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| - Finally, J'Eeves had done as instructed! The man who walks through the doors to this fine establishment looks completely at home. Looking around, he rubs his hands together with giddy anticipation, his gaze moving fondly over each forma-couch, every table, and all the exquisite holoprojected scenes. "J'Eeves!" he calls over his shoulder, striding toward the maitre'd's station, "you have certainly outdone yourself this time!" It is certainly a locale fit for a king. Or, what's more, for Smitherbodkins himself. He reaches the station, sweeping his hat grandly off his head and bowing to the maitre'd. "Good evening, my good man! I wish to dine tonight at this fine establishment. Please be so good as to procure me a table." Looking over his shoulder once more, he says, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone, "Hurry, J'Eeves. I am famished." J'Eeves' stubby legs carry him hurriedly up the steps into Rauthen's in the wake of his long-legged master. Not only is he at a height disadvantage, but the Kubaz is loaded down with a box which, while only full of papers, was full of lots of them, rendering it rather heavy. He huffs and puffs as he steps into the restaurant, managing a, "Sorry, Lord Smitherbodkins," in between breaths. The maitre'd eyes the Kubaz warily before asking, "Yes, of course. Table for two?" J'Eeves looks a little horrified at this question. Dining with the master would be most inappropriate for a lowly valet. The opera orbs plays beautiful Adagio. Colors swirl to each beat of the soft and sadly sweet music. Old money rubs should shoulders with nobles in exile, each dancing along with the music with beautiful words and insincere, sincere, smiles. The new money tries to mingle with the established, proclaiming their love for things they feel the "Ancients" would find pleasent. Instead they find it a source of amusment. The nobles in exile crowd around each other proclaiming the dignity of these newly rich, hoping to marry themselves off to gain some of the wealth the wars had taken from them. As the gentleman arrive they are greeting by an lean older human with a long white jacket. He bows gracefully to each of them as they enter. "Good evening gentlemen. I am Micar. Allow me to seat you." He places two jade green menus under his arm as he directs you to the platform. "Splendid, splendid!" A hearty chuckle escapes Smitherbodkins' lips, as he begins following the man purposefully. It seemed so long since lunch, though surely it had only been a few hours. It was hungry work, planning the event of the decade. Though he is not hungry enough to miss every inch of the grandeur that is Ruathen's. "I had not hoped to set foot in such a fine establishment until we returned to Corellia!" he exclaims, shaking his head with wonder, as though it's a complete surprise to him that there could be such a place on this planet. Of course, generally men of his stature believe that their planets contain the only treasures of the galaxy, and the rest is just second-rate. He seats himself gracefully as they arrive at their place, pulling off his gloves one finger at a time and placing them in his pocket absently. His hat he hands to the small Kubaz in an off-handed manner, reaching for a menu and beginning to peruse it. "Now, if only the food could be as good as yours, my evening would be complete, J'Eeves," he says, his eyes scanning the selection. Of course, that feat would be quite impossible. As the Rodian steps into the restaurant, the maitre-d steps forward with a bow and extends one hand to indicate a readiness of seating. Daleth pauses, however, after scanning the place with faceted eyes, and slips a collection of credits into Micar's white-gloved hand. An antenna turns, the snouted head nods toward the human with Kubaz companion. Micar doesn't hesitate more than a fraction and takes the Rodian to a table as near as possible to the odd pair. The Rodian speaks softly, the instructions being common. Ploor and Ruathen, please. The red jacketed human waiter opens the menus and hands them to each of the gentleman. At the mention of the Headquarters Cantina, the waiter laughs politly. "I've heard that if you loose a fight in that 'Cantina' you wind up on the menu." Looking to the gentlman who is obviously the senior of the, he pulls out the wine menu, holding it open for him. "May I recommend the Rimble wine? It has been brought in at no small expense." he says waiting expectantly. As the Rodian steps into the restaurant, the maitre-d steps forward with a bow and extends one hand to indicate a readiness of seating. Daleth pauses, however, after scanning the place with faceted eyes, and slips a collection of credits into Micar's white-gloved hand. An antenna turns, the snouted head nods toward the human with Kubaz companion. Micar doesn't hesitate more than a