For Pleasure and Profit

[Bethany Haverford]

The arm around her waist as she rose was another surprise, but the number of times he had done that on this trip had at least prepared her not to react as he led her from the room. "Thank you, Miss Gafen," she called pleasantly over her shoulder, then went out of her way to ignore the sounds as the open door admitted them back into the corridor of unpleasant noises. Was that crying? Bethany closed her eyes briefly, but only briefly; her gaze shuttled between the doorways of open bedrooms where workers lounged, waiting for business. That wasn't the way intimacy was supposed to be; it cheapened the purpose to view it like this. She resisted a shudder of revulsion.

"That would be preferable to being here," she agreed to his suggestion of the ship, her smile seeming a bit thin though she made an effort to keep her personal feelings to herself. His offer of the bazaar garnered him a raised eyebrow, but a more genuine smile.

It was a relief to get back into somewhat fresh air. They fell into step with one another as they backtracked their earlier path to the bar, giving it a wide berth since they had obtained all they could reasonably expect to from the place. The number that was now tucked safely in the inner pocket of Bethany's jacket was all they would need from this city.

Other than some sightseeing, of course.

A more wholesome-- though not entirely clean-- image was presented by the bazaar; this was a public tourist location. People had some sense of decorum for the most part. Finally. Something civilized.

Annie stepped up to the first stall, browsing idly before she struck up conversation with her partner. It was easier to consider him that for now; their interactions since leaving the ship had been easy and very unlike what they expected of themselves when in their usual roles. Every time she began to remember that he was her superior and she a military leader, she felt herself starting to revert to unspoken expectations. Expectations he didn't seem to be utilizing himself. So... partner, squadmate, for now was the easiest for her to deal with.

"Will you do your own browsing? It's not like it's a trip for necessities, but I assume your rooms have space to fill," she inquired, holding up a necklace and peering at the pendant before setting it aside and moving on to the next.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He happy to get out of that place.

Some Sith delved into the pleasures of the flesh to help dea wit hthe decisions they had to make. Others were simply deviants, and took as much pleasure in conquering a woman as they did a planet. Cyril was neither of the two. He had almost been married once; almost been a father. Arcis had taken that from him. Since then, he had not seen a woman in the way these 'workers' seemed to every few hours.

It seemed like a cheap way to live. They gave nothing and still thrived. These were leaches for all he was concerned, and though they were within their legal right on Zeltros to sell themselves, he could not justify it. If anything, Zeltros encouraged its peope to be everything but orderly - everything but moral. They were filth, the lot of them, and though Cyril kept his contempt well hidden, that disdain bubbled within him like a cauldron.

And then Bethany did what she seemed to be particularly good at, and drew him from his brooding thoughts. She pulled away from his grasp, and he found himself feeling the slightest bit disappointment. Still, the smile was enough.

"I think I'll stay with you," He thumbed at a piece of jewelry and smirked, "For protection." A hint of a laugh escaped him at the last word. He wanted to spend time with her, though he would not dare to admit such.

Many Sith would consider that a weakness.


His gaze fell to the hers, then the jewelry presented by the shopkeeper. With brash confidence, he spoke, "Show me one you like."

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

"I'll keep you safe," she promised, an answering laugh in her voice and her eyes. She would do it, all jokes aside. It had been natural to want to serve Mephirium, not only because of their shared history but also because of this: he was not like other Sith Lords. He offered a perspective, a common sense, that so few of them had, blinded as they were by their own personal vendettas and concerns and traditions. Her mind shied away from the final point. It wasn't meant as blasphemy-- though, privately, she knew it was-- but as observation. Mephirium's bid for the throne was worth serving, because his perspective was new. It could-- and would, with the right allies-- work to bring the galaxy order and unity. Dominance blended with fairness-- for those with the right mindset.

She realized as his gaze met hers that she had been staring at him during her contemplation; she redirected her gaze to the jewelry without explaining herself, trying on a few rings and inspecting a cuff bracelet while the shopkeeper tried to keep the suspicion out of her smile. Annie had no intention of stealing the wares, so she ignored the implication, complimenting the quality of the goods as she set the bracelet and rings aside and held a set of earrings up to herself in the mirror.

