First Reply The Streets of Corellia

[Cynan Obaith]

Location: Coronet City - Corellia
Outfit: Casual
Tag: OPEN

"So, I was hoping that you could help our community with the struggling small businesses. Everyone thinks of Corellia as a place for ship construction, whisky and a couple other things to trade but we need to be more diverse to avoid blockades completely destroying us." Cynan nodded his head as he looked across his desk to one of the locals who had come to him during the hours he set aside for talking with individuals on how he could improve situations around Corellia.

It wasn't much but it was something, it kept Cynan grounded and reminded him of what he was doing.

"I hear you, reducing what is our necessary imports could make Corellia stronger. Especially if we decide to remain neutral or independent." Cynan nodded, he was known as someone with High Republic ties, but Cynan always accepted and welcomed people to believe and desire what they wished for the future of Corellia. Even if that meant it was going to be part of the High Republic.

He pulled out a datapad and handed it over to the man opposite him. "Take this, confer with your colleagues and fellow small business owners and create a list of industries we can reduce our imports on based on what we can build here well. To promote the businesses, I need to know what can be done well or better on Corellia than we are currently importing. No one will want Corellian if it is poorer quality than we get else where." Cynan mentioned with a smile.

Walking the man to the door, Cynan shook his hand and thanked him for the time spent today. Once the door closed, Cynan sighed, while it was good and necessary to spend the time doing these meetings. They could be mentally draining at times. Grabbing his jacket, Cynan donned the jacket and left his office. Looking over to where Sawel was waiting for him, "time to walk the streets Sawel. Good to get a feel for the street level mindset." Sawel nodded his head, it was something they did after the hours of being in the office. It was the brief time that Cynan got to get as fresh air as possible on Corellia.

That was the one part he missed of Naboo, the walks in nature. However, Corellia's busy city environments always ensured something interested happened during a walk. Cynan stepped out into the street, hands in his jacket's pockets and began to walk down the streets, taking in the views. "We should organise a mural holiday for people, something that gives a day off of work to visit the mural of those lost during the Galactic Empire's attack. Also could be a chance for visitors from the High Republic to come and build the connections there beside myself as well." Cynan mentioned to Sawel as they walked. His mind was constantly trying to plan things out and figure out how he could ensure that he was doing right by the people around him.

 

[Dorian Ambrose]

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Smoke & Mirrors - Puscifer

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Location: Coronet City - Corellia
Tag: Cynan Obaith

The meeting was held in a cantina so modest it seemed to shrink from notice, tucked within a narrow Corellian thoroughfare where the light of day entered only in reluctant slivers. There, beneath low beams darkened by years of smoke and whispered conspiracies, Dorian sat with three businessmen whose faces bore the strained geometry of men long acquainted with loss and opportunity alike.

Outside, the restless industrial pulse of Corellia throbbed like a buried engine, its commerce wounded yet unquiet; and the very air within the room felt laden with the spectral arithmetic of tariffs, levies, and unseen fiscal chains that bound trade as surely as iron shackles.

Dorian spoke at length, his voice measured, almost professorial, yet tinged with a philosophical gravity that seemed to press upon the minds of his listeners. "Gentlemen," he began, steepling his fingers as though contemplating forces far older than markets, "it falls upon our shoulders to heal the wounds from that nasty business of the Galactic Empire, not merely in profit, but in principle. We must ensure the citizens of Corellia, as each and every citizen of the galaxy, have every chance to rebuild and prosper, regardless of where their allegiances may drift in this new age."

His words unfurled slowly, like ancient parchment, suggesting that commerce itself might serve as a salve upon civilizational scars; if only guided by deliberate, enlightened hands.

At last, as though stirred by some inward summons, Dorian rose. The scrape of his chair sounded unnaturally loud in the close air. He reached for his walking cane, an object less of frailty than of ceremony, and steadied himself before addressing them once more in matter-of-fact tones. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I find discourse grows stale when confined to shadowed rooms. We should take to the streets and see the potential standing on curbs, in storefronts, in kiosks, in the very cracks of the pavement. Only then may we gain a proper feel for what it is we aim to accomplish here today."

And with that, he turned toward the cantina door, as though the true negotiation awaited not at the table, but in the living, breathing arteries of the city beyond.