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RPlog:A Meeting with Paro

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Simon Before you is a young human male of average height and the build of a long-distance runner. His hair is a deep brown, parted and hanging to just above his shoulders. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-gray give the man a stern look at a glance. Stubble from several days worth of facial hair growth stand prominently on his chin and cheeks. Typically, he stands with a straight back and his head held high. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware. Clearly, Simon is uncomfortable with the attire that's been chosen for him. A pristine suit of white and gray covers him from head to toe. A long sleeved dinner jacket is buttoned up the front, with silver cuff links and metallic pips around the raised color. The matching pants are bloused over ordinary black boo

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A Meeting with Paro

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Forthcoming.

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Simon Before you is a young human male of average height and the build of a long-distance runner. His hair is a deep brown, parted and hanging to just above his shoulders. A strong jawline and deepset eyes of blue-gray give the man a stern look at a glance. Stubble from several days worth of facial hair growth stand prominently on his chin and cheeks. Typically, he stands with a straight back and his head held high. All in all, the man's demeanor can be summed up in a word: aware. Clearly, Simon is uncomfortable with the attire that's been chosen for him. A pristine suit of white and gray covers him from head to toe. A long sleeved dinner jacket is buttoned up the front, with silver cuff links and metallic pips around the raised color. The matching pants are bloused over ordinary black boots, recently polished to a high shine but already scuffed from feet unused to walking in such footwear. On the whole, the outfit is classy enough for most social events, yet functional in that it allows free movement, much as a good Imperial uniform should. Paro Holding himself upright with an air of self-confident grace, this human combines the stout passion of a strong-headed warrior with a relaxed charm of a back-water social ease. Sculpted in the chest and gifted with physique gained in years of training, he is still dominated by his height, elongating the otherwise muscled frame into one more lean, rooted in agility. There is a striking characteristic to this being - proud and attractive - set in his olive, tanned skin and dark hair cut in fashions that spell a more high-class upbringing. And while his limbs and torso move fluidly with a touch of air in his manners, his eyes are dark and intense, piercing the space in front of him with an unmistakable vigilance of an inquisitive mind. His body is clad in a uniform of the Imperial Security Bureau. A snow-white, double-breasted tunic is matched by a pair of black pants and is fastened by a black belt with a silver buckle. A holster and a comlink are the only visible additions, offset by highly polished, leather, military issue boots. Rank insignia of Brigadier General figure prominently on the left breast of the uniform, providing the only asymmetry to this otherwise impeccable ensemble. A pair of black gloves covers his hands. Senior Officers Commons -- I2SD Tormentor The Senior Officers area is much less chaotic than that of the crew areas. It is also evident in the little things. Black uniformed Naval security officers stand by the door checking code cylinders of everyone entering this area. They will turn away anyone not on their lists or those unescorted by ranking officers of the vessel. Small sitting areas dot the commons areas, furnished with data terminals that allow the vital functions of the ship to be monitored from here. Another notable exception is that the Senior officers are all given private berths, based on rank and status. With his standard escort of two stormtroopers flagging just behind him, their uniformity and perfect anonymity making their purpose ambiguous as either honor guard or guards in truth, Simon Sezirok moves into the Senior Officer's common area on the _Tormentor_. Moving with a purposeful stride, his face is a cool mask devoid of emotion. As others that had been assigned to escorting Simon would attest, this is an improvement over the usual angry scowl that seemed to be a permanent fixture since the escape of the Jedi. Stopping just short of his destination, that being the chamber where he had planned to meet the mysterious Vorn Paro, Simon folds his arms across his chest and grits his teeth. He needed to remain calm and focused. The man he was about to meet was of greater significance than the Starfighter pilots Simon had sought and directed towards "practice of their craft". This was the man whose responsibility it had been to ensure the Jedi didn't leave the ship. No... that wasn't entirely true. It had been Simon's responsibility, as well. And with that, the emotionless countenance is broken apart by a hard scowl. Simon's ice blue eyes shift left then right, taking in the positions of his white clad escort. With a stomach churning acid, Simon completes his journey to meet this Paro, his teeth silently grinding behind an angry grimace. The galaxy itself may have not seen more similarities between two forces about to come face to face. On the other side of this fateful meeting, Paro's eyes are also icy and blue, predatorial in their intensity and forever calm with that