I've Made So Many Threads I Can't Be Bothered To Title This One

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The Chimaera was as impressive a beast as she ever was. The skeleton crew that had operated her during the off weeks had been replaced by the vessel's worth of men. Mephirium had to admit that it was good to hear the ship populated again. The sounds of other people simply living their lives had become far too familiar, and the silence that had come in their absence was deafening.

Pleased with the hustle and bustle of life, Mephirium sat back in what qualified as his office. The captain's quarters were occupied by just that, Captain Mede, as Mephirium had no desire to lessen his perceived authority. Besides, in all due reality, Mephirium was about as much of a fleet admiral as [member="Darth Arcis"] had been a duelist. That was to say, not much.

For once he was wearing the proper attire. He'd absconded from the dramaticism of his cloak or battle-armor, and had instead opted for a rather simple officer's uniform. It was a trim gray tunic with long black pants that suited his patrician features perfectly. Were it not for his constant envelopment within the ethereal, he could have passed for an admiral.

The door had been left unlocked for his visitor. The man in question was a veteran of the great war, as many of Mephirium's constituents were, though he had no idea where the man stood now. Up until this point, Mephirium had relied on old loyalties, promises of favor, and sheer brutality to achieve his position. Hopefully the former would be enough to persuade [member="Constantine"]. At the very least, he was interested in what the man had to say. He had, after all, delved into areas Mephirium had never thought of touching in the Republic's surface. Even if he did not gain an ally or a friend here, Mephirium would at least be able to pick the brain of a relative equal.

 

[Constantine]

The BC-714 Luxury Transport landed with a monotonous whirl of mechanism, the landing gears extending outward like an insect landing on a leaf. The ship landed with a thud as the dampeners on the ship lessened the impact on the Chimaera’s floor. A brief hiss of air escaping came from the ships hatch as it prepared to open up.

* * *​

​

Constantine stood up from his chair on the BC-714, holding himself as he felt the ship thud, it seems the droid crew he employed were finishing the last parts of the landing. With that, he placed a hand towards his chest, straightening his grey suit. He glanced towards his bars mirror has he walked by, making sure his hair was properly trimmed and combed. It would be awful manners if he wasn’t proper as a guest. With a small comb of his hair with his hand, he continued walking.
The agent glanced towards his belt as he walked towards his ships hatch, he possessed a small blaster pistol, a sleek grip attached to it. His hand gripped it for but a moment before his attention turned to the sound of his ships intercom.
“Landing successful,” Chimed a small robotic voice “It is clear to leave the ship now.”
He moved his hand from his blaster as he heard the intercom, flicking open a small pouch on his belt and pulling out a small notebook and pen, it was always easier to remove paper evidence then digital. Though he moved his hand towards a pouch behind his left leg, pressing on it with two fingers, making sure his datapad was ready for anything he needed to do.
He reached the hatch, its staircase already laid out towards the hanger of the Chimaera. Within moments of stepping out, the sounds of talking and management was already within earshot, this ship certainly possessed a crew. With that thought, Constantine glanced towards the nearest man in what appeared to be proper attire and walked over to him for directions.

* * *​

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Constantine walked through the open door towards the stranger that had invited him into his ship, he took note of the man himself as he walked over to him. The man’s grey attire seemed to match him, his appearance was one of a noble, yet the way he held himself spoke something else . . .
“Admiral,” Constantine spoke to the stranger with a nod “It is a pleasure to meet you . . . again.”
Constantine looked the man up and down once more, he seemed familiar for certain.
"It takes a moderate amount of work," Constantine added "To find the majority of the agents that were within the Republic, I'm impressed you found me as it stands."
With those words, he also took the chance to examine the room, making sure the area was secure before turning his attention fully to the stranger, a moderate smile playing on his lips.
“So then. What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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The man thought Mephirium was an admiral, and truth be told, the Sith Lord had not planned it. He'd worn the uniform because it was comfortable and familiar. Still, he could play it off as if he were attempting to level the playing field between himself and Constantine. The man would likely respond better to a fellow veteran than a members of the bathrobe brigade.

He offered a hand to Constantine as he rose from his chair. "It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that much," he said through a smile, "To tell you the truth, without my previous connections to the old battle-net and the Jedi Shadows, I couldn't get anything done." That much was truth. The resources provided by the Jedi Shadows and their flagging database had made making contacts a hell of a lot easier. Making friends tended to be a bit difficult when you were not aware of their existence.

"My name is Cyril Grayson. I was a Jedi Knight for the Republic before its fall. Specifically the Jedi Shadows," he paused, eyes narrowing as he examined the man. "I believe we may have linked up once or twice for prior operations. The Shadows worked closely with military intelligence for many years. It's what brought you to my attentions."

He paused, looking a bit flustered as he settled back into his chair, "Ah, I keep forgetting my manners. Care for a drink? Balmoraan Bluesky? Corellian Whiskey?"

[member="Constantine"]

 

[Constantine]

Constantine grasped the man’s hand when it was offered, noting the firmness of the handshake before standing back. The man seemed to of paused for just a moment when Constantine had asked what the topic was about, perhaps it was something he said . . .

“-connections to the old battle-net and the Jedi Shadows, I couldn't get anything done." The strange spoke.

His mind went back on track as he heard those words, Constantine raised his notebook and wrote a small note with a nod. The man claims to of been involved with the Jedi shadows then. Was it a bluff . .

"My name is Cyril Grayson-“ Cyril said.

Constantine thought for but a moment, remembering the name distinctly. He raised his notebook, preparing to write it the name and the claim, sceptical of the assumption. But as the man spoke, Constantine noticed through his conversation, he had examined him. It was simple enough to look at a man, but the way this man had done it . . . Constantine hid his hesitation, realising the claim was true. That was not the examination of an untrained bluff.

