Games

[Raziel]

[member="Jacques"]

Fondor, Capital City, Diplomatic District

It was all very civilised here, Raziel reflected. Clean, smooth tables with electronic menu displays built into them. Droid servants polished up gracefully weaving between tables to a soothing background music. It was the kind of venue that captured an ambience, not an atmosphere. Worlds apart from the lowest levels of Nar Shaddaa where he had grown up. But Raziel would fit in wherever he went. He was everyone and yet no one.

He'd managed to get a table with his back to the wall. A small device, no larger than his palm, sat propped up on the table in front of him. Occasionally he glanced at it. The privacy screen ensured only his eyes, directly in line with the screen, could see the protocols being run. He wasn't alone. People here used datapads and comm-units. If there was anything to break the bland facade of the cafe it was the variety of species here. They came from all edges of the core to negotiate all kinds of things. And then they tended to go and get food and occasionally trade messages with their superiors. Messages that, having taken over the cafe's signal booster, he was now intercepting for later decryption.

The Bureau didn't trust him or his organisation. Another infochant making grand promises for credits. That required delivery of material that could be exploited. But they'd actually sent someone to watch over him. He wasn't certain if it was a junior coming to learn, or an assassin to keep him on track.

Raziel didn't much care. Someone to talk to would mean he drew less attention sat at this particular cafe.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

There was a visible contrast between the two men and the rest of the people gathered around the café, provided one knew what to look for. Casual dress was the norm for most establishments, and when one appeared sharper or more elegant than their peers, they stuck out. If they made a point of not sticking out, it made them even more obvious. FOSB was known both for its skill in dealing with these delicate operations, and for strict adherence to protocol.

So, in lieu of a cowl or the drab attire one of the more enigmatic cultists of Seiger Ren might don, 0772 wore a tight collared overcoat- black with red trim. The insignia of the First Order marked his lapel, but he wore no merits or accolades. Instead, with no rank at all, he pulled the chair across from [member="Raziel"] out and took his seat.

His eyes were ruby colored, though not due to the unnatural influence of the darkness. As a Registered Force Adept, he was bound and restricted to use the Force only when given explicit instructions by his handlers, or when it was absolutely compulsory for the needs of the Order. He had paler features, but they stemmed from his origins rather than cold, inhuman tendencies.

Instead, he seemed inquisitive, thoughtful, as though the world around him were all new and exciting. 0772 reigned in those thoughts and suppressed his urge to display proper excitement. He matched the gaze of the information dealer with practised stoicism, both hands knit together on the table.

"My designation is 0772," he greeted without an extension of his hand. Secretive types preferred to distance themselves from that sort of contact, especially when telepaths could browse their thoughts with no more than a slight touch. No, he had been sent to gauge the trustworthiness of this one and his intel.

It was important that he give no cause for distrust. After all, how does one give trust when it is not freely given in return? The telepath glanced up as one of the server druids shuffled past and asked for his order. He would have caf.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, mister...?" With luck, the given name and information would all match up. He knew where, when, and what to look for- in a small place like this, bustling though it was, only a few faces fit the bill. As several people chattered in the background and the sounds of hot caf right off the tap drizzled down, the two chess-players had taken their spots at the head table.

The Agent accepted his drink with a nod of thanks. Without a word, the Droid was gone once more. 0772 sipped at the hot liquid pensively.