deathly sensation of someone whose silence means more than words. His own disposition is disciplined and military in the extreme, as are his mind and body, and an aura of self-confidence and stern, patient efficiency bathe his every motion, his every thought. Like Simon, this is a capable individual, whose rise to power shook many of those whose usefulness to the Empire and efficiency at achieving goals was inferior to his. Like Simon, Paro's goals mean more to him than lives, ideals, worlds. But despite the alike minds, similarities end there. Unlike Simon, Paro is draped in light tones of the snow white uniform of the ISB, infamous in its own right, but somehow contrasting with the gray walls of the military vessel in that more jovial way, that brings duality to this particular man. There is little emotion in the Imperial as well, but instead a patient and perhaps curious resolve, as to the nature of this moment that he has been expecting for a while now. The stormtroopers accompanying the Sith are also his, willing to die at a mere snap of the finger from the Coruscanti. And finally, the atmosphere itself somehow comes alive, strangely exhuberant in its silence and somehow not right, not black-and white enough, not clear and concise as it should be on a vessel of the Imperial navy. No, here, in the liar of the Imperial Security Bureau, the black color of the ship's ferrocrete and the white tones of Paro's uniform are just a ruse. Justice lives in shadows. If Simon were like the Jedi, the hated, conniving Jedi, Paro's thoughts would be laid out in front of Simon like a master smith's tools, each one a weapon or lever that could be applied to Simon's will. If Simon were more like the original Sith, the situation would be the similar, though Simon's intentions would likely be of a more destructive nature rather than a manipulative one. Simon is a different sort of creature, made evident every time he speaks. Stopping will short of Paro's station, Simon raises his head slightly as he raises his voice, putting his nose into a naughty position, much as he'd seen the Emperor do. Much as he'd seen the Tazecks woman do. Simon's voice, on the other hand, lacks the same level of command that the other Sith seemed to have at their disposal that matched the presumptuous air that Simon sought to emulate. Perhaps it is there, but hidden beneath the sing-song slur of his alien sounding accent. "I want to discuss Mailyn Raines with you," Simon says. No greeting. No preamble. Direct and to the point. If there is anyone who appreciates the direct approach, it's Paro. Here, among the naval grays of the Tormentor's ferrocrete walls and floor gratings, his own presence is somewhat disturbing, as if the nature of his work made everyone on this level - no, the entire vessel - uneasy. It is, most likely, just a matter of chosing the right uniform, for Paro himself has spent most of his career aboard such ships, leading stormtrooper operations or more covert intelligence efforts of the Empire. Even this little nook in the deck, that by all appearances is more lavish than most others, seems quite temporary in its usefulness to Paro who most likely chose it today for this meeting. "I thought you might, Mr. Sezirok," Paro replies dilligently with infinite patience, contrasting the opening line of Simon by a rather melodic canter that by the virtue of his high class birth - and spiced with a good deal of snobbery - makes all the right Imperial sounds when pronouncing the hard consonants. "Please, have a seat," he points towards an available chair, nodding to his own stormtroopers who came here with him to ensure that the area is not only undisturbed but completely devoid of any visitors. Unlike the other men that Simon had had to interact with, this one had a backbone that didn't melt under Simon's gaze. Not everyone bowed and scraped when Simon approached, but enough had to set Simon's back up. From the moment he'd been greeted as "Lord Sezirok" upon reaching the system, Simon had kept his eyes open for the knife in the shadows that was meant for his back. That he wasn't cut down was of little consequence. Dealing with someone that was formidable was going to be a refreshing change. Looking into Paro's face, Simon could see little of the fear that he'd seen in so many other eyes. So many others had looked afraid, as though Simon would slay them where they stood. If Paro expected such a fate, it was clear he'd already come to accept it. Perhaps even welcomed it. Casting a glance toward the indicated chair, Simon licks his lips before saying, "I would prefer to stand." He pauses to fold his arms across his chest and set his feet shoulder width apart, as though rooting himself to that particular position. "My calling is to slay the Jedi. The True Source has selected me for this purpose, and I will do anything to complete my quest. The Emperor is aware of my quest, and has embraced it, though he seems distracted with other... less important... things." There is little doubt of Paro's position. At a risk of being manipulated through the Force, facing someone who needs not follow a military doctrine, the Imperial is by the virtue of the situation at a huge disadvantage. His assets, however, keep him in this conversation at a certain level, and if there is anyone in the Empire who can make something out of nothing, or who by the sheer calculative, cold and precise strategy alone can bring advantage to his position, it's him. This is a man who signs death warrants with the same methodical approach that one would sign a personal cheque, a man already famous for turning enemies into