His command to her drew a startled raise of her brows as she looked up at him. A thoughtful look kept hold over her face as she sorted through the items on the table, ultimately winding up back at the assorted pendants. She passed a hand among them until one caught her eye.

The necklace chain draped over her fingers and she held it aloft, admiring the intricate metal tendrils that formed the pendant and the sheen of the moonstone toward the bottom.

"This one." In spite of the firm assurance of her tone, she glanced up at him inquisitively.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

He knew she would.

He did his best to look as nonchalant as possible as Bethany went through her likes and dislikes. He was a patient sort, and was content enough to simply watch her scoop up different pieces of jewelry from the side. Occasionally he met the shopkeep's eyes and fought the urge to snicker at her brief suspicious glances. They were dressed like the common folk, but did they truly look like thieves?

His lips parted in wordless appraisal as Bethany lifted up the pendant. It only took a moment's consideration. With a wide smile, he slipped his arm around her waist, cybernetic fingers whirring as they drew against her midriff. The other hand fell to his pocket, and produced a credit chip of a denomination far more than what the shopkeeper was asking. It was from Cyril's private fund. It wouldn't be hurting the cause.

"We're buying this." He slipped the credit chip across the table and forced back a laugh as the shopkeep's eyes went wide. She nodded once, twice, more times than Mephirium could count, and stuffed the chip into her pockets.

"Turn around." A request, not an order. "And hand me the necklace. Let's see if it fits."

He relinquished his hold around her waist and beamed down at her. She had held his gaze before; that much he saw.

The mission was the last thing he was thinking about now.

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

Bethany caught her breath as he slid his arm back around her, temporarily bringing her close beside him as he paid. She eyed his profile when his attention was away from her, fingers tangled in the chain as they clenched closed in response. This was something it would be better not to overthink, she believed. The debate over whether it was ignorance or intent warred within her; Annie wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

His new command was softer than the one of moments before and Annie found herself arching an eyebrow, an inappropriate level of interest in her grin. Comments without coherency floated in her mind as she carefully handed him the piece; he had just paid a figurative arm for it, after all. That afforded him some leeway.

The shopkeeper was watching them, though Annie couldn't tell if it was because she was worried Mephirium would take back his generous payment or because she was amused by them.

"Are there often necklaces that don't fit?" she inquired as she willingly turned her back and pulled her braid out of the way for him. Even without being able to see her face, he would be able to hear the smile in her voice.

Her eyes tracked his hands while they were in sight and she felt the pendant settle on her skin. She waited until the last presence of his hands had left before she turned, letting her own hand fall. She settled it instead on her hip as she waited for his verdict, a smirk playing on her lips. "Well?"

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

"Wouldn't know. I don't buy things like this for most people." A flirtatious lilt found its way into his voice.

With careful hands, he tied clasped the necklace around her neck. It was a little bigger than expected, but he could have that fixed. He flashed the shopkeeper a smile and strolled around to see what how Bethany looked. His eyes fell to the pendant itself and eventually found their way to the Colonel's own. He wasn't aware of the smile he wore.

"Beautiful," he mused, "Suits you perfectly."

There, amidst the crowded bazaar and the throngs of people trying to navigate through the dim light of the lanterns, Cyril allowed himself to relax. He did not hesitate to reach out and take her hand in his own. He was careful to make sure it was the organic one - few people enjoyed the feeling of a cold prosthetic. With a gentle squeeze, he motioned down the walkway. There was still plenty to see, and the night was still young.

He looked out down the way. The harbor was just up ahead, and he could just barely make out the sails of the boats in the darkness. It was impractical to use naval vessels for transportation these days, but people still did it anyway. There was just something about a rickety old sail boat that you couldn't get from the newest speeder on the market.

"Alright Colonel," the word was spoken in a teasing fashion, "You lead the way."

