Desmond Voralis.
Soldier of Fortune
Equator City - Rodia
The Grand Treachery Beneath the Trees? Rodians always give their plays the most straightforward titles.
Desmond settled into his seat. After the last few missions he'd decided it was time to treat himself, and a private booth at the opening night of the Rodian cultural event of the season sounded like exactly what he needed. He tugged idly on the cuff of his suit, settling into the plush cushion. Even now, years removed from Serenno, Desmond's taste for finery hadn't diminished in the slightest. The server droids provided a fresh bottle of Corellian wine, pouring a glass each for Desmond and both of his companions. After all, even if notice was too short to find a date, the theater wasn't someplace you went alone.
He turned his head to face the other two men he'd invited along. Olidiv Kenu had been an obvious choice to invite, the Morseerian had saved Desmond's neck often enough he'd lost count and he'd done the same for him. Together they'd been damn near unstoppable in every fight they'd come across. Also joining them was the Grand Marshal himself. Genesis Rostu had called him a few days ago, wanting to talk shop but not over the holo. He wasn't sure if the clone was actually a fan of the theater or not, but it would serve well enough for a face to face meeting. He lifted his glass in toast with his far too typical wry grin, "Well gentlemen, I know it's not a frozen wasteland, dark cave or blasted out city, but I think it works as a venue just the same."
He took a quick sip, listening as the orchestra pit began the overture, "Though we might as well get the business out of the way before we miss anything important. You said you wanted to discuss something, Genesis?"
@[member="Genesis Rostu"], @[member="Olidiv Kenu"]