friends... all through his own undisclosed means, with some strange method of persuasion that none of those who have been turned can even pinpoint. On those merrits alone, yes, Paro has enough ground not to show fear. The Director of the Imperial Security Bureau does not become one through luck. But all truth be told, Paro's position is still precarious. In a ship where everyone will bow to his every whim without a spoken command, he is still facing a force so formidable, that the course of the galaxy itself may be affected by its deeds. Yes, the Imperial is very much gambling here by resting comfortably on his power, but if Simon wishes to sense anything about this particular man, what becomes evident is that risk is not a mere part of his job. It is part of strategy, used by Paro again and again, every time with that personal talent that he has to turn the odds surely into his own favor, and always with time on his side. It's a method of operation, and now it will be employed again, with the same expert mind driving it. Opting to stand as well, obviously not to detract from the other's importance, the officer clasps his hands behind his back and takes a few steps towards the porthole, through which the blue-green orb of Imperial Mutanda beackons like a trophy just won. "As you wish," he finally resumes, "I must say that I have thought about meeting you for some time now, Mr. Sezirok. It is perhaps quite a fate that we finally meet, although the circumstances are quite intriguing, wouldn't you say? Your appearance here, and the reason for it, may be surprising to some." "Intriguing," Simon repeats numbly, following the Director's movements with his eyes. A quick glance is darted toward the planet beyond the porthole, but then Simon's eyes, blue ice chips smoldering beneath a furrowed, focused brow, are back upon Vorn Paro. The significance of Mutanda and its recent submission to Imperial rule could be lost on Simon, as the Selas had not been there when the Empire's mighty arm had reached out to seize the Horansi's home world. Such acquisitions meant little to Simon, in any event. The absolute destruction of the Jedi overshadowed everything else. A small crack in Simon's stoicism is shown as Simon raises his right hand to his neck, his fingers dipping to adjust his collar which was still stiff from heavy starch. As with other days since arriving on the _Tormentor_, Simon had not selected his attire. He had made it known that he would see the man in charge of Mailyn's life, and this suit was laid out for him. Could Paro himself have had something to do with that, one more facet of the Director's plan to maximize his position by keeping the Selas in discomfort? It was impossible to say, and such machinations were not within Simon's field of vision. Slay the Jedi. Cleanse the True Source. These were Simon's prime directives, and all that he would allow himself to focus on. "I came here seeking the release of Mailyn Raines," Simon says after a moment. That was the reason he'd come, after all. Not only now in seeking an audience with Paro, but also when he chose to come to the system after speaking with Admiral Osbourne. "As it should be obvious to most now, she can be used as a link to the Jedi. What is not so obvious is why she such a link. She is loyal to me. The Jedi know this, and seek to rescue her from me, or bring her into their fold as a pair of eyes and ears to be used against me." "I know," Paro replies evenly and calmly, turning slowly on his heel, till his penetrating stare rests on Simon. This man may not be able to see into the future like the Jedi, but with the unique manner of predicting events and the eyes and ears of agents everywhere, Paro appears like someone little concerned about tomorrow. In fact, was it not that he is wearing that Imperial uniform, and surely cannot be more loyal to the cause, one may even get a strange impression that he had something to do with the recent escape of Aurejin. "Tell me, Mr. Sezirok," the melodic voice of the Imperial once again fills the silence of the room, as his stern and self-composed body barely moves, "Tell me your reason for wanting her back. I am quite aware of your ties to Mailyn Raines, her own ties to the Rebellion, and the Skywalker camp's knowledge of your situation. In fact, I am aware of it all. Today, for instance, Aurejin is on Caspar, and some three hours ago he met Jessalyn in the Sandbar. Their concerns lie far from you right now, Mr. Sezirok... infact, they are about to move against Karrde. That, too, was predicted. I believe they will find their quest quite futile. After which, they will turn to Mailyn. Would it not be easier, tell me, to remove her completely? After all, if she is the link to you, why not severe that link and disadvantage the other side?" "No," Simon says, visibly tensing as Paro mentions eliminating Mailyn. His lips peel back momentarily, revealing clenched teeth. Drawing a slow, calming breath through his nostrils, Simon focuses himself on regaining his composure. This was a simple conversation. Paro obviously had no idea what Simon had planned for the Corellian woman. Though patience had been in short supply for the Selas of late, he demonstrates that he has enough to keep from doing or saying anything outrageously foolish in the face of catastrophe. "No," Simon repeats. Drawing in another breath, letting it out slowly, Simon forces a smile across his lips as he regards Paro. The smile doesn't seem to affect Simon's eyes, which continue to smolder like aquamarine coals. "Mailyn Raines is likely the only person in the galaxy that is not only loyal to me, but also