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

Pleasure suffused her expression at his compliment and she averted her face to get control of herself. She was an adult. Why, then, did his attention make her act as if this was the first time a man had acknowledged her? She had to get a hold of herself, but the direction their trip to Zeltros had taken was not at all what she had expected: go to Zeltros, conduct a professional manhunt, capture or kill or interrogate the student in question, obtain item and information, return home to their everyday jobs. All of this would be done with an eye to demonstrate her competency to Mephirium to further his confidence in her and their good relations as subordinate-superior.

The mission had definitely been left behind at this point.

His hand slid into hers and, on unsteady ground, she accepted it, following his gaze to the view. It was a beautiful planet, but she worried that perhaps there actually was something in the air that was affecting him-- and, she acknowledged as he teasingly put the power into her hands, her.

His facetious use of her title reminded her sharply that there would be a line, one she hoped they didn't come close to crossing, where she would be forced to step back and let their respective positions return to guide their behavior. She was a Colonel. And he was the future Dark Lord of the One Sith. Now? Now he was her Sith Lord. A more complicated situation had never been put before her.

But she found herself content to walk the bazaar with him for now, threading her fingers through his as her eyes skimmed the stores they passed and her mind steadily contemplated the minefield she was walking into by encouraging or, at least, passively allowing any of this to take place. It wouldn't last beyond the planet. He would not let it carry back and, if he did, she could not let it carry back. Her reputation and her ability for him to listen to her objectively as an advisor and military leader would be compromised. Other women-- and men-- might enjoy a dalliance with the Lords they served, but it inevitably ended badly. That wasn't acceptable. This would be a... friendly and temporary relationship, then.

"May I ask you something?" she asked as they entered a shop of blown glass.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Much as he might have seemed it, Cyril was not unaware of the line he was carefully walking. Theoretically, as a Sith Lord, he could take whatever he please. Yet, from a professional standpoint, he was doing things no man in command should ever do. Fraternization with one's subordinates - no matter how much of a gap there might be, was not something to be encouraged. Part of him felt shame. Then he looked at her; at the necklaces draped around her slender neck, and that shame ebbed away. He was a Sith Lord. A claimant to the title of Emperor. What did he have to fear by way of repercussions? What would change?

The certainty of it quelled his warring thoughts. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the moment; to revel in Bethany's attentions for the evening. His advances had not been turned down - no, it seemed she encouraged them more than anything. She certainly succeeded in doing that.

His eyes shifted here and there as they wandered through the busy street. Cyril made sure to keep her close as they wandered, both to keep someone from trying to steal from them and for his own pleasure. Something told him the Colonel enjoyed it just as much as he did. His lips parted to speak some well-crafted quip he had prepared to impress her, but her question cut him off.

"Of course," he lofted a brow and only paid half a mind to the shop's wares. "Something on your mind?"

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

"No, nothing like that," she assured him with a wave of her hand as she admired a purple and gold vase. "We haven't been doing this for long--" Vague enough that the tourists around them wouldn't have any specifics which would make her comment suspicious, "So I haven't had the chance to quiz you on your moral and philosophical guidelines yet." She grinned to show she was kidding. "I was just wondering what motivates you. I know your history well enough from a professional standpoint." She bent down to peer more closely at a small blown glass frog on a pedestal of tiny glass animals. "And I don't mean the same speech you give to those you recruit, no matter how valid your points are. We're here, not there, which says there are other concerns at work for you. Ones that do not necessarily have to do with the cause." She glanced up before shifting her attention to the tiny glass mouse. It was a coward's move, admittedly, but it might be safer than staring him down. Her apparent distraction also belied her actual curiosity and concern with the answer.

As both one of his commanders and his... partner for the evening, she had a vested interest in his thinking process. She was beginning to get an idea of his personality and array of reactions based on their work together, but that was a more restrictive environment. This allowed her freedom of her tongue (to a point), which meant cutting through the layers of obfuscation it usually took her months to work through via more subtle methods.

And it could be her only opportunity to make any of those strides with Mephirium, his current odd behavior not withstanding. He hadn't acted like this-- well, all right, not really like this-- when they were on Ession.

"Is it responsibility? Pride? Enjoyment?" Annie straightened and took a moment to make eye contact, judging by his expression where her boundaries might be with this "off the clock" version of Mephirium-- Cyril. Perhaps that was the distinction. She would find out before the mission was through, she thought.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

She wanted the real Cyril. She was going to get it.

