If the Works were in any way home to anyone save for the prisoner and infestation within, anyone on even the above floors were distinctly hear the bloodcurling screams from the basements levels. Rats scurried away in fright from the roars of pain, excrutiated from flashes of blue reflecting from the walls and leaking through cracks to where the vermin resided. From within the damp room, the majority of which darkened not just by the lack of light, but the suffocating presence of the Dark Side, a Sith Lord plays around with his pet.

And was getting terribly dissatisfied by the lack of tricks said pet used.

"For...Forgive...M- ARGH!" Another arc of lightning was the response to the pitiful begging, shocking the brute to his core, literally. "I meant... Mean no disre... Master!"

Only for a brief moment, did Sidious relent, glancing down at his toy with little amusement. "A Sith never begs for forgiveness, nor mercy, my young pupil. In time, you will learn as much."

"Y-Yes... My Mast- AHHH!"

"Speak only when it is necessary, apprentice."

Apprentice. Sidious spat that last word as though it were venom. This lowly excuse for a being hardly deserved the title alone. But with his options sparse at the moment, he would have to make do. Sidious was nothing if not adaptable. Like the Sith from the Rule of Two before him, he can comprimise, with Dooku no longer the suitable placeholder for his plans. The Force had guided him to Dathomir, a few years ago, to find someone at least considering for his designs until he found the most perfect apprentice.

Maul had failed him. And it seems this Zabrak was no better. The name 'Savage' seemed rather ironic concerning this lowly creature.

The yellow brute attempted yet again to speak, to endure the pain as taught since his arrival into the Works. With a sneer at such pathetic display, the Sith Lord allowed another temporary moment of respite, his cold tone echoing through the walls of the empty metallic structure. "Remember, your life, and will belongs to me, until I find you no longer useful for my designs. You swore an oath, and through my guidance, I shall grant you power beyond imagination, to crush all who oppose us... If you earn it."

Breathing heavily, it took strength for Savage to even lift his head up to meet his Master's disapassionate gaze, hissing through clenched smoking teeth. "I... Will prove myself... To you..."

Sidious clicked his tongue. "We shall see." Emphasized by further, unforgiving bolts coursing through the Zabrak's body. Pathetic, the way Savage was worming around on the ground through the pain, Maul had no such issues; even as a child, he endured through the pain with more dignity than this man.

But the Sith supposed it wasn't unexpected; Maul was trained from birth to be a Sith, he had no excuse... Nor any excuse for his death on Naboo. Once again, Dooku proves to be a terrible headache for the true Sith Lord.

With that, the lightning ceased, the Zabrak slowly craning his pained head to observe his Master take a few steps back, voice as icy as the wind. "Pick up your weapon, slave. It is time we continue with your training in Form V's capabilities."

Savage would never prove himself a true Sith Lord, scarcely worthy of the title alone, but at least Sidious can make an amusing instrument out of him.

Within a rather lit room, light shining through the glass-stained windows to a beautiful yello sky of Serenno, a blazing light of green swung and hummed, wielded by the Padawan proven worthy of utilizing such a weapon by her Master long ago. An intense look of pure concentration, the Force guiding the young Dathomirian's movements and blade as she whirled and jumped around the training room, keeping Master Narec's wise words in mind in the midst of her practices.

With him preoccupied by Mas- Count Dooku's politics, the Jedi Master had instructed Asajj to continue honing her skills in the meantime, stating these matters were far too delicate for her to handle, unlike the rather blunt methods used back of Rattatak.

Surprisingly, Asajj found herself missing that planet. Despite pushing for violence being unorthodox of a Jedi, the thrill of battle was more exciting and challenging than committing day in and day out in a simple training room, with few partners to spar against. Master Sifo-Dyas had often assisted indulging her needs, and the Padawan was excited to face a new training partner. Fun as her Master was, a change wasn't always unwelcomed now and again.

She couldn't imagine the Count accepting nor offering a duel. And Asajj didn't want to even consider twice that crazy darksider in the medbay, still recovering from her influences by the cult Bando Gora, although she did have the Padawan's sympathies for it-

"Your footing lacks focus."

