Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Pen to Paper

The office hours for the Knight Commander were from 1300 to 2150 Local Time, which demanded Alkor be present within the Chambers unless called to a more pressing duty. Generally, when the Confederacy was at war or mandatory training exercises were in full swing, he was granted some clemency from the ever present threat of boredom that came with paperwork.

There were days when Alkor could not avoid his fate, however. Being adjunct to the Office of Vicelord due to his supplementary position to the Dominus Prime meant that after the Exarchs and the Ministers, Alkor had the fifth most volume of fascinating (read: absolutely mindless) documents to review, sign, and catalogue. He had finished all of twelve and resorted to chewing on the back of his pen from anxiety.

Granted, twelve was still twelve more than he might have done several years prior to taking the position. His former duties were considered best not put to paper, and to most people, they were better of forgotten. That was just the way he liked things. The Confederacy was a bit more transparent.

Today, he was lucky enough to receive aid directly from his brother's own office- a Knight Obsidian, markedly, who had been hand selected to take the position of aide to Metus himself. Perhaps they were worried about his paperwork being finished in a punctual manner.

Perhaps they realized that it would never get done otherwise.

No matter what the reason for the assistance, he welcomed it. Little did Alkor know, there were sometimes unrelated reasons for strings to be pulled. What he considered to be an assist could easily turn out to be something else entirely.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
“Mother of Abeloth!” Pomsty tapped a stack of papers to align their edges. “Who did you kill to have to get stuck in here?” She leaned towards @Alkor Centarus from her place across the opposite side of the desk from him. “I mean...it had to be bigger than a few lame citizens,” ’...like me.’ That last part she kept to herself. She could have been put to death for her deed, so she really cannot complain. She thought for a moment. Wouldn’t it be just like [member="Adron Malvern"] to just sentence her, and not really have followed any set of rules in doing it! “Did the Exarch get you too?” She looked out into oblivion. “Like a sentence that will never end!” She feigned a gasp then grumbled under her breath cursing the magistrate under her breath. “I can feel him now laughing somewhere out there, where we should be. He is drinking our liquor. Spending money he earned by making us do all this crap.”

She looked over her shoulder just to check and make sure the Exarch was not standing behind her. “I’ve got...” ‘let’s call it,’ “a Rumball.” Well they would actually be magick spiked Rumballs, and she has a hell of alot more than just one. It all depends on “how do you intend to pass the night?” This is going to take all night...Alkor’s way.

Pomsty wondered if anyone ever told the man sitting across from her to never take candy from a Nightsister, especially her homemade batch! She smiled in her enticing way. She reached into her pocket and withdrew out a pair of individually wrapped splendor, leaving the rest of her batch remain tucked inside her pocket. She set them both down upon his desktop and unwrapped the gold wrapper of one. Lifting it to her lips, she set it upon the tip of her tongue before slowly passing it over her lips. She waggled an eyebrow at him as she studied his response.

Pomsty leaned back in her chair, again taking hold of the stack of papers she had been working on. She closed her eyes for a moment, then slapped her hand firmly down upon the entire pile. He won’t need to go through this stack any longer, for she finished them just like that.

“So what’s your story?” They had seen one another a few times before, been teamed on assignments at least once. She had no idea he worked in the offices right next to her.

Then a wave of seriousness overtook her. “Wait. Don’t feel obligated to speak. I don’t need to know.” Such talk is give and take. She pondered just how much about herself even the Vicelord did not know. If he did know, he never let on. “Sorry.” She knew most men to have remarkable tales; it just is not right of any girl to ask someone to go there simply to appease her intrigue.
 
"I've met Exarch Talon less than a handful of times," he answered her question as he skimmed a sheet of paper with a bland expression, which only soured as he gleaned some understanding of the words on the page. Records? Legality, waivers, and zoning permits? He rubbed at his temples for a moment as he lowered the paper and glanced at the woman across from him. "And I haven't had the chance to meet Exarch Malvern directly. Neither of them assigned me to this position. That honor came from the Dominus Prime."

He spoke his superior officer's title with some contempt, but it seemed warranted when he looked at the table in front of him. Stacked or splayed, the papers easily covered the full area. "My first few assignments since the position was handed to me have all been paper pushing and record keeping. I think [member="Elessar Talon"] wants to make me dull my blade a bit and sink into the Paradigm of leadership. At least, that's my best guess."

Who had he killed? Too many people to remember. He doubted that had anything to do with why he was here. If this was humor, she was markedly different from the societal norm. Most people found such talk distasteful. At least, in his experience.