The Sith Lord paused to consider her words. She was pressing boundaries that others did not - Bethany wanted to know who he truly was, beneath the veneer of propaganda he fed to his followers. The answer, in truth, was a difficult one, though he could manage for her sake.

"I joined the Order to bring some semblance of order to the Galaxy," he began, "As you can see, that did not work out." He spoke vaguely enough so that any who might be listening would have trouble understanding. If another Sith heard his reasoning, they might think him weak, though he highly doubted any of his kind would spend their evenings in a glass shop. He feigned interest in a multi-colored vase and spoke in quiet tones.

"I want to stop all this fighting. This war has torn the Galaxy apart. My mother taught me that you had to make sacrifices as a leader," he paused to meet her eyes, "I've made those sacrifices."

He paused.

"You could say its responsibility. I want this because I feel there I no one else who can do what needs to be done correctly. The Galaxy needs to brought into line. It does not need to burn for that to happen." He cracked a thin smile and squeezed her hand; relinquishing his hold on her as he examined a tiny glass whale.

"But really, all I want is a big fancy title. Then I can die in peace." The words dripped with good natured sarcasm. "I lost my family and my fiancé to this chaos. I would rather no one else has to suffer the same."

He turned bodily toward her. "What about you?"

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

As he began to borrow her own strategy and scour through the glass items as a way to lend a casual quality to a potentially volatile topic, his explanation had her full and undivided attention. It was easy for him to make eye contact to punctuate a point when Bethany was hard pressed to look away. Everyone had to make sacrifices, though his were obviously more personal. She had lost her mother, certainly, but with maturity she had been able to look back and recognize that it was nostalgia and her inherent need to cling to connections that had made the loss poignant enough to become part of her professional drive. She hadn’t known her as well as she should have and that had little to do with how young she had been when her mother had died.

His goals were noble. This was what their purpose should be: to lend structure to an unstructured and chaotic galaxy. It was the security that a new One Sith, a new dynasty, could offer. It made sense. It was what she hoped for in serving Sith Lords and what she had been disappointed in time and time again (though, again, that was an observation made in hindsight as opposed to a realization she had made at the time).

She returned the squeeze of his hand and gave him an answering, understanding smile before she turned her own eyes back to the shelves of objects; she sensed him step back from the solemnity of his response as he flashed his sense of humor at her again with his comment on titles.

The fact that he had deigned to answer her in depth answered another question she had no intention of voicing aloud. Bethany kept that observation to herself.

“What about me,” she echoed thoughtfully. It took her a minute to find a way to begin. She had not suffered as much as Mephirium to get to this point; she had lost friends in combat, but she had no family or deeper ties to worry about. Her intimate relationships had all been transitory.

When she responded, she wasn't sure she could be as vague as he had been. Her voice stayed low, and she moved somewhat away from the shopkeeper for added privacy. “It's what I've always done, really. That sounds so trite, but I was raised in a soldier training program. My first real choice was to accept promotion so that I could keep my squadmates safe.” Her finger tapped the tabletop as she frowned at the goods in front of her. “I like what I do so I've never sought to change it.” A moment more and she pulled herself back to the present to smile at him.

“Five separate leaders and causes. The people I have chosen to serve have it in their power to impose a system that benefits everyone.” Even if they had, ultimately, failed or chosen not to take it. “It is not perfect, not without those who would try to abuse it, but if directed correctly it could become something great. The Order, the Republic, the various alliances cannot offer that when they are unwilling to make difficult decisions because it might offend or hurt someone.” She hesitated, then remembered that he hadn't shown evidence of hating the Jedi or any sympathy toward them as many other Sith did. “I understand where their desire stems from,” she finally, reluctantly, admitted, “To protect, but you said yourself that their methods simply don't work. There is too much division, too many compromises. From what I have seen, they squabble over personal beliefs and power without a unified purpose, without the ability to put aside those problems to gain hold over the bigger picture. They fragment and then their efforts are… meaningless. Toothpicks trying to hold up a wall.”