The sudden sharp tongue had the Dathomirian stumble, pausing from her training to spot with wide eyes at the Count standing by the doorway. Tall, impassive with folded arms, the former Jedi regarded the Dathomirian with a stern raised brow, and Asajj felt herself flustered by the clear judging glare. She was too focused on her thoughts that she didn't sense him coming in! Her Master would've reprimind her right now.

The Count, however, decided to do the job for her absent teacher, albeit more abrasively. "Your concentration on your own movements is appalling. Your legs need to be wider apart with Ataru. The mixture with Djem So is sloppy, and unrefined. The markings of a brute who fails to value the beauty in skill."

Asajj felt herself flinch, knowing the Count well enough by now to know he was disappointed by the display. Her Master explained that, as a Jedi, Dooku was a if not the master of lightsaber combat; perfecting every style and technique there was to offer, and was fearless in repiminding others for showing a terrible display of their practices, including Younglings. This was the first time the Count had witnessed her own training with the saber, and it was a clear poor impression.

"Come." Huh? The Padawan cautious glanced back up after staring at the floor by the lecture, following the Count's movement to the other side of the ring, and widening her arms at the detached cape falling to the ground. The former Jedi smirked at the surprised look, unclipping his own curved hilt from his belt and, without even activating it, motioned to the Dathomirian. "Your Master taught you only how to expect the obvious. I will rectify that."

He was true to his word. The following hour contained if not beating on Asajj's behalf; utilization of Ataru, Djem So and Niman proving no effort against the elegant swordplay by the esteemed Count. Asajj found herself frustrated by the lack of effective Form V was suppose to be having against II, inciting Dooku to bark at her that focusing on one primary weakness alone with have you underestimate the opponent a great deal, and will cost you. To emphasize that point, Dooku showed no mercy with their spars. He was relentless!

And yet, Asajj found the experience rather enjoyable. While she was losing, she was learning. Master Narec often preached that making a mistake isn't something to find shameful, but used to keep you on your feet and learn new things from it. And that's what Master Dooku was doing, she eventually realized midswing, locking her green blade with his red own, he was correcting her errors with a silver tongue and aggressive swordplay.

It was all a lesson.

After a short distance from each other, recovering when using that oppotunity, Asajj panted quite heavily, the Count working her to the bone. She would gave in to the taunting gesture of the impassive man's blade, had a cough not broken through their midst of her concentration, inciting both competitors to look over to the Jedi Master observing the events with a steely expression.

"I think that will be quite enough for today." Dooku commented casually as Asajj bowed to her Master, deactivating her blade like the Count. Hearing movement, the Padawan looked back from Master Narec to the Count who approached her. He expressed the results of the training smoothly, "You have exceptional skill child. In time, you will become a great... Jedi, like your Master before you."

There was soemthing off about the way he said 'Jedi.' Regardless, Asajj smiled at the praise, bowing her head humbly, for to be complimented by Count Dooku, with the way her Master had described him and how ruthless he was just then, must be a high honour one should take with the utmost of modesty. "Thank you, Master- Count Dooku." To her relief, he only expressed a small smile at the slip-up, looking merely amused. "I am honoured to have sparred with a legend of a lightsaber duelist."

"Pride is uncoming of you, and shouldn't be encouraged, Padawan." Master Narec made no hesitation to correct his student, but nodded upon apporach to the two. "But the Count is correct, you did well to have survived his wrath thus far. Go get some rest, Asajj, we shall resume with meditation back in our quarters. I must speak with the Count here first."

The Padawan nodded, bowing once again to both teachers respectfully, and made to depart. Suddenly, things were looking up. Maybe the Count who uses the Dark Side wasn't so bad after all... Rather him than that Vosa woman.

Ky waitied until his Padawan was out of sight, before addressing the Count with precise bluntness. "You shoudln't fuel her pride like that."

Dooku scoffed, baritone voice echoing questioning amusement. "And I here I thought you weren't so quick to judge yourself, Master Narec. I merely gave her the encouragement to imporve herself." Brown eyes met against pale green. "I would've thought trust would have finally been expressed between us. Am I mistaken?"

