RPlog:Garat and Stalh

Alone he sits, sipping at a redenned drink which looks particularily unsavoury indeed.The dim light in the establishment creates a hazy glow on and around his crimson suit. Although he appears to be hunched over and deep in thought, it is evident that he is constantly scanning the room - though for who or what remains as much of a mystery as the drink he quietly sips.

The loud music merges and intertwines with the gaudy, peeling decorations, cigar smoke and seedy atmosphere. This is nothing new to Lieutenant Garat - an officer in the New Republic Navy he is well used to the traditions kept by sailors on shore leave Galaxy wide. After talking briefly with the huge, but dense bouncer he stands at the doorway for a short period, admiring the various women in differing stages of undress. Deciding on the bar, he moves into gloom of the interior.

A slight, knowing smile slips arrogantly onto his lips as he sights the crimson dressed man sitting alone, recognising him from some of the more _rowdy_ rallys outside Government house. This guy is a real piece of work, an ex-Imperial who hates his former masters almost as much as Garat does - and that is saying a lot considering Garat's personal hatred. Moving through the smoke filled gloom Garat arrives beside him, and stands waiting.

Even though the mirror behind the gritty bar is stained and cracked in some places, it still serves its purpose reasonably well, although looking at himself is not what Stalh is using it for at this very moment. Rather the uniform of an approaching soul, a soul unbeknownst to all others in the bar is a soul that is soon to die. Slowly he sviwels on the bar stool as the Lieutenant reaches him. He nods and smiles grimly yet says nothing, rather offering a proferred hand indicating to the empty seat next to him.

Garat takes the seat offered by the crimson man, pairing his short greeting nod with a knowing smile - perhaps indicating that he feels that they are 'like souls', maybe joined in some way by their hatred for the dark, evil monster that mindless slaves to power call the 'new order'. In line with this supposed fratenity he raises two fingers and signals the barman - a four armed alien of unknown extraction. Obviously Garat is a regular here, because the strange alien quickly brings him a drink before turning to wait on the crimson man beside him. Seeing this Garat speaks for the first time, voice cautious, slightly edgy, but friendly enought "Perhaps J'oplan here can fix you a drink"

The Diplomat tilts his head ackowledgingly, a wry smile on his face. "Perhaps," he muses, his voice calm. "But I rather like the colour of this drink for the mean time..." He glances back to the referred drink then back to the Lieutenants spotless uniform, "It reminds me of things I have to do..." His voice trails off into the distance as a boisterous laugh comes from something in the darkened corners of the bar. After a quick peer into the darkness he returns to his companion and continues. "...Reminds me of who has to die." he chuckles softly, yet even though it is soft, there is no denying the fact that a coldness and brutality lie beneath the charming chuckle.

Confusion mixed with a slight amount of shock greets the open reference to death. Although in the military Garat has been confined to what is known in the New Republic as FleetOps. Watching Capital scale turbo-lasers is as deadly as a blaster pistol but it lacks the reality of close quarters death - something new to Garat. Puzzled by the comment he momentarily flicks his eyes from the dancer on the bar in front of him and looks directly at the diplomat "Die? - who has to die?"

The gloved leather hands of the crimson clad man grip the glass tightly, his knuckles sticking out noticeably throughout. His demonic eyes flick over himself via the mirror, then icily they glance over to the man sitting next to him. "Those," he begins, his voice losing its softness and being replaced by acidic tones. "who deserve to..."

Garat obviously is uneasy with the direction this conversation is taking. He has come to this bar for some, cheap (although quick) thrills, a bit of off-duty relaxation. He did not expect a discussion about death, however casting his mind back to recall Stalh's presence at the anti-Imperial rally's it comes to him - Stalh _must_ be planning to kill an Imperial! - perhaps he is prepared to take that step which many in the New Republic are too afraid to do and kill one of those Imperial scum instead of gracefully pretending that the war and the atrocities committed by the Empire do not exist.

Garat keeps his voice low, flicking his eyes from side to side to make sure no- one is peering out of the gloom before whispering conspiratorially "Who... who?"

The chuckles fades away as the diplomat takes another sip of his chosen drink - closing his eyes momentarily as the bite from the alcohol stings in his throat. He lets the burning sensation ride over him, and soon enough it has receeded. His smile returns, a facade only, yet to all others it seems sincere enough. "I hear," he begins, purposely ignoring the man's question, "that you want a certain one-eyed woman dead yourself..." It is not a question per se, just a clarification - a clarification that needs to be made.

A clarification - but for what purpose. Garat is unable to see past his own hatred, and immeadiately intreprets the suggestion that he wants to kill the Imperial ambassador not as a threat but as a coded offer of help, or perhaps common understanding. However despite these feelings, the conversational topic makes him even more nervous, and he proceeds to crane his head to both sides in a vain attempt to cut through the oppressive gloom and see if he is being watched. Although not satisfied that he is alone he turns back to Stalh, head low and voice nervous "It depends what the one-eyed women does"

An insanely evil cackle erupts from the back of Stalh's throat as he reaches out and claps the man next to him on his back. "Rather," he muses, still trying to stop his cackle, "What hasn't she done?" He takes another swipe at his drink, almost draining it this time, though remnants of its crimson fluid still stains the base of the glass. His smile receeds slightly as his hand returns to the bar. He cautiously looks around to webb away the man's fears, listening intently for a response.

To Garat it appears as if Stalh has some problems that need dealing with. But saying that Garat is not going to judge a potentially important ally on the face of a few psychological scars - indeed who is he to talk about such things when his own life is troubled by a pathological hatred of all things Imperial. Deciding that Stalh can be trusted Garat joins him in his cackle, although without understanding Stalhs ammusement his laugh is simply out of politeness. He leans closer to Stalh, shifting his drink with him, nervous still but growing more confident by the moment. With a sneering grin he says "She hasn't knelt before me and begged for me to forgive her and the Empire for their sins"

The Diplomat winks at the man and nods slowly, "Then perhaps," he begins as he too leans in closer, the evil smile and gleam increasing in his eye, "We should bring her to her knees then..." He chuckles once more, his chest heaving up and down with the delightment of his words. He continues in his banter for a moment or two, occasionally glancing at the man next to him through the mirror, studying him almost. "Or," he continues as he still watches the man through the mirror, "we should end her misgivings once and for all?"

Joir furrows his forehead as Stalh talks to the mirror instead of him directly, although as the full implications of what Stalh implies begins to sink in, he too turns his head away. Hiding his face from his apparent partner in crime. Staring down at the bar he chews it over, to kill another person in cold blood, even an Imperial is against everything the New Republic stands for.... but did he join the New Republic to uphold some obscure, unrealistic system of morality and ideals? - or in order to exact revenge? The decision is made easily, his rationality and logic blurred by overwhelming anger, passion and hatred. In reply he repeats the other mans words "Once and for all"