Kiskla Grayson-Matteo
Redeemer
Her tongue struck the roof of her mouth with a disdainful click when someone at the bar echoed a boisterous round of approval. One should never encourage a Sith -- although it didn't seem to harbour any harm, other than the fact waitresses were now reaching every table with more alcohol at the expense of the man's pocketbook. And because Kiskla's hand was retracting as The Sith began to heat up, she felt a slight flare against her wrist. The temperature was noted, as was his attempt to cool himself down.
This was the thing that confused her about Sith -- most of them lived painful lives. There were few that were evil just because it was easier for them, and they felt less tortured. The only Sith she'd met who was cooly confident in his desolation was Lord Ashmedei.
None of the Jedi had taken a seat yet, they simply seemed to be idly standing about a table without making any dedication to move downward, upward, or anywhere. Which was a hindrance to their report -- it was a blue milk run to merely investigate the area. The fact that there were two Sith on a Republic world indicated that they were either growing bolder, or stupider. Then again, there was no evidence that these two belonged to any sort of uprising cult. They both seemed one in the same, freelance Sith with no inclination to go one way or the other -- in fact, both seemed to even have a tolerance for Jedi. Albeit, for their own amusement.
"I'm always right." Kiskla replied, with a slight inclination of her head and a shift of her weight to re-assert her self-given authority on the matter.
Mikhail had disappeared into a sea of red flesh; much akin to that night on Serenno she assumed. There had been a red Twi'lek there that evening as well -- although Kiskla had only caught glimpses. Other than the two Sith, the reports could go as clean. Zeltros would often host those that weren't citizens -- it's where a majority of their currency came from. Was she thinking about the job in an establishment like this? Pas mal. A voice derailed and then there was a thud of heels and wood colliding, the one with the wet head was evidently making himself comfortable.
"You don't want to be bored with an answer to that." Kiskla responded cooly, looking beyond him to the man at the bar who still looked gleeful, and the purple twi'lek who seemed as if she was lacking company. In truth, sadly, what was up hung in the suspension of the Sith's whims and the Jedi's tolerance. Two powerful fronts colliding in a closed evironment could ultimately determine the outcome of their report. And having a Grandmaster and Master of the Order in such close quarters to darksiders? Not the best of decisions, best to smother the fire before it got wild.
The chair Christian sat on was supported by the back two legs, and the front two were slightly suspended due to the weight distribution of him propping up his limbs. Kiskla knew herself. She could stand here with the dark spirit she contained while it got excited about the nearness of those that used it, be affected by pheromones and trade quips with a Sith, or she could diffuse the situation before she got out of hand. Let alone it. Still though, as she moved from her position, the tip of her toe nicked the back support of Christian's chair. Not enough to make it fall backwards, but perhaps wobble and remind him to have respect for the furniture.
As she moved, a waitress intercepted her and plunked something fowl smelling in her hand. Whiskey, she assumed due to it's amber hue. Might as well thank the one who had given everyone in the bar something else to do with their hands. Swiftly, she approached the man who had been gaily applauding but moments before. With a swirl of the glass' contents, she struck up a conversation that wouldn't be as detrimental as the other.
"Are you always so generous to throngs of strangers?"
This was the thing that confused her about Sith -- most of them lived painful lives. There were few that were evil just because it was easier for them, and they felt less tortured. The only Sith she'd met who was cooly confident in his desolation was Lord Ashmedei.
None of the Jedi had taken a seat yet, they simply seemed to be idly standing about a table without making any dedication to move downward, upward, or anywhere. Which was a hindrance to their report -- it was a blue milk run to merely investigate the area. The fact that there were two Sith on a Republic world indicated that they were either growing bolder, or stupider. Then again, there was no evidence that these two belonged to any sort of uprising cult. They both seemed one in the same, freelance Sith with no inclination to go one way or the other -- in fact, both seemed to even have a tolerance for Jedi. Albeit, for their own amusement.
"I'm always right." Kiskla replied, with a slight inclination of her head and a shift of her weight to re-assert her self-given authority on the matter.
Too bad for him, or too bad for her? Any attention was usually ill-received by the young blonde. She was unfortunately becoming all too used to it; handling such interests with a slight arrogance even. "Don't worry. Something tells me you've a thick skull." Perhaps she shouldn't have been trading insults with a Sith, but nothing had stopped her before--no matter who the banter was with. Anyone with a length of wit was welcome to converse. So far the two darksiders were only interested in making each others lives difficult. Both other Jedi had been silent up to this point, and she glanced backward in time to see some red fingers attempt to twirl some strands of the Jedi's magnificent beard. Mikhail had disappeared into a sea of red flesh; much akin to that night on Serenno she assumed. There had been a red Twi'lek there that evening as well -- although Kiskla had only caught glimpses. Other than the two Sith, the reports could go as clean. Zeltros would often host those that weren't citizens -- it's where a majority of their currency came from. Was she thinking about the job in an establishment like this? Pas mal. A voice derailed and then there was a thud of heels and wood colliding, the one with the wet head was evidently making himself comfortable.
"You don't want to be bored with an answer to that." Kiskla responded cooly, looking beyond him to the man at the bar who still looked gleeful, and the purple twi'lek who seemed as if she was lacking company. In truth, sadly, what was up hung in the suspension of the Sith's whims and the Jedi's tolerance. Two powerful fronts colliding in a closed evironment could ultimately determine the outcome of their report. And having a Grandmaster and Master of the Order in such close quarters to darksiders? Not the best of decisions, best to smother the fire before it got wild.
The chair Christian sat on was supported by the back two legs, and the front two were slightly suspended due to the weight distribution of him propping up his limbs. Kiskla knew herself. She could stand here with the dark spirit she contained while it got excited about the nearness of those that used it, be affected by pheromones and trade quips with a Sith, or she could diffuse the situation before she got out of hand. Let alone it. Still though, as she moved from her position, the tip of her toe nicked the back support of Christian's chair. Not enough to make it fall backwards, but perhaps wobble and remind him to have respect for the furniture.
As she moved, a waitress intercepted her and plunked something fowl smelling in her hand. Whiskey, she assumed due to it's amber hue. Might as well thank the one who had given everyone in the bar something else to do with their hands. Swiftly, she approached the man who had been gaily applauding but moments before. With a swirl of the glass' contents, she struck up a conversation that wouldn't be as detrimental as the other.
"Are you always so generous to throngs of strangers?"
Sorry for the wait! Hopefully this gives y'all something to do. @[member="Joshua DragonsFlame"] | @[member="Carn Dista"] | @[member="Christian Slade"] |@[member="Mikhail Shorn"] | @[member="Hunter Yagami"] | @[member="Koyi Zythor"]
