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  1. In Memory of LAJ_FETT: Please share your remembrances and condolences HERE

Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 13 (AU, OC)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by Trieste, Nov 4, 2020.

  1. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Always an ulterior motive and if anyone who reads this thread would like more on what goes down in the Centrality feel free to check out Winds of Erilnar A story that takes place during the same time frame. Many thanks to @Trieste in letting me recommend my own work in his thread :).
     
    Last edited: Aug 26, 2021
  2. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Vehn

    Hapes

    “Ivgenni, good to see you.” Sierra lightly placed a kiss on his cheek through the gossamer veil that separated them.

    “You know you can literally order me anywhere as a member of the fleet, right?” Ivgenni said with a smirk. They both knew that Sierra would never resort to such blatant measures. She had lived in the Consortium too long to be so artless.

    “Not if I want you to arrive in a good mood,” Sierra responded. Afternoon tea had been laid for them by servants, but they were now alone. Ivgenni knew his mother preferred to keep an eye on the staff, if only so they knew she was aware they were in the room. It made betraying her trust more costly. For her to have sent them away meant she had a need for true privacy.

    Ivgenni knew that his mother would come to such a topic requiring secrecy in her own time. Indeed, it only took a few minutes of polite questions about his life before she came to it.

    “We need to talk about your future,” Sierra said.

    “I’m perfectly happy in the fleet. I’ll move up the ranks like the Hapan princes before me,” Ivgenni said.

    “Not that future,” Sierra clarified. She looked her son straight in the eye. He knew this was the gaze she gave beings when she was deadly serious. He had seen it before, rarely directed at himself. A Queen Mother often had cause to be serious.

    “Your sister is chume’da. She is our family’s future and security. Whether I like it or not, she had proven herself able to carry that burden on her own,” Sierra began.

    “But history has shown us we must plan for all eventualities.”

    And he knew what was on his mother’s mind. Ivgenni had been wondering when they were going to have this conversation.

    “Should Corrine die without producing a female heir, things become complicated. I’ve spoken with lawyers about it. The law is not settled, especially as it has been a long time since the Consortium was faced with this situation. A Queen Mother without a sibling, with only one heir.

    “We believe that there is a legally accepted consensus. If Corrine dies without an heir, her nearest living relative is your grandmother. The lawyers agree that the law does not allow for a situation in which the crown would pass to her. Succession, by its very nature, cannot travel up a lineage. It can only travel down—or across.

    “Should Corrine predecease me, then upon my death or resignation the crown will pass to the eldest, direct female relative of my generation. It would be Vesper Lynd.”

    Ivgenni rolled his eyes. “Please say you haven’t told her. She would be unsufferable.” Though Ivgenni dearly wished he wasn’t having this conversation, the thought of the golden child of the Lynd brood required some kind of comment.

    “Should she decline, it then come to Falene, Ginnifer—”

    “Maker protect us.” Ivgenni couldn’t help himself now. “Just what we need. Chume’da Vienna. The galaxy would explode.”

    “—Eleanor—”

    “Are you frakking me now? She’d be a again?

    “—Elfie, May,” Sierra continued patiently, “Jane Serena, and Patrixa.”

    “I’m going to throw myself into the Maw if Trixie becomes Queen Mother. I mean it.”

    “It gets worse if I die or resign and then Corrine dies, or if Corrine and all my cousins die before me.” They both knew that stranger things had happened in Hapan succession. “The crown passes to the eldest, direct female relative of Corrine’s generation.”

    “Oh that’s just what Declan wants. Shenandoah becoming the next Queen Mother,” Ivgenni huffed.

    “Consortium law recognizes Falene’s adopted children. Elza and Avie would be first in line,” Sierra said.

    “Oh yeah. That’s going to go over well. The Sith take over the Consortium. There won’t be a civil war over that.”

    “Then comes Grace.”

    Ivgenni stood up to find some alcohol. “Right. I forgot there’s an actual, Force-using, Sith in the family. Reformed Sith,” he hastened to add before his mother could correct him. He grabbed a decanter at random. “Even better.”

    “Shenandoah follows. Then Siobhan and Vienna.”

    “That would make Corrine happy, I’m sure,” Ivgenni declared cavalierly.

    “With Alynn and Miranda bringing up the rear,” Sierra finished. “But as you so aptly alluded to earlier with regards to Falene’s children, we both know that long before it would even come to Vesper, the Consortium will fall into civil war. Some ambitious family will seize the throne for themselves.”

