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They're an ugly clan...a bug clan...

The Black Flame
Writer
A watercolor sky drained away overhead - a canvas of sunset fire melting away, revealing a cloudless night. You didn't find that kind of weather on Eres III, not anymore at least. Where this was like a portrait of what retirement looks like, Eres III was more like a holovid you played on a loop if you were trying to convince someone to commit suicide.

The sky never stopped falling there and when you were lucky enough to get a rainless day, it would be the last you saw for weeks or even months. Thinking that over, Marvik hissed through clenched teeth and turned away from the prism of colors with a scratch of his scruffled beard. He couldn't wait to dig his claws into the first person who told him he should be grateful for whatever person paraded themselves around in the dunce cap of Mand'alor nowadays.

With a quick shake and a hard yank, he jostled his low-bearing, twin holsters into a more comfortable seat on his hips - then he was off, parading through the streets of Sundari like all the other dunce caps. Try as he might to just move on along, he kept getting the side-glance stares of passersby who shuffled their eyes over his armor, noticed the Dathu symbol etched into his shoulder plate and then gave the most welcoming sneers he'd ever seen.

How quickly they all forgot. Must have been nice having your home rebuilt after a disaster, how dare he intrude. Well, he was already intruding so he might as well do it to the best of his ability. His chest inflated like a balloon and his arms swung like cartoonish pendulums as he began an exaggerated march down the sidewalk towards the palace, where clans typically met on official business.

Or so he'd heard once over the cracks of lightning and torrential rain.

The stares got darker and his march only got more obnoxious, fueled by the petty spite until he'd marched his way through the checkpoint and thrown open the doors to the guest lobby of the palace.

Who did he expect to meet? If he had announced his coming earlier he'd probably have known, but whenever Dathu decided to peek out at the rest of the clans they rarely did it on anyone's terms but their own. Hell, maybe he'd demand an audience with the Mand'alor themself.

What did he have to lose? No clans liked him anyway.
 

Gaia Sunaris Cadera

It's a cat-astrophe!
Writer
Cassiopeia was doing governmental and parental duties in the Sundari palace. Yasha was... Doing something, somewhere else, probably with Adara. Kaine was in the room, imprisoned for a while longer. Her poor husband, [member="Raiz Australis"] had been forced to become the caretaker of the Clan Australis during Kaine's imprisonment. As such, the poor man had taken on a lot of stress and burden. Cassiopeia did her best to help. Now that she wasn't pregnant anymore, though, she felt like she could actually begin assisting him in official business much better. Who knew not feeling sick could make such changes to someone.

In either case, the woman wore a simple blue knee-high dress. It was comfortable, which is mostly what she went for. It had only been a few weeks after her twins were delivered and she still hadn't quite gotten out of the habit of just being as comfortable as possible, no matter her situation. After being uncomfortable for 9 months, it was a blessing to be able to be simply okay. She passed by several Death Watch guards that lined the Sundari Palace - even more so than usual after Kaine destroyed all the bral to save a baby from death.

Her two small babies were happily cozied with her lovely husband back at their small apartment. She wasn't even sure what she was doing at the Palace, in truth. She had been reviewing trade agreements, contracts, and other things to assist Mandalore and Raiz with his and Kaine's company. She sighed as she stopped looking at the datapad and looked towards the windows which oversaw part of the city. Things were crazy, but things would be okay, right? Things had to be better than this.

In either case, her pacing eventually brought her to the lobby, where she stared at the exit to the door. There was truly no real point in her being there. There was nothing major going on, no major talks, no negotiations, nothing of increase. She just needed to get her mind moving. She needed to get back into the groove of things.

Nearly on cue, a man pushed through the doors and into the lobby. She perked a brow at the cocky man, unsure of how to take him. The Death Watch guards made no movement but were clearly watching him carefully. Cassiopeia, naturally, put the datapad down on one of the benches before walking over to the man. She didn't believe there was supposed to be any guests visiting today? She didn't see it on the calendar on her datapad. It was a fairly boring, plain day.

"May I help you?"

[member="Marvik Dathu"]
 
The Black Flame
Writer
[member="Cassiopeia Australis"]

Marvik looked through the woman, past the woman, over the woman - anywhere but at her as he studied the lobby. It'd changed a lot since the last time he saw it some years ago when he couldn't help himself but come to snicker at whatever the hell a "Mandalorian Council" was. This time around they at least had flags and statues that resembled something that would look mildly intimidating to an aruetiise toddler. Nodding his head in silent, approving surprise Marvik was about to pipe-up on how they'd actually managed to look Mandalorian this time -

-but then he spotted the hidden blade in the cake. Oh yes, the frosting and even the first layer of bread was tasty enough to wet his pallet but baked in underneath were shriek hawks. The Dathu's eyes narrowed and just to be sure that the Death Watch caught it, he removed his helmet slowly without breaking a second of eye-contact with the guards that stood about the room.

"Nice to see the clans are still holding strong to their terrorist betterment program" Marvik mused, turning to finally look the...receptionist? Ambassador?...Escort!? Whatever she was in the eye.

"Figured I'd stop in, see how it was going. Make sure the effort is going well. A bomb for every back and switch for every hand and all that."
 

Gaia Sunaris Cadera

It's a cat-astrophe!
Writer
Cassiopeia stared at the man carefully as he deliberately ignored her presence. Was he socially inept? Overcome with awe for some strange reason? Dazed or maybe drunk? Maybe he had a mental disorder. Cassiopeia was, at her heart, a biologist. As such, she knew her fair share of illnesses and diseases that could plague a sapients mind. It was something she was naturally drawn to in terms of her professional pursuits. Maybe one day, especially in her older age, maybe she would become a counselor of sorts.

In either case, the man finally spoke after observing the entire room again, apparently. Finally, he began to talk to her. Terrorist betterment program? She perked a brow, her first impression of the man quickly going down the metaphorical toilet. There were no issues here, he just was a weirdo.

"The Mandalorian Empire and her clans are doing swell, economically and military." She didn't really trust the man, and why should she? Coming into a government building and talking about terrorists - even if it was some sick joke about the Mandalorians, was disheartening. "There is a place for all here, not just bombers and swordsmen or whatever," she muttered towards the man as she walked back to grab her datapad.

[member="Marvik Dathu"]
 
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