The Cost of Doing Business

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

D E N O N
Headquarters of Offworld Exports

It reminded him of Coruscant.

Located on a major hyperlane straight out of the Corellian System, Denon was a sprawling metropolis whose significance to industry had made it a constant companion in galactic commerce. Now, without the economic policies of the Republic, Denon was poised to become a master of its own destiny.

Perhaps the Sith would move south. Perhaps the Techno Union north, or the Alliance east. God forbid the Hutts move west. For the Hutts to have control over a jewel such as Denon would be a crime against sentience.

Whatever the case, the teenage Anzat had arrived from Drall on business. As was increasingly the case, 'business' no longer meant work for the Jedi Order. In place of robes, he wore Corellian attire. Casual, but not overly so. A nice, white shirt with navy trousers decorated by the yellow piping of the distinctive bloodstripe. A black jacket covering his upper body. He didn't carry a lightsaber, and he wasn't carrying a blaster.

Instead, he came armed with a briefcase and a datapad.

In business, those were tools of war.

[member="Sankt Yora"]​

 

[Sankt Yora]

There was something in the air. It was cliche to think so, an old vestige of primal instinct, an evolution from when predators hid in the tall grasses and not in elegant clothes. Yet there it was, unmistakable, the scent of something so wrong, so abhorrent to the system. Yora sniffed instinctively, a banal reaction. The scent reached her, and her gag reflex went wild, and a younger version of herself would have left the room almost instantly. She was older, and wiser and had more self control now, and simply told her body to quell the response to the scent. Upon the air, sweat and mildew wafted in, combined with flakes of dead skin and hair. It floated on the air, setting in the wake of the creature she was detecting. Her mind registered the deplorable aroma of a mammal in her presence.

Yet there was something even worse about this creature, the violation she had felt. Beyond the warm-blooded nature of the mammal there was something more intrinsic, something worse about its nature than bad breeding. Honesty, nobility, honor, characteristics that Yora could smell as much as the dead skin cells in the air. She couldn't stand them, but here they were before her, personified in the form of...a child?

The Falleen squinted at the small form ushered into her office. It was actually the President's office, large and open and lavish, with a breathtaking view of the city beyond. Yora had no need for such trivialities, but they impressed clients, and so did the room's normal occupant. The oversized desk and chair were indications of that, built for the Besalisk's big frame; everything about Anso Vasu was big. And today was a big day, but it was not an Anso Vasu day.

A hand beneath her embroidered robes clutched a chain of small, carved items, and the tactile sensation sent a flood of images through her mind. The same images it had been sending for days now, and the reason she had called the meeting with the creature —child?— before her. Somehow, she knew, there was an important mystery surrounding him, and perhaps with his presence she would begin to suss it out.

When she spoke, her voice was light and lyrical, some said it had a calming presence. A voice practiced from years of speaking to supplicants, and now turned upon the boy before her, "So, tell me, Mr. Xantha. How is it that one so young as you has accomplished so much?"

[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]​

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

What an interesting mystery to walk into.

Green skin. Near human. Mirialan? "Youth is somewhat of an arbitrary term," the young Anzat answered quietly. Crossing inside of the room, the boy paused a respectful distance away from the desk. At least for the time being, content to wait to be invited to sit. Clasping his hands behind the small of his back, the boy cryptically offered only, "Let's just say I'm not entirely human."

Or even human in the least, despite appearances to the contrary.

Don't trust your eyes. They can deceive you.

Sor-Jan was a living witness to the wisdom behind that timeless idiom.

At the same time, the boy was conscious of a disquieting sensation. A mild thirst, if you would. Something less than tangible, yet palpable all the same. It rarely flared up, as it was the rare individual who invoked the vampire's hunger.

It seemed this woman was a rare species. Not Mirialan. Something colder. Falleen?

Having not caught the woman's name, the boy casually turned the conversation back on her. "...and, you are?"

[member="Sankt Yora"]​