11-24-2018, 10:06 PM
The narrow streets had an air about them, the contrast with inner city Chicago quite clear. The Robert Taylor Homes projects weren't known for their outdoor cafe's and little nook shops, pastry carts and the smell of coffee wafting from opened doors, the gentle hum of quiet streets and vibrant peaceful life.
All a lie, he knew of course. Or rather, Moscow- indeed the empire- had its own corruption. Poverty still existed- would always exist- as did street kids and the homeless. No city would ever not have those things. At least not completely. He had ideas, though, for one day. Ascendancy controlled the corruption, allowed it to exist as an outlet valve- a bleeder to siphon off some of the pressures that built in dense populations.
People needed their back doors, their ways to skirt governmental and social conventions and laws, to get what they needed, wanted, or desired.
Marcus knew how important it was. He was feeling a niggling pressure of his own beginning to build. Malik stalked like a caged tiger. At the ball he was Malik. Oriena's hate filled eyes filled him with such pleasure, almost as much as had killing those things....but it was not the same. He felt it growing and his position denied him his release. He had a hard time putting a finger on what it was, exactly, that bothered him. As if he had bitten down on a hook, the string the thinnest of silks leading off somewhere else.
He had cut all those strings years ago. Are you sure? asked Malik. His brother Andre was still out there. The discomfort was there, in the back of his mind. Malik was fanning it, to grow a spark into a flame.
He was a Sith.
Take what you want... And make someone else pay for it.
Darth Malgus had learned the truth of allowing entanglements. His lover and wife, Eleena, lying in the hospital bed, injured by Jedi trying to bring him down. She was his weakness, a liability. What was it he had said? "That I love you is what is wrong Eleena!" His last words to her before plunging his lightsaber into her heart.
The scene had been seared into him, his reaction visceral, jaw dropping open in awe at the sacrifice. Pride and determination; Anger and sorrow. To be steel enough to do what must be done.
His strange reaction to Danika was troubling. Malik surged and ebbed. He suspected if Andre was here, he'd feel the same.
Remember what you want, Malik whispered. He clung to that and some of what was bothering him dissipated. Enough. The disquiet was still there, but felt a bit more manageable. He'd have to figure out how to play this out. And to keep his guard up without causing difficulty at the Consulate.
All the while, he made small chit chat with her as they walked to the shop.
His stomach rumbled at the sight- more the smells- of the cart. Once they came up in the line, Danika ordered, as did he. Coffee black, Arabian Mocha Java- a strong nose-curling sense enhancing drink- and bacon, egg and cheese bagel. A few tables sat nearby and he led her to them, pulling the chair and then seating himself.
He imagined he looked a bit odd- tuxedo shirt and pants, black and white shoes polished to a bright shine didn't exactly fit the rest of the patrons- but it didn't matter. He sipped his coffee and used his knife and fork to dig in.
The black liquid spilling down his throat invigorated him and he chewed his food with relish, luxuriating in the flavors on his tongue. In between bites, he commented "I didn't realize how hungry I was. Excellent suggestion." Another sip. He found himself drifting back into their more professional relationship. "So tell me how your research is going?"
She did live for her work, he knew.
All a lie, he knew of course. Or rather, Moscow- indeed the empire- had its own corruption. Poverty still existed- would always exist- as did street kids and the homeless. No city would ever not have those things. At least not completely. He had ideas, though, for one day. Ascendancy controlled the corruption, allowed it to exist as an outlet valve- a bleeder to siphon off some of the pressures that built in dense populations.
People needed their back doors, their ways to skirt governmental and social conventions and laws, to get what they needed, wanted, or desired.
Marcus knew how important it was. He was feeling a niggling pressure of his own beginning to build. Malik stalked like a caged tiger. At the ball he was Malik. Oriena's hate filled eyes filled him with such pleasure, almost as much as had killing those things....but it was not the same. He felt it growing and his position denied him his release. He had a hard time putting a finger on what it was, exactly, that bothered him. As if he had bitten down on a hook, the string the thinnest of silks leading off somewhere else.
He had cut all those strings years ago. Are you sure? asked Malik. His brother Andre was still out there. The discomfort was there, in the back of his mind. Malik was fanning it, to grow a spark into a flame.
He was a Sith.
Take what you want... And make someone else pay for it.
Darth Malgus had learned the truth of allowing entanglements. His lover and wife, Eleena, lying in the hospital bed, injured by Jedi trying to bring him down. She was his weakness, a liability. What was it he had said? "That I love you is what is wrong Eleena!" His last words to her before plunging his lightsaber into her heart.
The scene had been seared into him, his reaction visceral, jaw dropping open in awe at the sacrifice. Pride and determination; Anger and sorrow. To be steel enough to do what must be done.
His strange reaction to Danika was troubling. Malik surged and ebbed. He suspected if Andre was here, he'd feel the same.
Remember what you want, Malik whispered. He clung to that and some of what was bothering him dissipated. Enough. The disquiet was still there, but felt a bit more manageable. He'd have to figure out how to play this out. And to keep his guard up without causing difficulty at the Consulate.
All the while, he made small chit chat with her as they walked to the shop.
His stomach rumbled at the sight- more the smells- of the cart. Once they came up in the line, Danika ordered, as did he. Coffee black, Arabian Mocha Java- a strong nose-curling sense enhancing drink- and bacon, egg and cheese bagel. A few tables sat nearby and he led her to them, pulling the chair and then seating himself.
He imagined he looked a bit odd- tuxedo shirt and pants, black and white shoes polished to a bright shine didn't exactly fit the rest of the patrons- but it didn't matter. He sipped his coffee and used his knife and fork to dig in.
The black liquid spilling down his throat invigorated him and he chewed his food with relish, luxuriating in the flavors on his tongue. In between bites, he commented "I didn't realize how hungry I was. Excellent suggestion." Another sip. He found himself drifting back into their more professional relationship. "So tell me how your research is going?"
She did live for her work, he knew.