Meeting of Minds

[Laira Darkhold]

Neimoidia Orbit
Trade Station Tango Urilla

Draco sat in an office aboard the Trade Station in Coalition Space scribbling on a datapad with a stylus absent mindedly. Amidst the many notifications about policy updates there were doodles of stick figures fighting, explosions, and the occasional monster with 'RAWR' written in bad handwriting nearby.

"If you wouldn't mind, Consulate, we do have another appointment later today." Draco cleared his throat as he spoke, the Neimoidian across the table pausing the long, monotone presentation of trade proposals. The Prince-Consort wasn't the best person to present such proposals to, but Draco took on the meeting rather than take up more of Faith's already precious little time with it. Besides, afterwards Faith would be happy with him so long as he did a decent job.

"Ah, yes. I believe we are hosting representatives from the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Shall I prepare a conference room for both parties?" The noseless alien gathered up his things, preparing to move into another finely furnished room.

"Psssh, no. Its lunch time and I haven't eaten. We'll just host them over lunch." Probably not the most formal of meetings but Isley Verd, or Darth Metus as he sometimes went, was a long time friend and ally Draco had known most of his adult life. Formal meetings were for acquaintances, not for friends. The Mandalorian exited the office, the Neimoidian Consulate trailing behind him, puzzlement strewn across his features. "I saw a Corellian style bar and grill on the blue level."

Behind him the Neimodian sputtered, "The Blue Level! We are not peasants Your Majesty, we cannot go to the Blue Level." Draco seemed to wave him off, almost ignoring the protest completely, continuing to traverse the lavish office spaces of the Diamond Level.

About fifteen minutes later the Neimoidian Consulate and Draco, along with a few Neimoidian guards standing nearby, were sitting in a booth at Booster's Bar&Grill on the poorer side of the Blue Level of the Trade Station. True to the nature of Trade Stations, the port's different levels offered different types of cultures and amenities, with some even boasting access to legal or otherwise goods and services.

Draco sat, eating quietly while watching blob racing on the large screen above the bar, his companion stared, mouth agape and mild disgust plastered across his face, at a pair of corellian blood sausages Draco had ordered for him. "Just let Isley's folks mingle as they please. So long as he knows I'm here if he needs me, he and the rest are welcome to find things to do and people to see."

[member="Darth Metus"] @CIS
[member="Garith Darkhold"] Sr [member="Rashae"] @FWC

 

[Ak'lya]

"You're sure this is the place?" The question was quiet, spoken barely loud enough for the others to hear. They were supposed to be meeting a head of state, or someone with the authority to negotiate with them. This wasn't the kind of place she would expect these things to go down. Too many eyes, too many ears. There was more risk involved here than she would normally take if given the choice. But here she was, standing outside the doors of a dingy little Bar&Grill, trying to decide if this was a trap.

No mistake. This is the place. The A.I's voice in her mind did little to calm her. Everything said this was a trap. Why would they meet here, of all places? Unless...

They were old friends. Their contact was expecting a friend, and thus was being informal about the whole affair.

"Alright. Let's go talk to a man about a N.A.P." She looked between the two men that accompanied her, and Quietly added, "Try not to act up, Idaren."

The bar was noisy as she entered, much of the crowd focused on the blob races on the screen. For her part, Natasha began to scan the room for any sign of who they were to meet. It was somewhat easy to tell what she was here for. After all, who else had a uniform with the hexagonal symbol of the CIS emblazoned into the shoulder?

[member="Idaren Verd"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Draco Vereen"]

 

[Muad Dib]

Diplomacy. It was a word that still felt foreign on his lips. And yet more and more he found himself in positions where he was coming into contact with influentials from other groups. Today was no different. Traveling from Confederate space he had journeyed with the representative of the CIS to an official meeting with a member of the Free Worlds Coalition. During the journey he was given a datapad of information. Where they we're going, what they were hoping to achieve, and who they were meeting.

Lips curled into a grin when he saw the name Draco.

Once they had arrived in station Muad had taken to walking a few steps ahead of the other two representatives. He was here merely as a guard. And despite being asked to leave his excess weaponry onboard their ship, the man still wore his beskar'gam and the systems built into his suit. The sheaths at his belt held his two lightsabers and the curved, imbued kal created from calcified Mythosaur bone. A gift from a vod, Ijaat, before the desecration of Manda'yaim.

With his buy'ce on his head the man was just another mando, possibly hired muscle, possibly a retainer of House Verd, regardless of the man beneath it was the armor that signified that the man was mando'ad ... and that still meant something.

As they journeyed through the Blue District of the space station a sign for "Booster's Bar & Grill" was illuminated, corresponding to the location of the meeting. Turning slightly the mando looked at Natasha as she spoke. Nodding silently at the two he moved forward, just ahead of the CIS reps.

Entering the doors he resisted the urge to step aside from the illumination of the exterior lights that were like a spotlight upon all that entered. One of his primary reasons of being here was to be a shield in case things got unpleasant, and so he stood, body tensed slightly. After a moment he moved forward with scanning the establishment.

It wasn't hard to locate Draco. He had a force presence that was quite noticable to any force sensitive within range. But it was also the Neimoidian guards in the booth and standing idly by that also brought attention to the man.

Striding forward he slowed as the guards turned, hands near their weapons. Slowly Muad raised his hands and removed his buy'ce, hanging the helmet from the netting at his waist. A smirk crossed his face as glowing, blue eyes turned to look upon Draco. It had been some time since the two had met and Muad gave the man a wink.

"Ner vod."

Hooking one of the nearby chairs with the toe of his boot he spun it around and straddled it, bracing his forearms over the back of the chair and leaned forward. He left the empty spots in the booth for the other two CIS representatives. He also didn't like to be constrained. But despite the attention the Neimoidian guards were giving the mando, Muad only had eyes for Draco.


[member="Natasha Darkstar"] [member="Draco Vereen"] [member="Idaren Verd"]

 

[Idaren Verd]

"I'll admit, I was expecting something, well, more." Idaren said, gesturing toward the entrance of the bar and grill. It was lunch time, sure, but it was hardly an impressive establishment. Not exactly somewhere you'd think would play host to such a meeting, either. Judging from Idaren's appearance, decked out in some of his finer dress, he'd been expecting much much more.

"What makes you think I'll act up?" As a representative of his father, acting up wasn't exactly a luxury afforded to Idaren, not yet anyway. Granted, if the young man encountered particularly annoying folk in this endeavor, he saw little reason to restrain himself.

That was what the brought the guard for, though, right?

Still, for the moment, he was content to trail after Natasha, letting her lead the way as they searched for their query, taking in the establishment as he followed.

[member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Natasha Darkstar"] | [member="Draco Vereen"]​