Contract Wheels of Industry (THR)

[Tycho Irogane]

T H E E D
C O N V E N T I O N
C E N T E R

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The convention center buzzed with activity. The Galactic Corporate Conference cast a very wide net, attempting to entice the attendance of high level executives and bureaucrats across an enormous swath of industries from medical supplies to advanced holotech to members of the miltiary industrial complex.

And, of course, raw resources: precious metals and rare minerals.

Tycho Irogane entered the center wearing a sable and or tailored Atrisian suit, with a high collar and dragon motifs embroidered into the tunic beneath the jacket. The shell spider silk looked fashionable enough to the regular eye, but would soak up a blaster bolt from any would-be assassin. Tycho had ensured that through personal testing.

Two-toned blonde and dark bronze hair slicked back, his pale gray eyes surveyed the center with an emotionless pan. The golden-skinned Firrerreo knew that his rivals would be here. It had been a long time since he had been back on Naboo, or anywhere in the nearby systems.

Adjusting a cufflink idly, Tycho pursed his lips. Bacta would be the talk of the day, but he had not come here looking to make deals on bacta. They were all missing the real winnere here: Manaan and Kolto.

Tycho sniffed and strode into the gathering, scanning for familiar faces.

​

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[Makai Dashiell]

THEED CONVENTION CENTER

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : OPEN

Makai had almost missed the event.

A visit to Mahporeem Remnant space had proved haphazard. He was jailed and roughed up a little, the fading bruise under his left eye a testament to something he could have easily brushed off as a fever dream. All because he didn't want to get on an idiotic train.

The Dashiells didn't have the best relationship with Mahporeem but Makai had never regarded the relationship hostile. Icy and terse but he had never felt he was in any real danger until recently.He wasn't sure how to take the entire situation.

If they expected him to be intimidated he wasn't.

Pushing the thoughts of the recent events out of his mind, the half-Galan fixed the button on his navy blue suit as he entered the convention center. Focus was shifting towards what he could capitalize on during times of turmoil in the Republic. Currently that was bacta and to some extent, kolto. The beauty of any operations he typically handled? Well outside Sith territory. His work in the Unknown Regions was slow, but pushing forward.

One of those worlds was an ocean world, perfect for growing the medical crop.

Thirty-Seven was reunited with him, having just came from the aforementioned Unknown Regions project. His droid assistant stayed on his left side, optical sensors searching as they walked deeper into the belly of the beast.

"Thirty-Seven, keep an eye out of any Republic Senators. I'm eager to pitch my idea before the Trade Federation weasels their way in."

[ Understood Sir. ]

If he didn't see any Senators tonight? Well, there was always knocking on their office doors come morning.

 

[Vira Halor]

Vira held a coffee lightly in one hand. Elegant long fingers with immaculately done nails gripping the cup. She didn't know if she'd ever forget that poor barista's face when she'd put in the order. Tycho certainly had specific tastes. A venti iced caramel macchiato with half oat milk half non-fat. Half vanilla, cold foam, extra caramel drizzle, two pumps of hazelnut, one pump toffee nut, cinnamon powder, extra ice, light whippped cream, and escpresso blonde. Aaaand, caramel drizzle around the inside of the cup instead of on top.

Impressive or disgusting.

Vira didn't care.

The Denon representative Fondorian quivering under her amber gaze.

"...of course that is why our family and business need assurances the hyperroutes will not collapse with the expansion of the Sith Order. Did you have that little meeting we agreed upon?"

The Fondorian shifted. "Y-yes Mistress Halor. Terms were set but a little higher than you wanted."

A single auburn brow arched. The one with that small nick from the fencing accident so long ago.

The Fondorian wrung his hands. "But w-we, I'm ss-ure we can come to an arrangement to get closer to your numbers."

"Oh?" Her gaze never waivered. Quietly assessing. Watching that Fondorian.

"I m-mean to say we can meet your offer."

"Very well, Syntack. See to it you do. Send the contract over and we'll have it signed. I won't find any surprises in there, will I?" The question was rhetorical and the Fondrian knew it.

"O-of course not, M'lady."

Vira's arched brow slowly lowered as she turned on her heels and began making her way back toward Tycho. Unhurried pace, steps measured and confident. Fingers lifted to lightly flick auburn waves over one shoulder. Even as she caught a glance of someone who seemed familiar in a fine blue jacket. Did that man have a black eye? Such riff-raff being let into these events lately.

