Uprising

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The network that the Shadows ran off of had begun to fall apart. Without a focal point to keep the various contacts strung together, the web was beginning to pull in various different directions; often snapping the thin lines that connected on group to another.

The person of interest was one Count Malesa of Serenno. Her father had been a dutiful member of the network, a Jedi who had long since hung up his cloak and blade for favor of family life. He had promised never to teach his children the ways of the force, and yet there was word his daughter knew of the ethereal powers.

It was considered coincidence that he had died of a stroke shortly after these powers had emerged,

Distressed, Cyril set out aboard his XR-95, a freighter his sister had affectionately named the Mason. Normally Cyril would have gone alone for this sort of thing -- he had often worked alone when it came to matters of the Order's security -- but he'd opted for company today. The man was a knight by the name of [member="Veiere Arenais"]. Cyril had come into his company at the conclave, but he knew little of him personally.

He knew so very few people this day and age.

"Welcome to Serenno," he huffed as the shuttle set down in one of the many hanger bays in the factory town near the countess' manor. "I hope you've a taste for politics and intrigue. You'll not be lacking it here."

 

[WolfMortum]

"Wonderful..." Veiere mused aloud in response, moving alongside the Jedi Master, [member="Cyril Grayson"] as the departed the Freighter and stepped out into the open hangar of Sorenno's spaceport; "Rarely it seems do we ever get the chance to escape it, I'm quickly coming to learn..." He shook his head with a half smile, his hands pulling his cloak around him and away from scuffling his feet in his stride. The matter of Sorenno and of the Malesa family was a genuinely curious one and as the Order had been known recently for its adopting the presence of those questionable in their alignment to the Force, he had requested to come, wishing to ensure and justify the Order's need to be clear on the matter of who they ought to be sharing their knowledge with, and who they ought to be most mindful of.

"These Shadows of yours have acquired this information rather quickly..." he remarked, knowing only little of those that followed in such a path. It had always been one of controversy, Shadows that acted as the vanguard of the Jedi Order, those that worked behind the scenes and did 'what was necessary' to ensure the security and continence of the light, often acting out in what might be considered dangerously close to the lure of the dark side to achieve their goals. They were often considered by the public spotlight as the spies or assassins of the Jedi Order and justified as a necessary evil by many. "Do we know what sort of greeting we are to expect here. I highly doubt the Count will be pleased to see our involvement in her affairs...-I would prefer to minimalism conflict where possible".

 

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A hint of a smile flickered across Cyril's patrician features. He had been formulating a semblance of a plan throughout their entire flight. It was only when Veiere actually asked what it was that the Jedi Master decided upon it. He pulled at the hem of his crimson cloak and gestured toward a lightning emblem threaded into the cloak's epaulets.

"We do not come as Jedi, Veiere," he replied, a hint of amusement lacing his words, "But as counts. I am Saul Tarvin, and you are Veire Tarvin. We run a mining corporation on one of Sorenno's moons. You have heard of Malesa from afar and wish to court her. As your elder brother, I've come to guide you in this endeavor." A quiet laugh escaped his lips. "We do this to gauge who we're dealing with. If she seems to have a pure heart, then one of the Shadows will come to speak with her afterword. If not, then we'll get to the bottom of her father's death."

Cyril stretched a hand out toward his ship. One of the cupboards flew open, and a mass of crimson fabric was flung out toward Veiere. "Wear this. You'll look the part, and remember to be charming. She needs to swoon for you."

[member="Veiere Arenais"]

 

[WolfMortum]

Veiere looked back at [member="Cyril Grayson"] as if he had just offered him a rather sour piece of fruit. There was silence between them for a moment before his head cocked back and he threw a sideways glance of frustration yet also a hint of amusement for the plan that his friend had come up with, "You can't be serious...." He replied, clearly far from eager to take part in the charade. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd been romantically involved with someone, it wasn't the most encouraged thing in the Order both now and before his exile and his time on Alzoc Three had offered little company save from the drunkards of the local tavern and that certainly wasn't his idea of a good time.