She held her hands out briefly, studied them and then let out a swift, heavy sigh.

“I need someone to follow who will finally take the grand claims he makes and pull through on them, no matter the cost.” She met his eyes frankly. “I want someone I can trust.” There were many connotations tangled up in that final word. Annie couldn't and didn't want to determine them all. Had he been another Lord, she knew she would never have taken the conversation this far to begin with.

After a moment heavily laden with with whatever strangeness now sat between them, she smiled and held out her palm without breaking eye contact. In it sat a lion from the display, his colors a mixture of red and yellow. “For your empty quarters.”

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril failed to turn his attentions away from Bethany. He could feign disinterest; try to make it look like the glass was truly what he was here to see, but he was far too obvious. She spoke of different leaders - of failures that had left her spinning her wheels in the mud. Cyril understood that feeling. It was why he had taken to fighting for the Dark Lord's title. He was tired of running face first into a brick wall everything he tried to get something done. The only way to proceed was to break that wall down and erect a doorway in its place.

"You can trust me." He stated plainly as her eyes met his. For a moment, the sincerity of his visage was all too real. Gone was the would-be usurper; the lord of the Sith that his followers looked to for guidance. In his place stood a young man who had no idea what in the galaxy he was doing, and was utterly alone in his crusade. The power was intoxicating; the isolation was crushing. He had learned to cope well with the pressures of leadership, but few felt it was safe enough to speak with him on any level other than a servant to a lord.

At many times, it wasn't.

He flashed her a wan smile and looked down at the little red lion. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and scooping up the glass figurine in a gentle hand. "You've been paying an eye on my quarters then?" He snickered, cutting through the momentary tension as easily as he would an opponent with his blade.

"Thank you Bethany. I think it'll fit perfectly."

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

Bethany paid for the lion in silence and accepted a small box to protect it while they finished their trip through the bazaar. She linked her arm around his and held open the box for him to put the lion into before she led them back out into the main aisle. The mood was changed, the lines blurred. Whatever he did with the gift-- hid it, threw it out-- the gesture had been genuine. Its import would remain afterward.

Content to wander and sight-see, Annie observed the shops from a distance for a time, meandering without purpose or pause. Other tourists and locals moved past them. They were all so content here, in this moment. She watched a couple half-stumble as they ran by, laughing, and adjusted her hold on Cyril's arm. She thought that contentment might be rubbing off on her, too. They almost felt like just another pair of friends visiting Zeltros.

"We should eat something," she finally acknowledged. "It's getting late." Endeavoring to draw back some energy, she began walking on the balls of her feet and shook off the feeling that had settled over her. "Do you have a preference or know somewhere around here where we could pick up something on the go?" Eventually, they would have to get back to the ship, but not yet. He was relaxed, open; she was comfortable and, though not entirely certain, self-assured. He had said she could trust him. She believed it. "I'm a fairly adventurous eater, so I don't need anything specific."

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

His thoughts briefly shifted to the mission. For a moment, he felt guilty dragging Bethany along like this. Then, as he placed the little glass lion safely in its container, he decided the decision to simply enjoy themselves was beneficial. It was becoming increasingly rare for anyone to find time off the ship. The only time Mephirium seemed to have to himself were the shuttle rides to and from various Sith Lords' estates as of late. This was different, and though he might not have been alone, Bethany provided good company.

He made no complaints when she laced her arm through his own.

"There's an old Poki shop down the road. Kai and I ate there once," he suggested. "The food isn't terrible - it's mostly meat covered in a few sauces that I don't know the names of. It'll be my treat." He flashed her a smile and led them closer to the shoreline. The Poki shop was not particularly far, but Mephirium took his time. He slowed here and there and dawdled whenever he found the chance - he was buying more time to do...whatever it was they were doing.

When the loud couple passed, Mephirium leaned down and spoke, "The arm doesn't bother you does it?" His cybernetic limb had laced through her own. He had not bothered to cover the limb in synth-flesh. It served its purpose as an intimidation tool, and there had never been any reason for him to care about hiding it.