Makai Dashiell Tycho Irogane​

 

[John Locke]

The galaxy span as it ever did, back into a cycle of war and destruction, peace was only ever a temporary stopgap between wars. It was that constant motion, the cycle of war and peace, that moved the galactic market, that drove innovation and creation. It provided the elusive lure of profit that so many corporate officers chased, provided the influence that allowed you to move the galaxy if only you knew the correct location to apply pressure.

It was precisely for that reason that John had decided to visit the convention, to see who else attended, what the conversations were and what goods were put up for sale. Perhaps more importantly what goods weren't put up for sale, what words weren't said.

It was why he had arrived without any fanfare, without the entourage that would normally accompany him to a business meeting. The industrial titan wasn't anything special to look at, a man of average height, beard neatly trimmed and hair pulled back, dressed in a typical dark suit. He could have been any of a million corporate executives the galaxy over, at home in any corporate office or conference room. He didn't skirt the edges of the convention centre, trusting in the anonymity of the crowd as he amble from booth to booth. If you just looked at him you would never guess who he was, what he represented, that was until you looked more closely at the eyes that never stopped moving, or weighing everyone he saw.

Some familiar faces, some unfamiliar, but he didn't need to know them to know their stories, to know who they were. Experience in thousands of conventions like this, more meetings than he could remember had taught him those archetypes, and the stories he saw told him everything he needed to know about the convention attendees. The CEO desperately trying to secure the funding that would allow his company to survive, the confident smirk on a man's lips as he set up his booth, staring at his competition, the people who weilded power like a scalpel, and those hwo use it as a club. The small deals already being made in corners and by booths.

A jigsaw coming together.

The man's eyes glowed turquoise a moment as he shifted some deals and stock purchases, a response to what he saw, as he slid easily through the crowd, zeroing in on a familiar face. Another Dashiell.

"You look like something the cat dragged in. Rough night?"

Makai Dashiell | Tycho Irogane | Vira Halor

 

[Tycho Irogane]

​

Fingers lifted to lightly flick auburn waves over one shoulder.

Tycho Irogane stood in conversation with a pair of Bothans.

“No, I don’t see the upside in purchasing any Thyferran bacta. Stalled production lines, with unverifiable source origination and quality control requirements. Every purchaser asking about poisoned bacta. I mean, we haven’t even discussed the additional costs for PR and crisis management.”

Tycho’s oiled words slid through the conversation with a methodical and vaguely superficial charm. When he noticed Vira he turned and took the caf cup, frowning at her outfit.

“Is that Chandrilan wool?”

“Why, who is your tailor, Irogane?” Asked one of the Bothans.

A toothless smile spread across Tycho’s face and he pinched a sleeve, holding out the fabric for inspection.

“You like it? That’s Shell spider silk. Most manufacturers ruin the silk by overworking the fabric, giving it an unpleasant reflective quality. This is Sakiyan weave. It doesn’t have that. Only two stores in the galaxy. The embroidery is Atrisian. Obviously. Hand sewn. The jacket took eleven weeks.”

“It must have cost a fortune.”

Tycho just laughed, a shallow, hollow noise.

The investor took a sip of the caf. The moment the drink hit his tongue his smile disappeared, as though all expression had been suddenly wiped from his face. His cheeks flushed silver. He turned to Vira.

“You forgot the pumpkin. This is disgusting.”

He walked over to a recycler and tossed it in.

Vira Halor

​

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Tycho Irogane Vira Halor John Locke Makai Dashiell

Lodd stepped out of the washroom, adjusting his heavy sleeves. Hiding in a refresher stall for twenty minutes with a pair of micro-binoculars pressed against a gap in the ventilation panel wasn't the most glamorous tactic, but it worked. He had spent the time scanning the convention center floor, sizing up the early arrivals. So far, the Galactic Corporate Conference guest list looked underwhelming, mostly mid-level bureaucrats, holotech reps, and salesmen hawking raw mineral futures. No one worth making an early appearance for.

He patted down the front of his fine robes, smoothing out the fabric over his stomach, and clicked the small forcefield generator on his belt. The little unit hummed once, casting a faint, barely visible shimmer across his torso before settling down. With a quiet nod, he signaled his security detail. Four Neimoidian guards in full armor fell into formation around him, the lead guard shoving the grand doors open.