That was about when she unwrapped her rum ball, and he jostled around inside his desk to retrieve a small, silver flask. He popped the cap off and took a swig. "I expect I'll just work my way through one stack at a time until it's done. I don't expect to be finished in a single night, of cour-"

When she tapped the pile of papers, he half expected it to fly outward in every direction. Instead, by some act of mysticism, they were filled out and completed. He gave her the same blank expression he would have had it been an act of irritation.

"You could have led with that," he said at last as he placed the flask down carefully. "I am new to this position," he answered her honestly. "And you can relax. I've never been much for rules or decorum. Feel free to drink as you work, so long as you can perform your duties."

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
How tightly wound he felt to her, she knew the feeling. It was probably nothing short of the miracle of magick that she could ever smile. The galaxy at large taught her to actually change her views on some very critical issues. She always dealt fate by a personal code, but recently found her heart softening to the CIS views. However, her battle to keep any worthwhile objective into focus and off her current situation was ever so draining. Nothing about where she is right at this moment even remotely resembles her life before. And she could not return to the only life she had known. Nothing about this is her choice. The darkness that once made her love her home, has become most destructive. The darkness is everywhere, and therefore the memories of home are always surfacing. The constant onslaught requires constant obliteration. She welcomes any relief.

Of course he took the safe route and passed on her offer to join her. ‘What a shame. He is boring. But typical.’ Yet he chose to remain bored. The Nightsister has a good business going, selling her wares. People across the stars pay her top dollar. She cannot understand why it’s her own people who seem the most reluctant to partake of her mastery when she offers it to them for free. She has come to conclude that be it anything of magick from a Nightsister to just expect it declined. Nevertheless his guarded reaction mildly amused her.

But then he voiced his acceptance of this particular magick of finishing some of his paperwork because it benefitted him. “Uh-huh.” He is right, she could have lead with that instead of wasting both their time. But she had nothing better planned for her night; why not spend some time trying to get to know someone? She wondered if he would have paid in advance for such services though. Likely not. She merely looked at him in return with a slight smile in her eyes.

“Feel free to drink as you work, so long as you can perform your duties,” he said. Or maybe that was an order from the Commander? Pom rose an eyebrow at him and her lips parted in disbelief. Does he even understand what she is? Does he have any clue as to why her flesh is so very pale? Inside her cellular walls exists a concoction of deadly components of nearly a thousand potions’ from years of fumes that seeped into her skin, and he thinks a little fermented water will be her undoing? Maybe it was a little overboard adding the Rumball to her list of mind altering substances as it was not fermented water. Pomsty burst out laughing at the thought of losing control. There are a whole lot of other things tugging her down that particular path!



[member="Alkor Centaris"]
 
He glanced up from his work as she burst into laughter, tapping his pencil on the desk idly. He did not have the luxury of such tricks as could finalize paperwork with a snap of the fingers. While she was laughing and playing, he was still attending the files. He didn't like it- but duty was duty. "It is well that you have such good humor," he stated flatly. "It will serve you well in the Knighthood."

He only had a slightly idea of what this woman was. Her use of strange, foreign powers made him recall Dathomiri Witches, but he had only met a handful of those in his life. Within the CIS, the Mandragora came from all walks of the Force- not just the Nightsisters- so making any assumption about her origin could end up offending her.

And if she could make paperwork disappear, he hardly wanted to learn what else she could work her magicks on.

Alkor finished up the first piece of paper he'd taken and set it aside, then leaned on the armrest of his chair. "Before I came to the Confederacy, I served on Mand'alor's trusted council. Prior to that, I worked for Kaine Zambrano in a more clandestine line of work. Needless to say, my skillset landed me a job I never wanted, and that is my story, as you call it. Now," he changed gears, "why have you come to Golbah City? What do the Southern Systems have that drew you here?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
Pomsty has already learned how laughter is all she’s got going for her. It is only recently that she realized life would be better off if she had never learned the secrets of her past.

Pomsty’s eyes lit with excitement when he shared a little about himself. “Maan-dah-leur?” she exclaimed with an accent of her native dialect as she smiled widely. “I come from a tribal life too!” If there were any other way of living for the Mandalorians, she had never heard it. She then pouted lightly. “A civilization much sheltered from the rest of the galaxy, long and willingly so.” Like Mandalorians, people from all across the galaxy seem to have formed opinions about the Dathomiri, whom they have likely never encountered and never will.

“I have learned a lot about how different people can be since I came here. I gather that I have done many things considered socially unacceptable.” Maybe it’s the reason why her sense of humor comes out, because she is nervous. If there is one thing she is not, it’s reserved. Pomsty doesn’t worry about her quirkiness. She simply lives. She isn’t much at following the rules either, because she was never told what they are.

She did not ever hear of the man he mentioned by name. She shook her head when she heard it. If he wanted to tell more, she figured he would share. She did not ask directly. He seems to be a man of little words. This did not cause her to alter her personality to fall into suit with his.