The Jedi frowned heavily. "That is something you have yet to earn completely, Count. I trust in your inentions to rid of this Sith disease plauging the Republic, but what you intend for afterwards remains to be seen. I agreed to work with you against Sidious for the name of the Republic, the Jedi and the galaxy at large. But, with the Dark Side strong in you Count, you must excuse me for remaining cautious around you still." Arms folded sternly. "Especially when you're alone with my own pupil."

Because, when observing their duel, albeit very impressive to witness, Ky detected something from the old man he wasn't certain he liked; a trace of fondness and guilt before coated by the shadows. There was some kind of connection between Asajj and Dooku which Ky could not decipher. For now, he will keep that knowledge to himself - perhaps share it with Sifo-Dyas if needs must - until the timing is right.

Dooku inclined his head, yet nodded regardless. "Yes, the Jedi have always been trained to reject the darkness, not understand it." Ky opened his mouth to rebuttal the criticizing tone, but the ex-Jedi cut him off, "But I understand your concerns, Master Jedi, in different positions I would have expressed the same feelings. Rest assured, I hold no ill intentions towards your Padawan, but to combat against a Sith Lord, we must allow no room for leniency."

"I believe Asajj is doing well enough already without the Order's former greatest swordmaster instilling his abrasive policies onto her."

Dooku raised a brow, but hardly looked offended, Over the years of cooperating together, Ky wondered if the man could ever feel affronted about anything. "Sometimes, being firm is what is needed for effective results, Master Narec."

Ky sighed, relenting slightly. "I don't disagree, Count." Before pale greens locked onto the doorway his apprentice had just departed from. "I fear for my pupil, believe it or not. Raising and training her on warring world like Rattatak has tested her patience and discipline. Sometimes, I wonder if attempign to make her a Jedi as an overall sound idea or not."

He didn't even know why he was telling a darksider any of this. But the Force willed him to confide in this man, as if assuring him that the former Jedi could actually help his student as oppose to potentially do more harm than good. Ky wasn't afraid to admit he was deeply concerned for his student, the Jedi doctrine regarding such emotions relevant or not. Teaching her all those years has developed an attachment between the two the Jedi would frown upon; For Ky, he saw Asajj as more as a pupil.

But a daughter as well.

And, as if Dooku had picked up on the emotions, the Count responded knowingly, "Are you proud of your pupil, Master Narec?"

In a heartbeat, Ky answered, "Undoubtedly."

And the Count smiled. "Then I see no issue. We are not perfect beings, our expectations are often too high for us to fulfill. But you have trained Asajj to be a protector of the peace in contrast to the warriors of Rattatak who destroyed the peace." That said, the elder man clasped a hand on Ky's shoulder, prompting Ky to turn to the smirking Sith knowingly. "She will become a worthy Jedi."

It almost sounded like a vow, and Ky was uncertain whether or not to accept the compliment from a darksider of all people. But, having gotten acqauinted with Dooku for a couple of years, he recognized sincerity from the Count when he saw it.

That said, Ky only nodded. "Yes, she will be."

"And that will teach you not to mess with Jedi affairs, scum."

The lowly bounty hunter made no response, nor movement. Nor will he be doing any of the sort for a while; head limp with a leant back posture after the Jedi Master who bested him was finished dealing with his worthless existence. Dusting off his fours limbs in satisfaction, the Jedi idly glanced to both sides of the alleyway, hearing out for noises of anyone who heard the scuffle and decided to investigate.

No one. Good, there weren't any needed complications.

His business here concluded, Jedi Master Pong Krell departed from the black alleyway and into the night streets of the town, leaving that scum to rot for all he cared. The Council will thank him for the interrogation later. The bulk Besalisk had no time for peaceful comprimises this time; the missions was of utmost importance, and time was short. The streets were rather still tonight, which meant far less traffic and distractions for the Jedi.

If the Republic's misgivings were correct, the could be no afforded liniency. Anaxes, a Core World and one of the founding fathers of the Galactic Republic, was recently rumoured to have begun trailing towards seccession. If that was the case, then the Jedi must act swiftly to stop one of the Republic's founding worlds from making that foolhardy decision. The Council dispatched Krell merely to investigate these rumours and report back once they were proven authentic or not.