He turned sharply to his right as he first heard and then saw the cupboard fling both its doors open and hurl a series of robes and cloaks his way, his eyes closing as they hit him and fell into his arms, his gaze dropping to look at the floor in disbelief of the whole ordeal. "This is a foolish plan..." He exclaimed though more out of mocking his fellow Jedi for thinking up this wild scheme much to his shame than anything, "I'm not even sure I know how to be 'charming' anymore...-This woman's more likely to have her way with me and then tear off my head and eat it like some insectoid, than what luck we might have of actually achieving this ridiculous investigation...-I realize sacrificing for the common good of the people but this is just...-Beyond right..." His voice faded as he wandered off; arguing it in great protest though apparently not enough to offer something in exchange, the old man moved to get changed somewhere where his cussing could not be heard from the others that might sour his image as a Jedi Knight.

Returning after a while, his Jedi robes and tunic folded neatly and carried under one arm, he found [member="Cyril Grayson"] once more and looked to him as if the man had shot his kathound. "By the force, if word of this gets out, I'll brand you as a traitor and have you sent to the nearest prison where they won't feed you for a week..." He sounded nothing alike the words he had chosen, instead speaking through a half smirk and shaking his head in sarcastic disgust of himself. "If this actually works out, you're buying me a blasted drink...".

 

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Cyril may or may not have chosen this method of investigation for the humor of it. What did it matter, really? It would be effective enough. Sure, the young woman who had claimed herself as countess was half Veiere's age, but then she might have had a thing for older men. After all, she clearly had some rather deeply-founded daddy issues if what Cyril suspected was true.

"Quit your bitching," Cyril snickered as Veiere returned in a cloak marking his station. "I've heard she's very beautiful. I couldn't send a padawan for this. They'd end up staying, and I can't do it. I'm involved." A low rumbling laugh found its way past Cyril's lips. Seeing the normally calm and collected Jedi Knight getting so flustered was beyond amusing. He shook his head and began to walk down the length of the hanger toward the exit.

"Come now, brother," he cooed, "You've a lovely young lady who needs someone to help warm her bed. Surely you can oblige?" Another chuckle escaped him. "Yes, I'll buy you a drink. It should help you cope with your sudden lack of testicles. Where've they gone? Only the force knows."

[member="Veiere Arenais"]

 

[WolfMortum]

"Oh grife, how young is this woman exactly, you're going to make me look like one devious old man, this is completely absurd..." He continued to argue the matter, crossing his arms atop the robe made of various silks and weave, the mere feeling of expensive fabrics and fine living far from what a Jedi should want or seek to have. None the less the shuttle had landed and there would no doubt be others awaiting them to greet the new arrivals and the man seeking to court the new countess...-Or was it a count, regardless of being a woman. 'Blast it all, I have a horrible feeling about this' he thought to himself, looking to Cyril a moment before stepping first out of the vessel it would presumably be, the richer one in most prominent stature leading the brother who was there for support and a show of their families so called name. 'Veir Tarvin...' He reminded himself, though it was slightly wrong from what Cyril had initially suggested, he was still too frustrated to pay attention to detail.

As they walked across the hanger floors which reflected the light of the rest of the area, a testament to how often they were maintained, Veiere caught a glimpse of himself and rolled his eyes one last time before they found themselves met half way by their welcoming committee, no doubt a small delegation of important and pompous suitors and servants for the Count Malesa, she of whom was not present, Veiere guessing that they were to be led to her estate.

"Greetings! Masters Tarvin", the first spoke up, a man dressed in similar fasion to Veiere most surprisingly; 'hell I might even fit in after all'. While it sounded like he was greeting only one of them, Veiere glanced back to [member="Cyril Grayson"] and dipped his head, 'Take the lead...' He said through a quick use of Telepathy to the Jedi Master beside him, leaving the others with the impression that he would be 'too important' to speak to his possible competitors for the lady's hand, but rather leave the small talk for his smart arsed brother who had gotten him into this mess to begin with. To the group he offered a simple smile and awaited Cyril to introduce them both, a hint of satisfaction in his presence of the Force, one that Cyril might notice in that Veiere was inwardly amused by forcing him to act in his stead.

 

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Cyril karking hated telepathy.

Sure, it did the job alright. No one knew when someone was talking in any particular person's head, but then it was not a particularly lovely sensation either. He'd never enjoyed having his private thought perused by his Lord Vulcanus as a child, even if it was a simple dip into the telepathic pools of his mind.

It just didn't feel right.

The Jedi Master did his best to hide that displeasure from making it to his visage. To his credit, he managed to retain the look of a snooty nobleman well enough. "Greetings," Cyril replied stiffly. "We've come a long way to get here. I hope the Countess won't keep us waiting."

The servants looked absolutely appalled.