Lodd walked out into the main hall, keeping his chin up and his pace rather leisurely. He had designed the entire entrance to project absolute authority. In a room full of suits trying to look important, walking in behind a wall of heavy armor made a clear statement.

The convention center was loud, filled with the hum of holo-displays, background chatter, and the clinking of glasses near the refreshment stands. High-level executives from medical firms and military contractors were clustered near the main floor, arguing over supply chains and sector tariffs. Lodd kept his hands folded loosely in front of him, his red eyes darting across the booths as he moved down the central walkway.

 

[Makai Dashiell]

WHEELS OF INDUSTRY

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : John Locke | Lodd Grimmin | Tycho Irogane | Vira Halor
​

There were quite a bit of 'new money' corporate types in the building today. Many he did not recognize. Given the status of the Republic he wasn't surprised. Many governments were hostile towards business but for the most part the Republic seemed to largely ignore what he did in their borders. Little follow up. No Senators or government officials trying to make a name for themselves breathing down his neck. It had a certain appeal about it.

Making his way in, a comment from someone he was certain was the CEO of Locke and Key Mechanics. Makai had never worked with him, although he was certain his mother-in-law had before. There had been some efforts to get up hyperrings years ago that never materialized. Or maybe they did, it wasn't something he paid much attention to.

Right, the eye. Apparently it had not faded enough.

"Nah, pregnant wife who can't get comfortable. Elbowed me in my sleep."

Easy enough lie, especially if anyone had ever met Myra or by extension, Danger. His ordeal was unusual and he didn't feel comfortable voicing what happened. Beyond that, it wasn't what they were here for today.

"If you see a Senator toss one my way. I have a proposal."

 

[Nerys Ordon]

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CITADEL INDUSTRIAL SYSTEMS

CONVENTION

DAYTIME

NERYS ORDON

CITADEL // EXECUTIVE

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PRIVATE ENGAGEMENT

♫ RAINBOW HIGH — RACHEL ZIEGLER

Nerys swept her cloak from her shoulders and handed it without preamble to the coat check droid. Beneath the cloak her black hair was in a razor-sharp bob at approximately shoulder length, her face was pale with a metallic burgundy lipstick, dark eyeliner, and the traditional aurodium "tears" -- markings not unlike daggers from the center of her gold and black eyes which were customary for women of her class on Shu-Torun while they were mourning.

Mourning. She almost laughed.

Her assistant handed her a datapad and Nerys glanced over it. "I don't like that line," she said, her voice cool and menacing. "They know they're supposed to be making money, don't they? Palpatine's black bones. If refinery aurek is offline again, I'm going to gut that maintenance team and start over. Tell him." She nodded at the datapad.

She entered the convention hall, her assistant hanging back to communicate her orders, and found her seat.

"Now," Nerys said, "What fresh hell will this be?"

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WITH

Tycho Irogane • Makai Dashiell • Vira Halor • Lodd Grimmin • John Locke

CITADEL

ORDON

 

[Vira Halor]

Vira gave Tycho Irogane the patient, long suffering look a mother would give to her eight year-old child who was acting out in public. Knowing discipline would be coming shortly. If her goal had been to embarrass him further, it would’ve been easy. Child’s play.

Too bad that wasn’t her goal.

“He-uh-is very demanding. You poor dear, how do you put up with him?” The closest representative turned to Vira. A snake could recognize a snake, though. Vira’s diplomatic mask was already on.

“Brilliant minds know what they want. What they like. He is very tenacious. It’s a good side to be on for business. I see you’re with the Core Port Division. Would be happy to chat more about business. Give me a call. Vira Halor.”

The bothans and smiled and shook her hand. Exhanging information. All too eager.

One crisis averted.

Auburn brow arched delicately as someone important walked by with four guards. Because that screamed approachable. Amateurs. None of her internal dialogue showed on her face.

Eyes settled on a familiar face. Familiar in the sense she knew it from her research. That near photographic memory she had. The woman was out already?

Color Vira impressed.

Striding toward the mining industry booths, Vira’s amber eyes snapped to Nerys Ordon
“You make mourning look good,” a nod. “Sorry for your loss.” Hard to say if Vira really was. The tone would be questioned, later.

“I represent a company you might be interested in. If you’d ever like to chat, give me a call. Have you heard of Tycho Irogane ?”


John Locke Tycho Irogane Makai Dashiell Lodd Grimmin Nerys Ordon