But Krell knew better. Action spoke louder than words, and this Jedi was no stranger to the former. If only inspecting the government and all the seedy underdealings beneath the rather prideful atmosphere of Anaxes was the intention, that would only give them more time to consider leaving the Republic all the more.

That couldn't be allowed to happen.

Thankfully, the Jedi Council made the wise decision sending Krell here. The wisest they've ever said, he dared to think. He could put those in charge of this system in their place; remind them of their importance to the Republic, and display the consequences for deciding otherwise. Anaxes was vital and essential for holding the prime navy fleet, although not nearly as much as it use to be for a thusand years of peace, in contrast to wars of long past. Without their supplies, the Republic would be more defenseless than ever. And, with the looming darkness Krell and his breathren have felt for years now, they needed all the help they can get.

Whether the government of this world was willing to agree or not.

Now, thanks to that previous alone time with the scum resting in the alleyway, Krell had a lead to some political bribery. Even those loyal to the Republic weren't above such petty motivations. It made the Besalisk sick. With the directions his 'friend' generously provided, the Jedi Master was on his way to an upcoming business deal which would be one step to lead him towards the entire ring of crinimal contacts Anaxes' government was having dealings with.

At least, he would've, if Krell wasn't yet given another distraction. A staff of two green blades sprung to life in rapid succession, batting off the incoming blasters bolts with a flawless spin. His would-be assassin had stopped firing in turn, yet Krell could not view him in the dark night, the street lights being of no help to him.

The Besalisk snarled. "Show yourself!" His mighty voice boomed, body warily turning with one saberstaff at the ready, the other still on his belt. If it was a mere assassin, he needn't bother igniting his other blades. The lightsaber spun menacingly, sending a message that whoever this fool was, he picked the worst fight with a Jedi he could imagine.

But that didn't stop the fool from trying again, striking from the dark. Krell's senses, along with the incoming sensation of heat, had the Besalisk quickly roll out of the way from the inferno, landing on one knee and glaring upwards to the shadowy assassin having fired off that flamethrower, attempting to retreat.

"Oh no you don't!" With the Force at his command, the Besalisk pulled forward with one of his free four hands, and the attacker was hurled in his direction. Krell's triumphant grin was interrupted once the large, bulky assassin got too close and delivered a swift metallic headbutt against the Besalisk, causing Krell to cry out in surprised pain and stumbling backwards. In retaliation, a swift spin which destroyed the two blasters held in his attacker's arm.

And a lightsaber through the armoured stomach, and the Jedi got a good look at his attacker face-to-face.

The man was tall, even larger than the Besalisk who opposed him. Coated in silver armour with purple markings by the chest and torso trailing downwards, and a helmet which would incite fear in weaklings. Krell had to respect the intimidating display; a shame it hardly saved this fool from daring to strike against a Jedi. His better.

Wait... Why hasn't his opponent fallen-?

The Besalisk was then greeted by a flurry of swift gloved punches from his should-be-dead foe, relentlessly pushed back and eventually forced to retreat for a brief moment. And Krell watched with unmasked surprise at the still-activated blade being plunged out of the attacker by his own grip, the armoured man inspecting the saberstaff for a moment before wielding it over his shoulder, and, like a lance, hurled towards the Besalisk with impressive aim.

Although Krell caught it with ease. His eyes stayed on the hole made by his saber for a brief moment, before grinning sadistically at the assassin. "No matter. I can cut you into a million pieces if need be." The assassin - which he assumed was a bounty hunter by this point - made no response, simply making a body gesture that told Krell to bring it. "So be it!" With the activation of his second saberstaff, blades of green and blue slicing the air, Krell let out a war cry and charged, intending to finish this and proceed with his business quickly.

The opponent came prepared, howevers. Blue and green lightsabers found themselves opposed by small custom red deflector shield on the armoured foe's wrists, proceeding to block against the relentless barrage of saber assaults. Krell simply grunted, deeming this stalling an inconvinience at best. It was only a matter of time - his foe's defenses were well-prepared, but poor against the might of a Jedi Master - before a whirl caught the opponent off-guard, a saber slicing through the shield and promptly cut off one of the man's armoured arms.

And revealing the purple and pink tentacles and skin bubbling beneath.