"Oh, never m'lord! The Countess is quite looking forward to meeting the younger Master Tarvin." A hint of giddiness found its way into the servant's voice. Perhaps this had been a source of gossip within the servantfolk.

Without recourse, the servants wheeled about and marched with purpose toward a waiting speeder bus. No doubt they expected the 'Tarvins' to follow.

"She's legal," he hissed under his breath, "Legal on Serenno anyway." A devilish chuckle escaped him as they were led into the back of the bus. Two could play at this game.

[member="Veiere Arenais"]

 

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"Then by all means, brother, have at it..." Veiere threw [member="Cyril Grayson"] a mock glare in response, muttering under his breath between the two as the others led them on ahead. Veiere's interest in the expedition as a whole had been meant for the way in which the Jedi Shadow operated, that he might learn more of Cyril and the means of the members of the Order under him. To avoid courting a woman that he truly held no intention for not anyone for that matter, the game that Cyril had set up still continued to feel like some twisted joke. In all honesty, that's exactly what it was, the ruse itself was not worth the embarrassment of being dragged before a girl young enough to be one of their children. By the Force he truly hoped this was not the case; it was almost unfathomable to imagine...

"How old is this woman exactly...." He asked reluctantly to the Jedi Master beside him, he almost regretted questioning this immediately as he caught a glimpse of Cyril's amusement and found just how much the young Master was enjoying himself.

It was not long before they were welcomed into the local transport, a means of transit from the local spaceport to the City and other various locations such as the Countess' residence. Taking his seat, he looked to the servants around them who seemed to return the stare in questioning regard; it was well too clear that his age was something of a hot topic for the people; never something that anyone wished expressed in such disregard and yet he had to remind himself, the only one he had to thank for this was his mischievous friend sitting beside him. There would come a time where he would be reminded of all of this and it would not suit to please him, Veiere promised himself within, a small smile crossing his expression whilst he shifted his gaze to the window and watched the planet passing them by, hoping for the trip to take as long as humanly possible.

 

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"In her early twenties. Not anything too obscene for a man like yourself," Cyril snickered, a short laugh following his words. He leaned back into the comfortable leather seat and let his thoughts overtake him. This was just one of many errands that needed to be taken care of as quickly as possible. The late count was the Order's only link to the aristocracy on Serenno. If that tie was severed, then keeping watch over this section of space was going to be difficult indeed it.

"Just act natural," he cooed, elbowing [member="Veiere Arenais"] in the shoulder as the speeder came to a halt. Before them was a grand structure of towering spires and majestic landings. Gates twice the height of the speeder blocked their entrance, the portal leading inward shimmered as the panel they had set down upon drifted through it. The sensation of passing through the portal was a fleeting buzzing feeling -- one Cyril wasn't so sure he liked.

"We've arrived m'lords," one of the servants said. The door was opened for them and Cyril was the first to step out, happy to stretch his legs again. Before them stood a young woman of great beauty. She had stark blond hair and piercing green eyes that had far too much intelligence in them for the dolt he'd been lead to believe she was. By way of garments she wore an expensive lavender dress and a golden brooch. All for show, Cyril surmised.

"My lords," she curtsied, "I welcome you to my home." She flashed a dazzling smile at the two, though her gaze came to rest upon Veiere. She held a hand out to the man, as was custom.

[member="Veiere Arenais"]

 

[WolfMortum]

"We are both honored to be here".

Honored and embarrassed.

Veiere Arenais moved to meet the Countess, offering his arm so that she might take it and the group gather to move further into the Estate. Needless to say, this felt to Veiere like arguably one of the most awkward and ridiculous positions he'd found himself in, yet he pursued the facade in the knowledge and need for the investigation. "M'lady, not to begin with things of such a darker manner yet my brother and I were saddened to hear of your recent loss, we wished to offer our condolences and our aid should there be anything that we can do to make ease of such a difficult time for you. This arrangement must surely seem inconveniencing, overshadowed by such a thing...". Everything about this was fake, the manner in which he spoke to the way that he looked to this woman, barely old enough to be considered such and offered his concern knowing that they held ulterior motives in mind. He should have stayed on the Ship.

Turning to spare a glance to [member="Cyril Grayson"], he wondered how long they would be expected to play out this charade. It had just started and already Veiere wanted to be elsewhere; in most cases the Jedi were thought to have their emotions in check and their mind on the objective ahead of them but this was above all else, he didn't take any sense of enjoyment from lying to others, regardless of their potential guilt in the incident.