Now, with that phantom limb entwined with Bethany's own, he was feeling the slightest bit self-conscious. "I know it's a bit cold and spindly."

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

She was content to let him take the lead, but his following inquiry and the terminology he chose left Bethany no other choice but to raise her eyebrows and grin at him. As she would with any of her men, she tilted her head as she observed him and drawled in a voice that managed to both be amused and question his common sense, "I took your arm, if you'll recall."

A smile played on her lips as she tightened her hold on his arm. It was certainly an odd feeling, but it wasn't as if the cybernetic enhancement was a surprise. An arm was an arm. "If it bothered me, I wouldn't have done it." Assurances given, she walked contentedly at his side for a few more steps.

Maybe it wasn't her he was thinking about. She straightened up at the thought of inadvertently offending him. Though she was comfortable with Cyril and would dislike the thought that she had hurt him, Mephirium still lurked over them and that fear was stronger. She stopped and looked up at him, already entertaining the notion of reverting to a more formal relationship.

"If it bothers you..." Her voice was wary, unsure, and the change in her expression as she started to slide her arm from his was visible.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Her words brought some semblance of peace to his heart. It was rare for him to care much for the opinions of others, but Bethany had managed to wriggle herself up onto that exclusive list. He flashed her a warm smile as she pointed out the obvious - she had taken him by the arm. If she had an aversion to the cold cybernetic limb, then she would not have done so.

They came to a stop just outside the shop, and that was when she began to slip away. The all-too-fragile since of familiarity began to shatter before his very eyes. His mind went to a thousand places at once; Mephirium was a tactician. He picked his battles so long as he knew he could win them - this was one he was unsure of, but he would need to act anyway.

A calloused hand, one of flesh and bone, rose to caress her cheek. It was a momentary gesture, one that pushed the bounds of their odd relationship, but he opted for it anyway. "It doesn't," he assured her. "Some people have problems with it. I felt the need to ask for certainty." He offered her an easy smile, and his hand slowly fell away from her.

For a moment he stood there, gazing down at the Colonel as if he were expecting something.

"The mission waits until tomorrow. You have nothing to fear from me, Bethany, I am no Sith Lord today." His visage was resolute. He had sensed her fear, her anxiety. He would not let it rule her. "I'm enjoying my evening with you - I hope you feel the same. Do not think you can't speak your mind because of our working relationship."

The smile shifted into something more playful.

"Now, dinner?"

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

Bethany tensed in surprise as he lifted his hand and held her breath as he caressed her face. She wasn't sure what to do, how to react. He was watching her, waiting for a reaction or a word, but, though her lips parted, she was silent. There was an intensity that always hovered about him but had been briefly obscured by their casual interactions. Now that trait returned in spades and, as blue gaze vied with blue gaze, Bethany was at a loss. What did he want from her?

The declaration that he was not a Sith Lord did not actually ease her concerns; he could not put aside who he was, could never do so entirely. What was said and done tonight would reflect on their relationship tomorrow when they went back to what they usually were, what they needed to be for his vision to succeed. Both were professional enough-- she thought-- to behave with decorum in front of others, but issues would arise if a line was crossed too far in either direction. If one of them misspoke and offended the other, their working relationship would fray; if things traveled, however unlikely it was, toward a more intimate ending to the evening, that too would put a strain on them either in trying to hide their feelings or in emotional injury on either side when one pushed the other away for safety's sake. However, the fact that he made the comment at all appealed to the secret romantic in her: it betrayed, as his earlier comments had, the core of an idealistic or at least a similarly romantic nature.

She would still couch her language in polite terms where necessary, but no more than she did with anyone else. To have one evening to relax was not asking too much of the galaxy and she was enjoying herself. Her thoughts went to the pendant hanging heavy around her neck.

"I'm famished," she agreed, smiling in return. "I think everything can wait until we've had a bite."

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril awaited her response with bated breath. For so long, he had allowed himself to become embroiled in the politics of the Sith power game. The One Sith were a united force, and he sought to break them. It was the only way to reform them into something that might have suited his purposes. If he truly sought to bring the galaxy together; to establish a reign of order and dominance, he needed to play the part of the great leader. Some followed him on faith alone. Others were convinced by strength of arms. Bethany had chosen to stand by his side because...he had not idea. She agreed with his plans for change, at the very least. Surely there were others that might have been more suited to the task?