“Care for a drink? Balmoraan Bluesky? Corellian Whiskey?" Cyril asked.

Constantine nodded at the question, flipping his notebook shut and placing it in his belt pouch with a small click. Satisfied that he recognised the man, assuming that he was still examining him, he gave a small smile.
“Balmoraan Bluesky, if you wouldn’t mind.” Constantine said, “So then, Mr Grayson. I think I remember you, now then. What did you want to talk to me about? You must of had something to speak of."
Constantine took one more glance around the room, it seemed far too much for a simple visit between veterans . .

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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The neon blue liquid fizzed with what looked to be carbonation as Cyril poured a glass for Constantine. It was a relatively rare beverage this day and age; the distilleries on Balmoraa having been razed during the great war. Some had recovered from the devastation, and Mephirium them more or less in his pocket. Half their shipments went to his vessels as of late, as the drink had become quite popular among the officer's corps. In the end, it had, and always would be his favored drink.

"To those we lost," he said, raising the glass in a toast. Smiling with a bitterness that could not truly be faked, he brought his own glass up to his lips and drank deeply. It burned its way down his throat, but it was a pleasant warmth that settled in his stomach shortly thereafter. Satisfied with the drink, he turned his attentions back to his visitor.

"I did, actually," he began, "You have quite the record, my friend, and the galaxy is in shambles. We have despots and warlords cropping up all along the core, a Mandalorian power struggle, encroaching empires and all manner of malcontents. I've been looking for others who fought to preserve out fragile peace during the war, maybe put them back into service."

He offered Constantine a wry smile and brought the glass back up to his lips. "That get your interest?"

[member="Constantine"]

 

[Constantine]

He raised the sparkling liquid as he listened to the man speak, the faint aroma of the chemicals brought back old memories. He remembered the first time he had ever had this drink, during a visit with his superiors, the drink had a lasting memory for its nice aftertaste in Constantine’s eyes.
With that thought, he placed the palm of his hand over the bubbling drink, allowing it a few moments for the carbon to collect and with a small swirl of the cup lifted his palm, noting no new colours appeared, it wasn’t poisoned at least. With that in mind, he turned to Cyril and listened to the rest of his words.

"That get your interest?" Cyril asked.

Constantine paused for a moment, examining the man calmly before considering the situation through his own recollection. It was clear that many of the people in the area would be in danger - so too would be the threat of invasions from the Mandalorians and upstart empires. His words did speak true, there clearly was a problem in the air.
The Agent looked back at Cyril, giving a reluctant sigh before sipping the drink, noticing the bubbling feeling on his tongue. The bubbling liquid tasting exactly how he remembered it.

“Very well.” Constantine admitted, “It has caught my interest. Now, the Republic is dead however Admiral Grayson. That means . . .”

Constantine paused at the consideration, looking back and examining the admiral again, this time much more properly. The suit did match him for certain, but the way he paused . . . his proposal, his resources . . . something wasn’t perfectly right here. He did, however, have far too great a point. Though to fix that point, you'd almost need a whole em-
Constantine gave out a small chuckle, shaking his head with a smile.
“Your planning on forging out your own empir’ to take control of the core systems.” Constantine said, “Well. In that case then.”

Constantine glanced about the ship, giving a small nod as he examined it also in detail. It was truly a great ship, it felt almost like Constantine should know it. Yet it was on the tip of his tongue, he would have to look into it later.
“How, why and what.” Constantine said, without hesitation to follow up, “This. Is quite a big idea . . . one that seems to already of started, but still. I feel like there is a story that I’m dying to hear about, a Jedi shadow. Preparing people from the Republic to go back into service.”

Constantine tipped his still bubbling drink with a smile, a hand resting on his pants leg as he awaited a response.

[member="Darth Mephirium"]

 

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The hook had been set, more or less. Mephirium had always gotten on well with the intelligence community. They generally cut the osik, more or less, and he could sympathize with the need to get right to the point. It was quite unlike the current company he kept -- they always seemed to want to make a philosophical statement with everything they did. It was tiresome, to say the least.

"Empire is a strong word," Mephirium said, "And implies a number of negative things. Every empire in recent memory has committed significant infringements upon sentient rights, ranging from segregation to outright genocide in the name of some forlorn god." He shook his head, "No, we had a different idea. A dominion of a sort, one with a centralized military power, but with a senate beneath that. It would prove to be a complicated system that could possibly be plagued by bureaucracy, but it would assure a safe split between military and civilian power. The senate controls the people the majority of the time, the man on top controls the military, and has overall control if the senate moves too slowly."

He paused, his finger trailing over the lip of his glass as he fought for a proper explanation. It had never really been required of him. All his cohorts more or less understood what was intended without needing to be told.

"A merging of the positive traits of both the One Sith and the Republic," he finally answered, "Decisive decision making when required, but falling back on the will of the people on pressing societal issues: such as legality on certain substances, insurance, all the myriad other things the military cannot be bothered with."

Constantine asked for a story, and Mephirium would not be found lacking. "I fought for the Republic throughout the great war, and I came to understand the Republic's failings. It was too slow to react, and ostracized its Jedi defenders when it finally did. The One Sith brought both good and bad things to the core. Order is good; suffocation by that order is not. I...took it upon myself to reign some of those elements in. A number of former Sith Lords and Jedi Knights now stand with us, alongside former Republic and Imperial personnel."

He frowned, "It's a melting pot, to say the least, and I reached out to you for your assistance. You've skills we need, and I need men of character, of conscience. Patriots."

[member="Constantine"]