fraction and takes the Rodian to a table as near as possible to the odd pair. The Rodian speaks softly, the instructions being common. Ploor and Ruathen, please. The menu is soon set down by the gentleman, and he looks to J'Eeves, nodding slightly, "I should hope so. It best not be anything like that seedy place that you brought me to the last time!" The valet was really getting a bit too uppity for his own good. Though certainly SMitherbodkins would forget this opinion the moment after he had thught it. Such was the gentleman's way with his manservant. His eyes move upward to meet the waiter's, and he says, "I would like the brot-rib, as rare as can be cooked legally, if you please. Bleeding, if possible. And...perhaps some deviled Pikpik eggs, as an appetizer." Best to try different recepies, after all. The waiter's suggestion of wine brings a smile to the man's face, and he nods once more, "Quite an interesting suggestion. Well, I suppose I should take it. I will try anything once." Though if he didn't like it that once, there was usually hell for someone to pay. The Kubaz continues to stand behind the chair of Smitherbodkins. He does not order anything from the menu, but instead waits, in case he can be of service. After all, someone would need to pour Smitherbodkins' wine, and he was just the Kubaz to do it. And perhaps, if he was lucky, the master would grace him with a taste of the pikpik eggs. He was always looking for ways to improve his recipe. "I did not think the place was that bad, sir," the valet says, still amused at his little trick. "After all, you did meet another gentleman there, if you recall." Emerging from his office, Vyal takes a moment to survey the crowd. Visibly please with tonights crowd, Vyal snaps shut his snakeheaded clasps of his jacket. As he decends the stairs from his office, Micar rushes up to see him. Leaning over to hear the human maitre'd, Vyal brushes back his thick burgundy hair and tucks it behind his ear to listen to the human's whispers. His lifts his head abrutly and scans the room with his pale eyes. Spotting the Rodian, he quickly, though without dignity heads to the platform area. He politly refuses the guest that ask him to sit with them for a moment with his usual smile and nod heads directly to the rodians table. Before sitting, he bows to the Rodian who has asked to see him. "Good evening. And how are you doing today?" he says in an engaging voice. "Very good, sir." The human waiter says to the Smitherbodkins. "Your wine shall be along shortly. Just as he leaves with their orders a young duros in a blue jacket arrives with a bottle of Rimble wine. He deftly places a glass before each of them. The coloring is of the wine is a rich purple and it frangrence a very sweet. He places the bottle on the table before bowing and leaving the two. Wasting no time on amenities, the Rodian simply nods and begins speaking before Vyal has finished sitting. "I have arranged private transportation for you. I know," there's a bit of humor in the heavily accented, carefully spoken Basic, "you can handle the flying of it. I will return later to deliver you to it." The ploor glass is already nearly half-empty, the next sip takes it below that level. An antenna turns toward the overtly dapper human and his Kubaz companion on the next table. "Watch those two. I smell credits, and I smell bodyguard." And with that the Rodian's glass is drained and the being stands, sweeping gaberwool to one side in a surprisingly elegant move, and starts toward the door. The glass of wine brings a smile to Smitherbodkin's face, as he reaches for it, holding it delicately between his fingers and running it under his nose, allowing the aroma to gently waft into his nostils. Delightful! However, his eyes narrow ever so slightly as the waiter leaves before he has tasted the wine. So sure of his suggestion, was he? He had better have been right. Smitherbodkins takes the smallest of sips from the glass, rolling the liquid qround in his mouth for a moment, before he sighs, nodding. The waiter did know his vintages, even if he did not quite know his manners. "That is true enough, my spiteful little valet. It is quite fortunate for you that I did. Certainly you did not expect it when you led me into that veritable den of iniquity." He does not even bother to look over his shoulder at the Kubaz, instead shifting slightly in his seat, uncomfortable at even the merest memory. Those pants will never be the same. The Kubaz eyes the wine glass on the table, meant for him, but does not drink from it. Perhaps after his master had finished his meal, the valet might consider tasting some of the leftovers. But certainly he must not burden Smitherbodkins with the cost of feeding him at such a fancy restaurant (he would probably dock his paycheck until he was paid back anyway), or, more importantly, the humiliation of dining with