someone that can be used to attract the Jedi in numbers. In numbers... given the right circumstances. Locked in the belly of a warship is not the way. They might send one or two, as the Jedi Aurejin has demonstrated. But not their whole group." "No," Simon says, once more, rolling his shoulders and pouring confidence into his words. It had to be clear now. "If Mailyn Raines has done something against the Empire, then I can ensure that she will not do such again. I will convince her to obey the rules and ways of the Empire, and she can continue to be my bait and trap for the Jedi. It would be better than to waste her potential by destroying her here." Paro is not a man who reveals his hand quickly... or ever, for that matter. During that fateful night, when all appearances led to believe that Aurejin will leave with Mailyn, he had her injected with just the stuff necessary to continue the crusade in the most efficient matter. But could he be aware of what Simon is aware too? Could he know the importance of Mailyn? Surely, his last question was a mere ruse - as it is with most that the Agent says - to test Simon's answer, his resolve and to attest to the mindest of the Jedi. The careful gaze of Paro follows every move, every gesture of the other, as if bodies were books to be read, reactions the gateway's to one's soul, and questions - Paro's questions - the catalyst for opening yet another page of information. "Indeed," the man finally replies in a tone that pinpoints his mind on another subject completely. The silence that fills the room is most calculated too, as if to put time between words... time that gives each man a space in which to maul over the thoughts that are now filling their minds. Normally, the Imperial would engage in more questions, each meaningless in their own way, to allow the other to reveal more and more about himself in front of the Director. But with Simon, things are evidently quite different, for the moment of straight-cut approach comes right away. "Mailyn Raines has been scheduled for an execution, Mr. Sezirok, but there are so many things in this Empire that confuse those of clear issues. The importance of personalities is one of them, and few fail to understand the significance of heroes. If you wish to take it upon yourself to teach Mailyn to be a good Imperial citizen, it is a quest both noble and great. I will await your results on this arena." "Therefore, I hereby release Mailyn Raines into your custody, Mr. Sezirok. It is, may I add, the first time that I give amnesty to a condemned criminal, but let us not call her by that misguided name anymore. And just as I place full trust in you and hereby request no motives from you for this favor, I have something to ask of you as well..." In all of Paro's announcement, Simon's emotions and thoughts dip and climb, weaving a course that is as chaotic as the wild flight of a fleeing animal. The announcement that Mailyn was to be executed infuriated Simon nearly to the point of action. Right on the dangerous, cutting edge of doing something rash, Paro's words carry Simon on to the next step, which is dark curiosity. Finally, at the mention of releasing Mailyn into Simon's custody, Simon's anger is burst, shattered by a momentary rise in hope and relief. The euphoric bubble of lighter emotions then bursts, leaving a bitter curiosity once again. Paro's presentation was masterfully done, and Simon surely was brought through the emotional pitfalls and levity that made a man pliable to suggestion and command. For Simon's part, throughout Paro's words, Simon held onto an outward visage of calm. Only one skilled in watching for the right signs would be able to read the results of Paro's presentation in Simon's face and stance. Of course, Paro had such skills. "What is it?" Simon asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. If Simon was aware of how he was being played, weighed, watched, and measured, he makes no sign of it. Games of logic are so dear to Paro's mind, and nowhere can one find a greater challenge than when two minds of clear purposes meet to achieve their goals. But there is only one goal in the end, all for the entire galaxy, no matter how one may wish to achieve it - victory. And in its light, sacrifices are a virtue. Turning his body towards the visitor fully now, as if to emphasize the importance of this strategic coming of the minds, the Imperial lifts his chin ever so slightly, staightening this already rigid body and stepping slightly forward, which curiously takes him out of the shadow created by the break in lights and into full illumination framed by Mutanda's orbiting orb. A quiet chime rings over the ship's intercom, dulled here to a mere whisper... most likely set that way before the meeting and kept nearly silent to enshroud this area in a veil of privacy. "Despite our stations, Mr. Sezirok, and despite our seemingly separate methods, our work is very much alike. Your service to the Emperor has been known to me... in fact, it was I who brought you in his presence, with the ruse on Caspar, although you will surely not remember my presence there, due to various classified facts. I am not sure whether you curse that day or cherish it, but I do know that your regained position has been in service to your goals. My path is more covert, even than yours. But in the end, it is the same one. We can be of much service to one another, through our work with the Emperor, and beyond. I need good men, like you, and your own quest will be served much more efficiently with my influence and reach." Unfolding his arms from in front of him, Simon lets his hands drop