To Pierce the Dark | Closed

[Eris Volcata]

It was a comfortable café, if a little on the seedier side. The food was decent, the coffee was good, and the owner didn't ask a lot of questions if the right amount of credits changed hands.

Eris was comfortable in places like this. She had to be.

She wore a non-descript grey traveling cloak, its hood obscuring her from the sides and its cowl pulled down to her eyebrows. The older woman was not wanted -- not in this system, at least -- but old habits died hard, and she felt more comfortable incognito. Perhaps she had just forgotten what it was like to sit in a café with her face exposed to the world, without a care in the world. In any event, she had before her a cup of coffee and a plate of fried tubers -- so crispy that they were almost black, and cracked apart when she took a bite. A small dish of catsup sat next to it, occasionally disturbed by a fry.

It was a table for two, tucked into a corner, away from prying eyes. Away from listening ears.

She was alone, but not for long. Eris was used to being alone, but not comfortable. She was looking forward to a little company. Especially in the form of an old friend.

As time ticked away, Eris scrolled through her datapad. She had arrived early to Terminus at her contact's request; somehow her attendance to an upcoming auction had become known to key people, and when the chance to meet had come up, Eris had happily accepted. It was always nice to catch up. See what the old crowd was up to. Live vicariously through the youngsters. Hope that the galaxy would be in safer hands.

That hope was always there.

A waitress appeared in the doorway of the back room, followed by another figure to whom the waitress was pointing out Eris' table. The old woman stood, placing her hands on the table to help herself stand, and leaned in to exchange cheek kisses with the other person. They sat and the waitress took orders -- more coffee and a sandwich for Eris, and water and a bowl of soup for the other -- before leaving them alone.

"You look -- well, the same as ever," said Eris, her voice and smile weathered. "What brings you to Terminus?"

 

[Petra Vitalis]

Petra paid the taxi driver and entered the cafe, finding her way to the back room. The diminutive older woman struggled to stand as Petra approached, and she seemed thinner than usual when the pair embraced. Petra was concerned, but she put on a broad smile when they sat down. She ordered a drink and some light lunch and then settled down in her side of the booth, folding her hands together in front of her on the table. "I heard you'd be here. From Icarus," she explained in response to Eris' question, then in reaction to the older woman's raised eyebrow, she hastily went on: "He didn't ask me to check up on you or anything -- in fact, I've been wanting to get in touch with you for awhile."

She hesitated; Petra had been bumping around First Order space since the government had collapsed, first looking to ensure the safety of her niece and nephew. Luckily, her brother Thad had secured them on Bakura. She had no idea where they were now, but she was sure that they were at least safe and happy, and out of danger of being commandeered by their mother's crazy aunt. That was enough to let Petra off the hook and allowed her to move back to her true calling: revolution.

The collapse of the First Order had come at an opportune time. The worlds left in the wake of the Ssi-Ruuk Imperium's blitz and the First Order's collapse were ripe for independence and self-determination, if only they could be shown the way. But therein was the problem; those best established to democratize those worlds -- the Outer Rim Coalition -- were mortal enemies of the First Order. The Coalition interfering there would only rankle loyalists. Another potentially emerging power, the make-believe empire of Zakuul, lacked all credibility with -- well, everyone -- with a make-believe empress who had shown that when the going got tough, she packed her bags. No, this needed a certain level of finesse, some delicacy.

They needed to do it themselves, but be shown the path.

Petra was putting together contacts for the challenge. A resistance cell on Bakura, a revolutionary militia on Seoul, a clan of freedom fighters on Lanteeb. Not enough, not by a long shot, but it was a start. Another piece of the puzzle might be sitting in front of her now, eating fried tubers. "I've been thinking that you might like to help me on a small project." The waitress returned and delivered the food and drinks. Petra took a sip of her water and raised her eyebrows. "Don't think I haven't been following your exploits. Just because the Mara-Perlemian didn't work out doesn't mean your talents can't be used elsewhere."