Grim Dashade
Ukatis System, Ukatis
House Nyvlt Manor, Study
House Nyvlt Manor, Study
Gallas von Nyvlt was recently inaugurated into his house's leadership, or so it had been told to Jogon. He looked young and dashing. The model aristocrat. But behind his shining green eyes burned ruthless ambition and an unabashed lust for power. Again, the model aristocrat. What was less on-model was the fact that he was in a panicked rage.
"I told you to make sure you weren't followed," he raved, making fists with his delicate hands and shaking them furiously, "What the fuck is she doing here? And at this hour?"
Crude words sounded alien in Gallas' lilting voice. Like a huttese. A consummate professional, Jogon refrained from laughing at him and shrugged his shoulders.
He'd arrived late in the evening. They had enjoyed dinner – a hearty vegetable soup – and had come now to the office to talk business. The sky outside the study's towering window was dark, with only a few primitive candles for lighting.
Even the wealthy ukatians had the most fascinating attachment to living like provincials out of contact with the rest of the galaxy. If it had been borne of anything other than mindless traditionalism, it would have been quaint. Respectable, even.
"Could be a coincidence."
Gallas nearly shrieked at him. "A coincidence? She'll ruin everything! If she knows…"
The new Lord von Nyvlt trailed off, having quickly arrived at the conclusion that if Corazona did already know about his suspiciously disappearing peasants, it would be his fault. Not Jogon's. He pursed his lips.
"I'll take care of it," Jogon told him. It wasn't a big deal. Not to him, anyway. "Let her in."
"Bring her? In here? And then what?"
Jogon took a few heavy steps towards Gallas' desk and held the young lord's gaze. "You're a talker. Talk."
Gallas blinked. His mouth squirmed to find some words. "T- talk?"
"To her," Jogon nodded slowly, sage-like in his overwhelming wisdom. He didn't blink.
Gallas didn't understand, but he did comply. There was a young, sallow footman waiting in the doorway watching this exchange nervously. Gallas ordered him to bring the visiting Jedi straight to his study, and the footman scurried off to do just that.
Jogon lumbered over to one of the bookshelves that lined the study and posted up there, arms folded across his chest. Gallas smoothed his perfectly coifed hair and prepared to receive the Jedi.
This ought to be good.