A Gen'Dai. Krell thought in epiphany, pushing the foe back with a swift kick to the chest. The regenerative man examined his sliced limb with seeming indifference, but Krell felt the flicker of annoyance from his foe. The species were legendary by thier stubborness over their refusal to die; lacking any bones and having an absurd regenerative structure, the Gen'Dai could heal from any inflicted wound without fail. But the process takes time, depending on the injuries in question.

No matter. Krell would simply have to slice this man apart until there was nothing left. Then he could continue on with business as usual-

Suddenly, he found his oxygen cut off by something slimy and reaching, grabbing his neck from behind before followed by his saber arms, locking them in and forcing the gasping Besalisk to drop his weapons. Krell, attempting to pull off the tentacles keeping his other arms and neck at bay, realized with ill-diguised horror at the source of the sneak attack.

The other arm he cut off earlier! He had forgotten about it, and his foe used that to his advantage!

The Gen'Dai simply stared at him, but the choking Krell sensed the smugness radiate off him, imagining the smirk on the foe's hidious face. Baring his teeth angrily, Krell will not be defeated in this humuliating manner. The Besalisk reached down to grab his fallen sabers with his free hands-

Before a chained sticks with spikes attached smashed into his forehead quicker than he could react, and all went black.

On another Core World, a Besalisk was serving some favourite customers of his their meals. In contrast to the brutish Jedi, Dexter was far more open and friendly, telling his diners to enjoy their food before resuming his duties in the kitchen. Qui-Gon smiled politely at his old friend, before his solemn gaze returned fixed on Anakin. The boy had yet to speak since the report to the Council, only regarding his food in silent indifference.

But even a non-Jedi could pick up on the torrent of emotions swirling through the boy's soul. That attack the other night has affected his Padawan more than he realized. Qui-Gon waited, and waited, for the boy to do or say anything from his side of the table, with little results. When nothing was responded, the Jedi Master sighed, finally choosing to begin first.

"I hope you aren't intending to leave this food to waste. Dexter made some of the best food in the galaxy." Anakin said nothing, but there was a reaction. The young Padawan slowly lifted a utensil and began consumption of his own meal, keeping quiet still. Qui-Gon raised a soft brow, but nodded. It was a start.

The report to the Council was less than desired, but still very enlightening. Somehow, the man who attempted to asassinate the Supreme Chancellor learnt about the Jedi investigating him in the underworld, and attempted to kill them as well. Qui-Gon was rather disappointed they couldn't apprehend the assassin, but moreso relieved that Anakin wasn't hurt during the entire chase, only wounded with his pride.

A trait of his Qui-Gon often lectured the boy about, and tried to soothe that emotion unbecoming of a Jedi.

The most notable thing about this mission, however, was the fact that Sifo-Dyas had yet to turn up at all at the temple since the attack. The Council had only recieved a message from an unknown contact over Qui-Gon and Anakin's pursuit towards the assassin during then, but nothing else. Which confirmed that whatever the Jedi Master was up to, he didn't want the Council to learn of it.

Unfortunately, Sifo-Dyas disappeared along with their other target shortly after, which did nothing to quail the guilt bubbling through his Padawan's emotions. Qui-Gon stared down at his pupil patiently, bu the boy tried not to pay attention to the waiting gaze, grimacing but eating his meal regardless.

"Anakin, look at me." It was a stern command, but not any less affectionate. The Padawan flinched, recognizing the tone, and hesitantly but obeditently raising his head to meet the softened gaze. Leaning forward against the table, Qui-Gon continued, trying to make his point clear, "What happened last night wasn't your fault. You tried your best to apprehend the assilant, I'm more happy you're okay than anything."

At that, Anakin stared down at his food again, keeping silent.

Qui-Gon sighed again, this time choosing to lean back against his seat, folding his arms whilst straightening himself. "No one but yourself blames you, Anakin. If anything, I am as equally to blame if not more for failing to help you in time."

That got a more reactive response. The Padawan's head snapped up in shock and protest. "Master, it isn't your fault! I couldn't catch the assassin, and he got away with my lightsaber! If I had been quicker, better-!"

