Dream or nightmare? (Dasquian)
Feb 12, 2015 3:40:16 GMT
Post by Admin on Feb 12, 2015 3:40:16 GMT
((no specific time... but takes place before Drunkenwell))
***
05-29-2011, 03:04 PM
Alizabeth Moroveston
Alizabeth yawned as she palmed open her room. The day had been eventful and though she was still missing an Intel contact and a Jedi, she realized the team was pretty good as it stood. The interview with Rhafe had been intriguing to say the least. Adam had been a handful, she laughed slightly remembering meeting him almost a month ago, and Tal and Masor would be perfect as well.
She was glad everything was going well. The mission wouldn't leave till after the ball in a few nights, but as she glanced at the piles accumulating around her room of things to take or consider, she realized she was ready now.
Showering and slipping into a comfortable t-shirt, she slid into bed. Keying off all the lights but the small one over her head, she settled down with her book and relaxed.
Nearly an hour later, the book lay dropped on the floor and the woman lay asleep. She was half covered by the blanket and her drying hair was tussled as if she hadn't bothered brushing it out before bed. The ever recording device she always had with her was laying silent and sleeping on her desk and the dagger she normally had at the ready beneath her pillow was still stuffed between the mattresses, forgotten in her half asleep state before bed. She didn't snore, but once in a while a soft noise would echo from her lips as if the dream was mildly troublesome but not enough to rouse her.
***
05-29-2011, 03:58 PM
Dasquian Belargic
...squeak.. squeak... squeak...
It was a sound so small, so seemingly insignificant, that a passer-by would have been forgiven for mistaking it as a mouse, or another night-time creature going about its business whilst the men and women – and species of indeterminate gender – slept peacefully in their beds. The truth was not quite so simple, however, as one man was doing everything but sleeping peacefully in his bed. Perched precarious on the ledge that ran beneath the window of Alizabeth Moroveston's lounge, a dark figure clung to the wall of the old Telosian Academy, muttering to the darkness.
“Oh come on,” he hissed, pulling back to tool he'd pressed against the edge of the window: a hydrospanner. He slapped the business end of the 'spanner against his palm. “Call yourself a FastTurn-3? We'll be out here all night at this rate.”
With a sigh, he turned the hydrospanner back to the job at hand and finally loosened the last of the bolts that held the window pane in place. Suddenly mindful that he was one foolish gesture away from dropping a plate of transparisteel to the ground below, he tentatively lifted the window pane and began to tilt it inward.
“Doors, Dasquian,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Doors. Tall... metal things. Easy to open and close. Tend not to be set into walls thirty feet up from the ground. Ordinary people use them.”
The cool night air drifted into the darkened room ahead of him as Dasquian lowered the plate of transparisteel to the ground. With his hands free, he hopped through the open window and landed soundlessly on the carpet inside. His eyes scanned the darkness, adjusting quickly to take advantage of what little light the starlight produced. It had been so many months since he had set foot in this room – his room, as it had been. It would have been arrogant to think that they had kept it just as he had left it, but there were some aspects of his former quarters that Dasquian was counting on being the same.
He crossed the floor in silence to where he knew there was a light-switch, yet even as his fingertips found the switch he froze, his eyes drawn to something hanging from the back of the door. A coat. Fishing inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out the hydrospanner again and flicked a switch on its side, illuminating a small light on the tip. The dot of light ran over the unfamiliar coat and after a moment came to settle on a name badge that had been pinned to the lapel.
“Alizabeth Moroveston, Senate Intern.” He mouthed the name and his eyes narrowed as a frown pressed into his brow. He knew that name. That name was half of the reason he was here. “Well... suppose it's like killing two womp-rats with one blaster bolt.”
Weighing the fortuitous nature of the coincidence, Dasquian left the light-switch untouched and, illuminating his path with the thin beam of light that the modified hydrospanner generated, stalked across the room to a painting that hung on the wall. It was a landscape of Aldera city – the destroyed capital of Alderaan - and there were hundreds of others like it, but to Dasquian Belargic that one was special. It held no sentimental or indeed monetary value and in the time that this room had been his, he hadn't paid it a great deal of attention, but it was special nonetheless. Special because of what was hidden behind it.