the help. "Do you find your wine satisfactory sir?" he asks. "We do have some business that we need to discuss. I need a finalized list of guests to invite to the party, and we need to discuss what kind of music you want so I may book a band. And of course, there is the matter of the menu." Hefting a large silver platter on his shoulder, the duros waiter approaches the gentlemen's table. He bows to one knee to avoid spilling the many sauces that accompany the Pipik egg appetizer. Steam wafts off three of the sauces brought for the eggs, mingling together to create a small vapor cloud of spice. A small blue plate is placed infrom of each of them, as well as a small,ornate, platinum hammer to crack open the eggs."Is there anything else that I may bring you before the main course, gentlemen?" He says smiling to each of them. The Rodian's at the mention of his 'means of travel' causes Vyal to raise his eyebrow with curiosity. "I look forward to seeing it. As long as there is a beginners guide I should be able to handle it." Vyal says with a false sense of bravado, hoping that gene that is common to Corellians will finally manifest in himself. Though he knows better. Casting a glace over his shoulder, Vyal eyes the men at the table near him. "I most definatly shall." He says noticing the bearing of the gentleman next to them. "The one with the cane sure does have an air of elegance about him. And the guard seems quite attentive." There's a soft chuckle from the Rodian as with a nod, the table is left behind. Another stack of credits are passed to Micar on the way out. Instructions are given to divvy them up among certain steff, then the Hunter passses out onto the street. Gimel heads through the fijisi wood doors out into the Parliamentary District. Gimel has left. A sigh escapes Smitherbodkins' lips as J'Eeves brings up the party yet again. These details were so tiresome; of course, one had to bother oneself with them, lest the function not turn out spectacularly. Smitherbodkins was certainly not accustomed to anything he did turning out less than spectacularly. "The wine is quite delicious, though I find the other subjects of which you speak slightly less palatable." Taking another sip of wine, as though to clear his head, he plows on, "But what must be cone, must be done! We cannot allow anyone to find any inadequacies surrounding Lord Geophreigh Smitherbodkins, now can we?" "I shall invite the whole of the Basilica, of course. Including that Twi'lek...Malafair? What was his name? Oh, well, it is of little importance. Find him, J'Eeves, and deliver the invitation. Calrissian, I suppose, must be included...it would look well considering recent developments. And Fianar Reanus, of course, and his friend Kreldin." A chuckle escapes him at the thought of both Imperial and New Republic citizens coming together in his house. This would not be the event of the decade; it would be the event of the century! Waving away the waiter, Smitherbodkins says absently, "No, no, that will be all." He reaches for one of the Pikpik eggs, lifting it to his lips and taking a delicate bite. He chews thoughtfully, then nods, motioning to the plate, "Try one, J'Eeves. I believe they use a bit more bassel sea salt than you do. I cannot say that I am particularly partial to it, but I must admit it is an intriguing variation." The Kubaz pulls out a small datapad and takes several notes about the guest list, realizing he will have some visits to make to deliver all the invitations. "Yes, sir, yes sir, fine choices, all of them," J'Eeves says. "Should I hire additional security in case the guests quarrel?" While his master might be amused at the idea of Imperials and New Republicans gathered under the same roof, the valuable sculptures and glassware that filled the Smitherbodkins estate would likely be less pleased (if they had feelings) to know that tensions would be high and violence might erupt. A brawl was a good way to ruin a good party. At the invitation of his employer, the Kubaz steps towards the table and carefully plucks a PikPik egg from the plate. He chews it thoughtfully, screwing up his face in thought and consideration. "I think you are right, sir, and it clearly is missing my secret ingredient. But it is not bad at all. Perhaps this establishment could cater your party." Vyal bows as the Rodian heads down the steps. Most of their meetings were like that. Brief but informative. Looking out of the corner of his pale eye, he watches the two gentlemen with the Pikpik eggs for a brief moment. A bright flash from the opera orb turns his milky-white eys a brilliant blue as mingles with the guests. Ever the graceful host, Vyal saunters up to each of the tables that make the exclusive platform area of the restaurant. Changing his face and the tone of voice to greet each of the guest in the form which is considered formal for their culture, then