He chided himself. If there had been another, he or she would have risen up to the challenge by now. Darth Mephirium and his allies were the only ones that stood a chance as unseating the Dark Lord and remaking the One Sith. There was no one else.

When she finally spoke, he found himself fighting the urge to sigh in relief. Like it or not, the Colonel's opinion mattered to him - perhaps more than that of most of his men followers. She had a particular way about her that he was having trouble understanding - he liked it that way. Things were simple. He didn't have to worry about her shooting him in the back for cracking a joke.

"That makes two of us," he shook his head, "C'mon."

Lacing his arm back through hers, he led Bethany into the restaurant. It was a tiny little hole in the wall with a handful of tables and outside balcony that hung over the water. Cyril spoke to one of the waitresses, they were being seated on the balcony a few moments later. He chose a spot in the back corner of the balcony where less people had chosen to sit - better for privacy.

He nodded once to the waitress as they were seated, ordered a glass of water and a tray of Poki, and turned his attentions to Bethany.

"So," he smiled, "I'm curious. You know our parents worked together. I remember your mother vaguely. Dad took me on his missions when they were non-lethal. I met her once or twice." He leaned back in the chair. "My old man raised us Imperial. Very strict. How was your mom?"

[member="Bethany Haverford"]

 

[Bethany Haverford]

The atmosphere of the restaurant was very quiet, very local. For a bazaar that catered to tourists, she was surprised it wasn't more busy; this didn't seem to be the type of planet where dinner was at any particular hour. She settled across from Cyril and leaned forward on her arms once the waitress had taken their order, looking at him expectantly when he expressed curiosity.

Ah. She had not expected the conversation to take that turn.

"I'm surprised you remember her. We were both very young when they fell." Bethany considered him for a moment, then looked out over the water. "I don't really remember her. I meant what I said about the training program. I didn't see my mother much; my training master was more a parent. And that's a very loose definition of parent." The smirk that twisted her mouth was not entirely pleasant but it faded with nostalgia. "But I saw her enough to learn from her and for her to leave her mark; she was a wonderful soldier and a good leader. She was a role model, one I hope I'll be good enough to surpass someday."

She turned her attention back to him and her smile brightened, the mixed emotions of the past easily rolling off of her in favor of a more positive mindset. Teasingly, she commented, "I didn't even realize you knew that. Did you investigate me?"

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

Cyril lofted a brow. Maybe he'd investigated her, just the slightest bit. In all honesty, she had likely done the same. You didn't just sign up for a stranger's army before giving their record a look, and the same went for hiring. Still, he huffed a quiet laugh at her accusation and drew back a sip from his glass. It seemed her mother had raised her differently than his father.

Moff Rade had kept his son by his side whenever possible. So long as he wasn't out actively fighting things, he'd usually opted to keep the young boy by his side. He had assumed little Cyril would sign on to the Imperial military and follow in his footsteps. In a way, Cyril had, though likely not in the same way that his father might have thought. Those little sessions had stretched out until his father was executed for treason for Darth Vulcanus.

That was when the Sith training had begun. Cyril scowled at the memory.

"What can I say? You caught my eye," he shot right back. "My father was a bit like that, though he kept me around all the time. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps - the Rades had quite the history in the Imperial Navy." He grinned. "I don't have his skills. Ships and I don't mix well. Men on the ground though? That's a different story."

The smile faltered. "Vulcanus executed him when I was nine. I don't really know why - don't care much, honestly. That was when my Sith training began." Blue eyes shifted out toward the water. One of the sailboats caught his eye. Perhaps one of those would be useful in their mission? He might be able to justify it somehow.

"I don't know if I could subjugate any child of mine to what the Graug did to us. It wasn't pretty." He smiled, but it lacked humor. "But enough about me. Tell me about yourself. How did growing up in the Stormtrooper Corps work out?"

[member="Bethany Haverford"]