to his side. His back straightens just a bit more, though he'd been standing straight before. His eyelids narrow slightly, curiously weighing and measuring the Director in this different light. There were subtle implications in Paro's words that Simon only barely detected. Though unskilled in such dealings, inexperienced and at a disadvantage, dealing in a language that was second to Simon's tongue, Simon knew that there were hooks buried in those words, even if he couldn't see them. Shaking his head slightly at his own, doubtful thoughts, Simon says, "The Emperor sought to use me on a mission to the foul structure called Pride, where the Griffons make their home. He spoke of the Jedi using the wretched station as a hiding ground, and used me to watch his back while he beat minor thugs and people that he held a personal anger toward. My loyalty is, first and foremost, to the True Source. The True Source demands that the Jedi be slain, and so I slay them. It also demands order, which the Empire brings to the backward thinking masses that praise the Jedi and kiss their boots. And so I support the Empire." "In giving me Mailyn Raines, you have done a service not only to me, but to the True Source. For that I am grateful. As long as what you ask of me is not in direct conflict to my first duty to the True Source, I will help you. As long as you understand this, then we can be of service to each other." "Agreed," Paro nods slightly, once again focusing his icy gaze on the Jedi. "I forsee no problems in our relationship, since, as you nave noted, both the True Source and Order are in the scope of both of our goals, even if our terms may or may not vary on them. However, I need you to understand, Mr. Sezirok, that what I propose, I prpose seriously. There are many beings in the galaxy who sign verbal agreements on a whim... words that mean little, with no execution in future, and a great worry about selling their own souls out. Yet for us, our souls are already saved... both on the path to the same destiny." "The Imperial Security Bureau is vast, Mr. Sezirok, and no one but me, perhaps, will ever know the true scope of its operations. But believe me when I tell you that somewhere out there, in the shadows, men and women of the Empire are doing things that nobody will ever know about. Nobody. And out of those shadows, the Empire gains benefit. Daily. So does the Order. Information is power, Mr. Sezirok, and in that, I am its greatest patron." "Together, we can accomplish much more than alone. I can rely on you and you can rely on me. Here, in the ISB, we always take care of our own. Always. And while you may not be called an Agent per se, I think you will find our collaboration most rewarding. For your goals and mind, Mr. Sezirok. For victory. For the absolute victory. Do we have an agreement?" With that, Director Paro, the head of ISB, the man who is as untouchable as nearly the Emperor alone, exends his right hand towards the other, in the Coruscanti gesture for friendship. Simon only hesitates a moment before completing the ritual of agreement, taking the half step forward to accept the offered hand and give it the appropriate shake that was required of the ritual. The way of it had at one time been quite strange to Simon, but it was second nature now. "We have an agreement," Simon answers Paro's question before releasing the Director's hand. As Simon steps back to where he'd been rooted before, he slips into the Telgossian ritual. Placing his closed right fist into his open left palm, Simon bends at his waist, bowing with his head held up so that he could continue to look upon Paro. Straightening, Simon says, his tone formal, "I am at your service." As Simon lowers his hands and resumes the less formal yet still stiff stance that he'd assumed throughout the conversation. He seems ready to say something more or ask something, but abstains. There was a time and a place for everything. "Then I await the future, Mr. Sezirok," Paro nods in reply, noting the foreign ritual in which Simon just engaged with great insterest, making it plainly evident that he has not see it before... one of the few times during this conversation when the Imperial makes anything plainly evident at all, "Send me reports of your exploits, anything that would be of use to the ISB and to our cause, and I will be sure to update you on developments that may be of service to you. And don't hesitate to contact me for information... or related events." With a military nod, one that appears to have little purpose at first, Paro makes the stormtroopers at the door part company, stepping to the side to indicate formally that the exit is now ready for use. "I has been a pleasure," the Imperial concludes in a tone that borders on formality, "And while the circumstances were created in a manner not very conductive to such agreements, I am glad that we had this conversation. Till later, Mr. Sezirok. And may the True Source guide you." Clicking his military bootheels in a manner that spells a more martial training than the ISB meeting rooms would suggest, Paro marches out of the room, followed by his two guards, leaving the premisses only for Simon and his white-armoured escorts. The chimes in the chamber resume with full intensity now, announcing in various military tones orders for officers and crew of the vessel. Beyond the porthole, the blue-green orb of Mutanda is now flanked by its moon - Justa - rotating proudly in its solitary splendor... a testament to the Imperial resolve, a symbol of man-made destinies, and an eerie beacon of conquest that veils the galaxy in Order, like a blanket of peace.