Location: Aiden Porte's Temporary Quarters on Hapes / Walkway to public transport hub
Appearance: xxx
Tags: Aiden Porte
Appearance: xxx
Tags: Aiden Porte
The harsh woman had been questioning the padawan the day after the Charity Gala. They had camera footage of the young man at the terminal in question when he used and then deleted his activity on the Hapan mainframe. Why a padawan would do such a thing would have been an easily answered question usually. Her tactics of persuasion were renowned among the Royal Security of Hapes. However, she was not permitted to employ her more dubious methods as there had been other matters that had come up on the day. You would think their primary concern would be The New Way attack on Coruscant, and any possible New Way infiltrators on Hapes, but no. It was not the prime concern. Instead, it was the massive data breach during the Gala that had her and her superior's cankles rankled the most.
The Jedi was questioned around his activities, but not asked any questions that would specifically cause him to have to lie about his activities on the terminal he accessed. What was of greater concern was whether or not he had also been party to the larger data breach, and if he had contacts with those malefactors. She had not learned much.
"Enjoy the remainder of your stay on Hapes, Mr Porte," she said. Her tone did not exactly indicate he was welcome to sojourn long.
Decidedly unhappy, Vigardi departed from her questioning of Porte. There were other ways to get the information she needed.
A few weeks later...
Another mission. She was grateful for it. It was a nice break from the increasing amounts of paperwork that were fast showing Esme that the command path within Royal Security was not for a second where she really ought to be. She was already considering putting in for a transfer when her new orders came in from Vigardi.
The Beast of Baltarn is what most people called Vigardi behind her back. What Esme called her though was 'Future Me'. She didn't care for Future Me. Not in the slightest. It was an image from which she was fast retreating. Of all the things she would want to be in life, a crusty old porcupine was not one of them. She didn't know what she wanted to be, but it was most certainly not that.
Clothed in a carefully assembled outfit, Esme was the very picture of an educated middle class Hapan that had 'left her career path to follow her dream of being an artist'. The plats were the final piece of the ensemble, perfectly disheveled so as to have the light of the late day sun catch the loose strands and cast an ethereal glow about her face. Based on the profile assembled on her target, she had manicured a persona that was just far enough out of the man's league to give him hope, but not so far as to raise suspicions when she would make her necessary moves towards him.
The one final part of the equation was to have the target think her encroachment into his world was his idea. Implanting this idea started with her relinquishing the reigns on her Force sensitivity and letting it wag out there for all that could to feel her presence. Arms loaded with art supplies, a datapad and a precariously balanced cup of hot stimcaf was all that was needed, and thus it was arranged. Esme simply had to wait for the target to cross her path as he made his way to the point of his departure from Hapes.
She didn't have to wait long.
Her course set, and another agent from Royal Security in position to distract Porte just at the right moment, Esme walked out from behind a pillar on the boardwalk to the landing pad. She winced a little as impact was imminent. The datapad, art supplies and stimcaf flew from her hands the moment she collided with the Jedi. Thankfully, she managed to avoid any of the hot liquid falling on herself, or Porte, but her face and aura did not show any level of control.
Her aura flared, and her eyes grew wide in shock. "I'm so sorry!" She said, voice taut with embarrassment as she scrambled to pick up the items that had scattered across the floor.
Paint brushes rolled beyond her reach, so she moved across to them in an awkward shuffle, eliciting an evening deeper shade of red to her cheeks. She groaned in despair upon seeing the pottles of vermillion and butter yellow that had opened and begun oozing onto the duracreet floor of the walkway.
"Honestly...my mother is right...I make a mess of everything...even walking apparently," she said, muttering to herself before showing a realization that the 'stranger' was still there, "sorry...I don't always talk to myself."