turning to a pleasent and familiar tone which is characteristic of him. He saves the most interesting for last. The Rodian pointed out these two before leaving and for a good reason. But what is that reason? Never questioning the Rodian judgement and seeing something curious in them himself, Vyal moves towards their table politly bowing to them before reaching them."Good evening gentlemen. I trust everything is satisfactory?", he says, his accent obviously Correlian. "Extra security..." Smitherbodkins muses, placing his hands on the table in front of him and furrowing his brown thoughtfully. Perhaps J'Eeves had a point at that; the most recent of his little soirees had been quite droll in his opinion, but perhaps that strange little Givin was not of the same opinion. "Yes, J'Eeves, hire some extra. Some visible, some not." Clearly he expects that the Kubaz will know exactly what he means, because he goes on, "It is a terrible conundrum, but I suppose I shall have to invite Former Moff Astor. Though his stories are most dreadfully irksome. If I have to hear once more about his little Bonadan exploit I believe I shall go mad." But it would be worth it to see the look on that man's face when he saw Smitherbodkins' guest of honor. Just thinking about it made him snicker under his breath. he arrival of the host, as well as the question, raises Smitherbodkins' head in that direction, and his eyebrows raise slightly. A fellow Corellian, so it would seem! What was he doing on this dirty, polluted little planet? However, he simply gives the man a somewhat condescending smile, saying, "Certainly, certainly. Everything is just as I had hoped, my good man." He pauses for a moment, his gaze scrutinizing the rather interesting-looking specimen in front of him, before continuing, "Are you the proprietor of this fine establishment, then?" "Very well, sir, I will see to the added security." J'Eeves takes some more notes on his datapad. "I am afraid I cannot see any way around inviting him if we are going to invite Lady McBeeblebracht. You know that word will get back to him otherwise. And you never know what kinds of privateer contacts he has. Revenge might be ugly!" As Vyal approaches, the Kubaz tucks the datapad away in his pocket to look proper. It was fine to be working when discussing business, but quite another thing to be rude and ignore a guest at their table. Besides, he had a line to say: "Greetings, may I present Lord Geophreigh Smitherbodkins IV, of Corellia." It is obvious by sudden look of suprise and one would say honor. "Smitherbodkins?" Almost stammering over the words. Reliezing he has address a lord in the familiar, Vyal backpedals and turns his eyes towards the ground:"Lord Smitherbodkins, forgive my lack of manners. It is a pleasent suprise to have one from your illustrious house in my humble restraunt." Placing his gloved hand over his chest, his eyes still facing the ground," If there is anything you need please do not hesitate to ask. I shall have my personal attentand see to you." Raising his head, Vyal snaps his fingers to gain the attention of the white robed man who led the two men to their table. Withing moments he arrives and bows to all of them. Vyal whispers into his ear and takes a position near the table. He stands at attention and awaits the honored COrellian's commands. Clearly pleased at his grand reception, Smitherbodkins overlooks Vyal's lapse in the use of his title the first time. "Quite all right, quite all right. It is of no importance!" He waves a hand vaguely in the air, as though flicking away the man's stammers of pardon. "Your cuisine is quite delectible. In fact, I have a proposition for you, should you choose to hear it." Not waiting for the man's answer, Smitherbodkins barrels on, hardly even pausing for breath. After all, surely the man would want to hear his proposal. He was, after all, Lord Geophreigh Smitherbodkins. "I am having a little get-together a week from tomorrow. I wish your establishment to cater it. Money is no object, of course," he ammends quickly, as though to wave away any concern that the man might have of that. It was short notice, he must admit, though Smitherbodkins was not used to being denied anything. Vyal "It would be an honor and a privledge, my lord." He says in a solemn voice. "I have already been in negotiations with Fredieriko. He will be playing here soon. Shall I arrange for the two night to correspond?" After the The honored Corellian responds to his question, Vyal bows deeply and speaks in a voice filled with regret. " I am terribly sorry, but urgent matter pull me elsewhere. I will leave Micar with you to attend to your every need." Vyal waits for permission to leave before turning around and heading down the stairs. Micar continues to stand at attention till called upon. (speaking in Corellian)
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