Her smile faded on its own. She was sitting on a bombshell of information about herself which she recently learned and wanted to forget entirely. It set her apart from the rest of the galaxy as a freak, or an abomination. Nobody knew. Darth Metus heard her blurt out only a portion of her story. He knew she was paid for, but the rest she never even spoke aloud. Her body was structurally cloned, and even her Soul instilled into her had been used before in the past life of a Sith woman who had been slain. She is this woman’s reincarnation. She would never deny that she has no idea what love is, because of these secrets regarding her origins which were kept from her by those she loved. When they were revealed, they were delivered in a very business-like manner. You go with the nice man now, dear. He paid for you a long time ago. Hope he likes you. And hope he is not angry with us that we couldn’t find him sooner to render you into his care. They worried more about the Sith retaliating, than they did about what it did to her mental state. The information shattered everything she believed. Discovering that Abeloth, her goddess, the very source of Dathomiri magick, is restricted to reside solely upon Dathomir was another wrenching upon her heart.

Much simpler is telling him the truth since that point in her current evolution. “Sometimes I feel lead someplace. I go there and find someone who needs something done for them. Fate just didn’t hand them millennials of someone else’s knowhow. Sometimes someone needs help getting out of a bad situation.” She wondered if he would condemn her for this aspect of her past as Adron Malvern did. Better this fact about her life, than learn what it is about herself that she condemns herself for. “I came here and found a family that had desires alright; only it turned out they were the one’s oppressing everyone else and they merely wanted more. I got myself in a sticky spot. I gave them every opportunity to make restitutions. I discovered a soft spot I never knew I had. Usually I just follow the money. But this was just not to my taste.” It involved numerous families, and children. “I messed up and landed myself in custody.” She contemplated, “I guess I wouldn’t change a thing about how it turned out.” It had been a long chase through an underground fortress. The authorities had to stun her. While [member="Alkor Centaris"] pondered about her capabilities through magick with an air of uneasiness, she is one rare individual indeed, who has never laid her fingertips upon any crudely fashioned weaponry, beyond the basic necessities for a girl living a nomadic life, such as a butcher’s knife or hoe.

Pomsty placed her hand down upon another stack of papers and she closed her eyes to concentrate on completing them just as she had magickally completed the last. She whispered lightly. She opened her eyes and her smile returned. Sitting back in her chair she glanced over his desk and asked him, “You are going to do some work? Or do you just expect me to do it all for you?”
 
"I just assumed you were going to keep doing," he gestured at her stack of papers, diligently writing themselves as he droned on at the second sheet, content to work at the only pace he had. "That. Whatever that is."

If anything, it was comical to watch both methods together, at the same time. Efficiency notwithstanding, Alkor had genuinely considered letting her finish by herself. Whatever work he could do, he ought.

"You could always try it by hand too," he suggested, unless you'd like to be done with this in several minutes and back to whatever you wanted to do with this day. I certainly would not blame you."

By the time he reached the third sheet, at least half of his desk had been scoured. Alkor scratched his head. "To think, I had expected to be here long into the morning..."

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
It began to feel like a day at the Dentist, which for a Nightsister is worse than those of the rest of the galaxy. The dentist’s hands are always a little extra shaky. The Commander seems to be a man of little words and yet so is she. Worse is when he inspired conversation, and let her responses fall to the wayside, as if talking to her was akin to pulling teeth.

Maybe all he wanted is to have his work done. “Ok. Let’s do this paperwork then.” Pomsty raised both hands and wriggled her fingers while whispering a little ditty, causing pens from all over the office to draw near. The pens would go through the paperwork, magickally filling in the information and logging it into his ledger on its own.

Her goal is one of two things in providing this FREE service to him. The major one is to just get out of this room. Nothing at the moment can seem more desirable than this. The second is to get to a bar, that is with or without him. This is all she wants to see happen.

At that Pom rose. “I am getting out of here. Recognize your freedom (Baby Elephant) and do the same.”

Little did she care, -and she knew it well,- that while she is gone her magick will continue. The pens will write, wether the papers are available or not. The pens will write until all the ink is gone, and actually...until they are broken down into little bitty pieces from carving into the wood of his desk...through the floor if necessary.

It’s a little thing young witches learn, when they tried to get out of their studies. It’s a curse put upon them by their mother so it never happens successfully. Pom just found a way around it by being able to fill in a stack at a time. But she was feeling bored and mischievous, and [member="Alkor Centaris"] is the reason why.

She will remember to avoid him for a while. If he tries to retaliate against her for freeing him from boredom, she will remind him that she took on a flock of Dementors for him not too long ago!
 

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