skin, bone, and arrogance
The striking, dark skinned woman who met [member="Kiber Dorn"] at the security checkpoint in the First Order's capital building was Sioux Chambers, the ice and stone wall around Moff Natasi Fortan's office and schedule. Currently, she had the unenviable task to go and meet the young man who was being assigned to the Moff's office as a result of community service. Sioux had had to check that last bit twice. It seemed highly irregular to even discuss having a criminal working in the office, particularly considering that the office itself had just completed a probe into its trustworthiness -- a probe that had uncovered no wrongdoing, but a probe nonetheless.
But there was something strange about Natasi Fortan these days. Ever since she had been reported dead and later rescued, she had been... different. Efficient? Of course. Stylish? Always. But there was a -- well, if not a warmth, then certainly a thaw. And yet, she was very clearly in the depths of some sort of depression, for which she either sought no treatment, or for which the treatment was not helping. Sioux worried about her. She would occasionally walk in with a matter for the Moff only to find her boss staring out the window. Nothing ever fell through the cracks; everything got done in a timely manner and with the same attention to detail. But never before had she ever walked in to find Natasi Fortan staring out the window. It was very odd.
This criminal reform bit was just another part of that. It had been suggested as a method of straightening out individuals who, based on the profiles gathered on them in prison, and who had not committed political or violent crimes, might be redeemed and brought into the First Order fold and live a lifetime of service. Or, in some cases, violate the law again and receive swift justice. Never before had Natasi Fortan's office participated, but this round, Sioux had heard her boss muttering something about second chances and wasted potential and then hey presto, Sioux was being dispatched down to the security checkpoint to collect him.
"Kiber Dorn?" she asked the young man at the security station, though she knew it was him. She tucked her briefing book under one arm and extended the other. "Sioux Chambers, private secretary to the Moff. Do you have any weapons or other contraband on you?" Sioux studied Dorn intently.
But there was something strange about Natasi Fortan these days. Ever since she had been reported dead and later rescued, she had been... different. Efficient? Of course. Stylish? Always. But there was a -- well, if not a warmth, then certainly a thaw. And yet, she was very clearly in the depths of some sort of depression, for which she either sought no treatment, or for which the treatment was not helping. Sioux worried about her. She would occasionally walk in with a matter for the Moff only to find her boss staring out the window. Nothing ever fell through the cracks; everything got done in a timely manner and with the same attention to detail. But never before had she ever walked in to find Natasi Fortan staring out the window. It was very odd.
This criminal reform bit was just another part of that. It had been suggested as a method of straightening out individuals who, based on the profiles gathered on them in prison, and who had not committed political or violent crimes, might be redeemed and brought into the First Order fold and live a lifetime of service. Or, in some cases, violate the law again and receive swift justice. Never before had Natasi Fortan's office participated, but this round, Sioux had heard her boss muttering something about second chances and wasted potential and then hey presto, Sioux was being dispatched down to the security checkpoint to collect him.
"Kiber Dorn?" she asked the young man at the security station, though she knew it was him. She tucked her briefing book under one arm and extended the other. "Sioux Chambers, private secretary to the Moff. Do you have any weapons or other contraband on you?" Sioux studied Dorn intently.