The sounds from the cantina below were faint but audible. They made a noisome background for his thoughts, but there would be distractions of a different kind in his apartment. This was acceptable.
He never asked for privacy; it simply happened. Quinn's doing, no doubt. The lieutenant had a healthy respect for Sith, and a reverence for his Master that bordered on worship. As it should be. It might be amusing to watch the man's face if he advised him of an intent to mingle. It wasn't something a Darth did, and so out of character for the Wrath that his underling would assume he was unwell. He had no desire for company, at any rate, and if he did, well… that's what his wives were for, after all.
He picked up his glass and took a moment to admire the wine's color before taking a sip, letting its chill numb his tongue before swallowing. The script continued to scroll across the flimsy plastic printout on the table; he halted it with a touch.
Even with Imperial Intelligence disbanded, he expected more than a page's worth of information about the man he had just met. Files were never destroyed. They were simply layered with security clearances until the bother of obtaining the necessary approvals rendered them impregnable, and then – as people stopped looking for them – forgotten. After Beniko gave him the readout, he went and looked for himself, but this was truly all the Empire had.
"He'll need persuading. He won't come if ordered, not even if the command comes from your own lips, my Lord. Darth Malgus kept him on a tight leash, but was able to control him, after a fashion. He listened to Keeper, if what I've heard is true. Note that I said listened to, not obeyed. He has rooms in Kaas City but spends much of his time aboard an X-70 Phantom that is," she paused, as if searching for the right words, "on loan to him from the Empire."
The woman's briefing left much to be desired. "He abuses his liberties, if he will not obey the will of the Emperor." Her description put him in mind of the Dark Council, the literal embodiment of arrogance and self-importance, which was not a good thing.
Now that he'd met Cipher Nine, he wasn't sure if he should be irate or amused. Despite Lana Beniko's veiled warning, he expected the agent to come to heel when he arrived at his apartment unannounced. Having the Emperor's Wrath at one's doorstep tended to put even the most churlish of the Empire's citizens on their best behavior. Instead, it was just the opposite. The slight, blond-haired man skirted the line of insulting him outright, and seemed to take pleasure in denying him the courtesies due his station as a Pureblood.
He reached for the wine bottle and poured a bit of the pale liquid onto the table, stirring it with a finger. "And I promised him Arkous' blood to paint with," he mused.
"My Lord?"
"Nothing, Lieutenant. I was just thinking aloud."
"If I may, sir. We don't need this rogue to infiltrate-"
"I neither requested nor require your council, Mister Quinn. He's coming. I think I might even like the man. I find his attitude… refreshing. Am I clear?"
Author's Note: The universe belongs to George Lucas, Malavai Quinn, Lana Beniko and Darth Arkous to Bioware, the Emperor's Wrath to a new RP partner of mine and Sandor (the unnamed Imperial Agent) to me. I told my friend he'd have to write the next chapter, but according to him, I already have everything well in hand.
My original intent was to post this as its own individual piece, but when I looked things over, I remembered that I'd already started Sandor's story in Star Wars: The Old Republic and that the current description for "And the Chiss ran away with the Spoon" meshed with the narrative here. There will never be a sequential novel's worth of writing; this is basically my dumping ground for SW:TOR stories as they occur to me.
Sandor and I thank you for taking the time to read his story. If you're so inclined, please feel free to review; a critique is as valued as praise.