Qui-Gon raised a hand, the vocal objections raising heads their way, and the pupil instantly quieted at the gesture. Through their bond, the Master sent soothing waves towards his pupil, and that managed to have at least some effect in preventing any further yells of guilt. "How often have I preached to you that no one is perfection incarnate, Padawan? That even the Jedi aren't beyond triumphant all the time?" Anakin said nothing, prompting the teacher to continue knowingly, "I appreciate how highly you view me, so let me express in turn how proud and happy I am to have always been your teacher. And what occurred last night will not change that. Nothing will."

"It should've..." Anakin mumbled reluctantly, loud enough for Qui-Gon to hear.

The Jedi Master only smiled lightly. "As always, you assume the worst of things." The statement was anything but scolding. Without any hesitation, no room for shame, the Master reached out and fondly ruffled the Padawan's blonde hair, which was beginning to show streaks of brown, and not even Anakin couldn't let out a tiny smile at the proof to his mentor's words. "We will apprehend out attacker and retrieve your lightsaber back. If not... Well, Ilum exists for a reason."

Anakin looked complete mollified in contrast to Qui-Gon's shrug. "But I don't want a new one Master! That was my first lightsaber! A lightsaber is a Jedi's life, you said so yourself."

"I say a lot of things Padawan."

"Master!"

"Now continue eating your meal. Dexter would appreciate the enjoyment out of it."

Anakin pouted as his Master proceeded to dine on his own delicious food without any further room ofr arguement, but internally the man found the reaction endearing, silently pleased with the results as Anakin's spirits were lifted somewhat, the apprentice now consuming his own meal mor elight-heartedly now.

All was well. At least, for a brief moment of content.

Before a familiar presence walked through the doorway which incited Qui-Gon to swerve his head around, two oblivious presences entering Dexter's Diner. One examined the place with open curiosity, motioned to the interior. "I must say, your descriptions of the place is quite accurate my friend. I hope the food is as good in turn as you have also claimed."

"Rest assured, Chancellor, I have yet to disappoint you. Why start now?"

"Is that Master Kenobi... With Chancellor Palpatine?" Anakin whispered in awe. Qui-Gon only nodded, mixed feelings of the two men entering the diner with pleasant expressions and ringing curious alarm bells in his mind.

"Stay right there Anakin." The Padawan only nodded, still observing the two in wonder. Standing up, Qui-Gon made his way over to the two, who have yet to have noticed his presence, still conversing to each other.

"Tell me, does this establishment serve Corellian Wine?"

"Regrettably not, Chancellor, and I wouldn't recommend asking the owner to try and make some."

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, swallowing that feeling of wrongness at the two spekaing like casual friends and less of a professional relationship. "Obi-Wan. Chancellor." And promptly bowed formally once the politician turned to him in pleasant surprise, whereas Obi-Wan stiffened, as though having not noticed Qui-Gon was here. Had he not sensed him?

"Master Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan nodded formally, but his eyes remained only on her former Master for but a brief few seconds, looking at anywhere else but him.

"Master Jinn!" Palpatine greeted brightly with widened arms. "A pleasure to see one of the saviours of my world once again. Master Kenobi just mentioned how you and he use to dine here ocassionally as master and student. And here you are!" Qui-Gon only nodded, and the politician's attention then looked over the man's broad shoulder. "And why, am I to assume that young Padawan over there is the famous young Skywalker I've been hearing much of?"

A pang of unpleasant emotion at the very idea of him knowing about Anakin sprung through Qui-Gon, but he repressed the reaction down, only nodding stiffly and shifting himself to cover Palpatine's open view of his pupil. "You've been well, Chancellor, since the attack?"

Palpatine waved off the question, motioning to a few red-armoured guards standing outside the diner professionally. "Yes yes fine enough. You must forgive me Master Jedi, but so many have expressed as much similar concerns I begin to grow weary of it. It took a lot of persuasion on my personal guard to convince them to allow me accompany Obi-Wan to this preferred diner he has mentioned so fondly of." Said Jedi Knight was still refusing to meet Qui-Gon's knowing gaze.

The Master folded his arms through his robe's sleeves, taking note that Palpatine addressed his previous student on a first-name basis. "I suspect then that Obi-Wan here has also told you of Anakin?" Obi-Wan ignored the side-glance.

