menu or hearing it suggested by their incessant steward. She watched him with her mind's eye, turning her head toward Xantha across from her.

Yora waited until he had finished ordering, and then a moment more. After that, it mattered little how much the Zeltron hovered or the occupants elsewhere in the dining room, she had interest now only in the being that was her companion tonight. "Tell me, Mr. Xantha, what is this new entertainment production and why has Corellia Digital not capitalized on it yet?"

Sor-Jan Xantha Zelroga​

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

The view was impressive.

The holo-cameras were certain to get a good shot of the strategic positioning and immaculate detail of the setting. All of this was precisely what he'd hoped when he'd selected Kaliphers for this piece. It made for quite a picturesque appeal for tourism.

Too picturesque, perhaps. But for the glass separating him from the cityscape known as the plains of Coruscant, the boy was reminded of the view from the temple steps. Or even the rare occasion that he'd had to step into the Jedi Council Chambers as a padawan or a newly minted Jedi Knight.

Little sentiment for things that have lost their purpose, indeed.

The boy's reverie was interrupted by the waiter asking for their drinks. At least the habit of starting with the female guest bought him time to re-direct his attention back to the table.

After she'd ordered tea, it seemed that his Falleen companion was eager to jump into talking business. "Tell me, Mr. Xantha, what is this new entertainment production and why has Corellia Digital not capitalized on it yet?"

"A web-holo, nothing more," the boy supplied in a relaxed, nonchalant manner. If the much hyped about series was, indeed, the one that she was referring, then there was no profit. No advertising. Open broadcast. Nothing to invest in, it seemed. "We believe its signal originates somewhere in this star system, but our marketing analysts have determined it nothing more than a meme. It will doubtless pass as those do."

Re-directing his attention to their server, the boy contemplated ordering a mocktail. If this was the casino or game room on the Intervention, it's what he would have done. Probably safer to mind his manners and stick to the menu. "Meiloroon juice, please," the boy supplied for his order.

"And I'd be interested to hear more about these koadu ribs."

Well, the ribs and also the dessert options.

Which, his going in position for that was to just order and sample all three. Except that milk pudding seemed super sus to him. For one, it had the word milk in it. And pudding. Now, if the word milk was followed, and the word pudding preceded, by the word chocolate, then he'd be interested. As is? Not so much, no.

Sankt Yora Zelroga​