***
05-29-2011, 04:09 PM
Aliza
Liz was moving thru the maze of people as they danced around her. Masks keeping identities hidden and voices always just off enough that even they gave no hint. The Ball was supposed to be her chance to get to know those in power, but it was turning into a fiasco. So many faces, so many unknowns, so many voices ringing out with 'Who are you?' 'Why are you here?' and 'You are dressed fancy for someone on trash detail.' The words spun around her and she found herself unable to focus. Why did they treat her this way? She just wanted to be the best. Suddenly a sound, unidentifiable, hit her ears. She looked around. Had someone dropped a glass? Was there an announcement about to be made?
She slowly opened her eyes as sleep was invaded by... something. She turned her head and was instantly blinded by the light above her. “Oh Liz...” she berated herself as she turned the light off, rolled back over and went to sleep. “Stupid book...” she mumbled as she drifted back to sleep, having assumed its falling had caused her to rouse. The fitful dream of the Ball gone wrong was soon back in her head and the soft murmurs of malcontent fell from her lips like a child. One leg was now protruding from the covers and the alabaster skin was in stark contrast to the black sheets surrounding her. Her back was now to the room and the assailant she had been unaware of.
***
05-29-2011, 04:24 PM
Das
“Oh Liz...” came a sigh from the bedroom. Every muscle in his body tensing, Dasquian froze. The horrible notion that he had unknowingly clambered his way into a room currently occupied by two lovers, making the most of their shore leave, caused heat to rise into his cheeks – but only silence followed. Exhaling the breath he had been holding in as a sigh of relief, he turned his focus back to the painting.
If anyone had suggested to him, in his days as second-in-command of Republic Intelligence, that he ought to hide something valuable behind a painting he would have laughed in their face. Of all the spots to choose, it had always seemed the most obvious, most ludicrous – and yet that was the beauty of it. Beautiful and ludicrous. Just the way life always ought to be.
Lifting the painting down from its mount, Dasquian turned the frame over and smiled. It appeared untouched. He pressed the tip of his thumb against the backing paper and felt the surface gave way into a small tear, just enough to hook his finger inside. Carefully, he began to pull away the paper, mindful that just one misplaced rip could render the information that had been written onto the other side of the paper illegible.
***
05-29-2011, 03:04 PM
Alizabeth Moroveston
Alizabeth yawned as she palmed open her room. The day had been eventful and though she was still missing an Intel contact and a Jedi, she realized the team was pretty good as it stood. The interview with Rhafe had been intriguing to say the least. Adam had been a handful, she laughed slightly remembering meeting him almost a month ago, and Tal and Masor would be perfect as well.
She was glad everything was going well. The mission wouldn't leave till after the ball in a few nights, but as she glanced at the piles accumulating around her room of things to take or consider, she realized she was ready now.
Showering and slipping into a comfortable t-shirt, she slid into bed. Keying off all the lights but the small one over her head, she settled down with her book and relaxed.
Nearly an hour later, the book lay dropped on the floor and the woman lay asleep. She was half covered by the blanket and her drying hair was tussled as if she hadn't bothered brushing it out before bed. The ever recording device she always had with her was laying silent and sleeping on her desk and the dagger she normally had at the ready beneath her pillow was still stuffed between the mattresses, forgotten in her half asleep state before bed. She didn't snore, but once in a while a soft noise would echo from her lips as if the dream was mildly troublesome but not enough to rouse her.
***
05-29-2011, 03:58 PM
Dasquian Belargic
...squeak.. squeak... squeak...
It was a sound so small, so seemingly insignificant, that a passer-by would have been forgiven for mistaking it as a mouse, or another night-time creature going about its business whilst the men and women – and species of indeterminate gender – slept peacefully in their beds. The truth was not quite so simple, however, as one man was doing everything but sleeping peacefully in his bed. Perched precarious on the ledge that ran beneath the window of Alizabeth Moroveston's lounge, a dark figure clung to the wall of the old Telosian Academy, muttering to the darkness.
“Oh come on,” he hissed, pulling back to tool he'd pressed against the edge of the window: a hydrospanner. He slapped the business end of the 'spanner against his palm. “Call yourself a FastTurn-3? We'll be out here all night at this rate.”