Palpatine nodded merrily, oblivious to the silent observations. "Indeed. Oh, and speaking of which, it is a pleasure to meet you young Skywalker." Qui-Gon snapped his head down at the young Padawan standing beside him, looking up at the Supreme Chancellor in ill-concealed awe. "I have heard much of your exploits."

"You have?" Before common sense returned to him, and the Padawan bowed humbly, reciting what was taught to him back at the temple. "It's an honour to meet you, Chancellor. I'm sorry that we have yet to capture your would-be assassin as of yet."

Before Qui-Gon could reprimind the boy for that, Palpatine chuckled warmly, waving off the apology. "Unnecessary, my boy. I am grateful enough for the Jedi's ambition to apprehend my assilant." He grinned down at the smiling teen. "In any case, I am indebted already to the role you played on my homeworld years ago. You are a brave, young man."

Anakin grinned at the praise, and Qui-Gon cleared his throat before the politician could mess with Anakin's pride any further. "I hope your visit from your bsy schedule to here will be worth the trip, Chancellor. My former Padawan was right in taking you here." Even to himself, the words sounded forced and ill-disguised.

"We should all eat together!" Anakin then announced, looking between the three adults expectantly. "We can tell you about how Master Qui-Gon and I almost captured the assassin last night."

Immediately, both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan interjected to that idea, for for different reasons, the former pained to suspect.

"I'm certain the Chancellor would rather eat with Master Kenobi alone-"

"You seem to already have your own meals on the table-"

"A splendid idea child!" Palpatine's overly enthusiasm broke through their protests, following after the beaming young boy. "I do love a good story from time to time. Come Obi-Wan, we shall dine with your fellow Jedi."

Reluctantly, both adult Jedi trailed after them, exchangling only a silent agreement that this was too awkward and exhausting for either of them. And Qui-Gon, justifiably wary of Palpatine's intent, wasn't entirely eager for any excuse towards further interaction between the Chancellor and Anakin.

At the very least, Qui-Gon had some inward amusement out of Dex greeting them later and introducing the stunned Chancellor to his infamous welcoming embrace.

In the Coruscant underworld, other meetings were afoot.

"The Jedi is dead, my Lord, as you have instructed."

The fight beneath the hood nodded, the holographic call only revealing a pointy beard. "You have done well Durge. Your credits will be despositied immediately. But don't believe yourself out of my interests just yet; there is still much I have planned for you."

The Gen'Dai chuckled, the metallic helmet making it sound raspy and more sinister than needed. The call to the man paying him was held within a private booth, in a seedy cantina reserved typically for the greatest of scum and villainy. No would dare approach Durge's booth without good reason.

"May I knew when precisely you require my services once again?"

"You will know."

And with that, the transmission was concluded, leaving the Gen'Dai only with his silent table and untouched drink. Durge only leaned back for a moment, smiling behind the menacing helmet. Hey, whatever involves him killing high targets like Jedi, he wasn't complaining. The infamous bounty hunter couldn't help but feel that whatever this 'Lord Tyranus' character had planned for him, it will be life-changing.

Removing his helmet, the Gen'Dai gulped down his drink in triumph, toasting to himself a job well done and deserved.

Meanwhile, opposite of the cantina within his own private booth, another hunter was enjoying himself, though with a female Theelin and Zeltrax sat on his laps, caressing his muscular features whilst he stoically sipped his strong beverage. It was only for a moment before a voice from behind the booth interrupted his pleasure.

The bartender, a Rodian, spoke in his native tongue, "Pardon me, sir, you have a private transmission. Your eyes only."

Rolling his eyes, the tall bounty hunter nodded, sending off two disappointed lap dancers before swiftly reaching, grabbing the Rodian by the collar and saying with rough softness, "Interrupt my private time like that, then it won't just be crinimals this Mandolorian hunts." Gulping, the Rodian nodded obediently, hurrying back to his work station after being released.

Indifferently, the hunter activated the holo-transmission on the table, and raised an unimpressed brow at the cloaked figure, features completely obscure. It was only when he spoke when the man felt a shiver down his spine.

"Montross." The figure greeted coldly, voice as raspy as a drunken Neimoidian. "I have a propisition for you..."