With a sigh, he turned the hydrospanner back to the job at hand and finally loosened the last of the bolts that held the window pane in place. Suddenly mindful that he was one foolish gesture away from dropping a plate of transparisteel to the ground below, he tentatively lifted the window pane and began to tilt it inward.
“Doors, Dasquian,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Doors. Tall... metal things. Easy to open and close. Tend not to be set into walls thirty feet up from the ground. Ordinary people use them.”
The cool night air drifted into the darkened room ahead of him as Dasquian lowered the plate of transparisteel to the ground. With his hands free, he hopped through the open window and landed soundlessly on the carpet inside. His eyes scanned the darkness, adjusting quickly to take advantage of what little light the starlight produced. It had been so many months since he had set foot in this room – his room, as it had been. It would have been arrogant to think that they had kept it just as he had left it, but there were some aspects of his former quarters that Dasquian was counting on being the same.
He crossed the floor in silence to where he knew there was a light-switch, yet even as his fingertips found the switch he froze, his eyes drawn to something hanging from the back of the door. A coat. Fishing inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out the hydrospanner again and flicked a switch on its side, illuminating a small light on the tip. The dot of light ran over the unfamiliar coat and after a moment came to settle on a name badge that had been pinned to the lapel.
“Alizabeth Moroveston, Senate Intern.” He mouthed the name and his eyes narrowed as a frown pressed into his brow. He knew that name. That name was half of the reason he was here. “Well... suppose it's like killing two womp-rats with one blaster bolt.”
Weighing the fortuitous nature of the coincidence, Dasquian left the light-switch untouched and, illuminating his path with the thin beam of light that the modified hydrospanner generated, stalked across the room to a painting that hung on the wall. It was a landscape of Aldera city – the destroyed capital of Alderaan - and there were hundreds of others like it, but to Dasquian Belargic that one was special. It held no sentimental or indeed monetary value and in the time that this room had been his, he hadn't paid it a great deal of attention, but it was special nonetheless. Special because of what was hidden behind it.
***
05-29-2011, 04:09 PM
Aliza
Liz was moving thru the maze of people as they danced around her. Masks keeping identities hidden and voices always just off enough that even they gave no hint. The Ball was supposed to be her chance to get to know those in power, but it was turning into a fiasco. So many faces, so many unknowns, so many voices ringing out with 'Who are you?' 'Why are you here?' and 'You are dressed fancy for someone on trash detail.' The words spun around her and she found herself unable to focus. Why did they treat her this way? She just wanted to be the best. Suddenly a sound, unidentifiable, hit her ears. She looked around. Had someone dropped a glass? Was there an announcement about to be made?
She slowly opened her eyes as sleep was invaded by... something. She turned her head and was instantly blinded by the light above her. “Oh Liz...” she berated herself as she turned the light off, rolled back over and went to sleep. “Stupid book...” she mumbled as she drifted back to sleep, having assumed its falling had caused her to rouse. The fitful dream of the Ball gone wrong was soon back in her head and the soft murmurs of malcontent fell from her lips like a child. One leg was now protruding from the covers and the alabaster skin was in stark contrast to the black sheets surrounding her. Her back was now to the room and the assailant she had been unaware of.
***
05-29-2011, 04:24 PM
Das
“Oh Liz...” came a sigh from the bedroom. Every muscle in his body tensing, Dasquian froze. The horrible notion that he had unknowingly clambered his way into a room currently occupied by two lovers, making the most of their shore leave, caused heat to rise into his cheeks – but only silence followed. Exhaling the breath he had been holding in as a sigh of relief, he turned his focus back to the painting.
If anyone had suggested to him, in his days as second-in-command of Republic Intelligence, that he ought to hide something valuable behind a painting he would have laughed in their face. Of all the spots to choose, it had always seemed the most obvious, most ludicrous – and yet that was the beauty of it. Beautiful and ludicrous. Just the way life always ought to be.
Lifting the painting down from its mount, Dasquian turned the frame over and smiled. It appeared untouched. He pressed the tip of his thumb against the backing paper and felt the surface gave way into a small tear, just enough to hook his finger inside. Carefully, he began to pull away the paper, mindful that just one misplaced rip could render the information that had been written onto the other side of the paper illegible.