    “You just wanted to show off that you remembered everyone in the family and looked up their birthdays, didn’t you?” Ivgenni asked before he quaffed a large gulp of something that burned his throat.

    Sierra ignored his attempt at humor. “And as much as you might not want to think about it, if Corrine dies without an heir, you and your father will probably not make it outside the Transitory Mists alive if there’s a coup.

    “And we also both know that you hold the key to stopping all of that from happening,” Sierra stated. “Your wife will jump ahead of everyone on that list. She will be the only thing standing between this family and ruin if someone gets to Corrine before she provides the Consortium with an heir.”

    Though he’d already finished his drink, and a large one at that, Ivgenni knew it wouldn’t get to his head for several minutes. It was one of the benefits of being in the navy. That was why he was able to sit down on the plush couch and look his mother straight in the eye with all the regal seriousness he could muster.

    “And you know exactly why I haven’t gotten married,” Ivgenni said. “My wife, whoever she is, will be an instant rival to Corrine. I will not do that to my sister.”

    “You do not have a choice,” Sierra said, her voice and gaze made of equal durasteel.

    “You cannot make me.”

    “Your concern is warranted, but there are three dozen families of our allies who could not be persuaded for love or money to betray us.”

    “Love and money are nothing next to the royal veil,” Ivgenni said. He hadn’t blinked once since he’d sat down. “You came to this culture. You have mastered it. But you are not of it. I am. And I know that even one of the chume’doro would sell Corrine out if it meant she’d be Queen Mother.”

    In an instant Sierra reached across to slap her son once across the cheek. “Never speak of the chume’doro like that again. They have saved our lives more times than you will ever know and they will doubtless do so more times than you can imagine.”

    Ivgenni didn’t back down. “Any wife you choose from me will become ambitious because she is my wife. It may take months, years, a decade or more, but she will covet Corrine’s position and there will be too many beings willing to encourage her for their own ends for her to resist.”

    “This is not optional, Ivgenni,” Sierra decreed, standing. “If the Consortium were fair, you would inherit the throne if your sister dies.” A thought struck her and her face shifted. “Actually, if it were fair, your sister would be behind you in succession. But the Consortium is not.

    “Your father and I raised you and your sister to possess a broader minds than Hapan society. Your concern is warranted, but we gave you this education for a reason. You must mold your wife to be not a Queen Mother, but a Trieste, an ally of what I have been working for decades to achieve. If it comes to it, you will be our last hope. Your duty is clear.

    “You will wed for the sake of this family.”

    “Whatever happened to not ordering me around?” Ivgenni complained.

    “I never said I wouldn’t. It’s your choice if you’ll be in a good mood at your wedding.”

    Ivgenni sighed. He had studied enough history of warfare to know when a battle turned and retreat was warranted. “At least say you’re going to give me a treasure fleet a la Isolder.”

    “Given your concerns about the ambition of your wife, that would rather defeat the purpose of what we’re trying achieve,” Sierra said. “No, we’re going to have to approach your courtship in an entirely different fashion.”

    “I changed my mind,” Ivgenni declared suddenly. “I don’t care about Corrine or my wife’s covetous nature. I’d like the treasure fleet, please.”

    “You should have thought of that earlier.” Sierra planted another soft kiss on the top of her son’s head. The conversation was finished as only a Queen Mother could conclude one.
     
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  3. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Well played Sierra and what a complicated mess of a succession of things go south.
     
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  4. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    The Noble House of Trieste becoming the Royal House of Trieste. That's an interesting thought. Come to think of it, Sierra claimed the House of Trieste at her coronation, so it's already a royal house. But the thought of other members of the Trieste family becoming Queen Mother is hilarious to me, and it would not end well for them.

    I would love to see Vesper's reaction to finding out that she is currently second in line to the Hapan throne and that she's one blaster bolt away from being chume'da.

    The thought of Eleanor being a head of state again is insane.

    Queen Mother Trixie would be absolutely hilarious, although Horst would be horribly confused.

    And finally, the possibility of having a Sith on the throne of the Hapes Consortium, and an actual Force-using one at that, is so mind-boggling that the resulting civil war might completely tear apart the Transitory Mists.
     
    Last edited: Aug 28, 2021
  5. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    At least Sierra's branch is a royal house now. I don't think Declan would make that claim given his stubborn democratic leanings. ;)

    Queen Mother Trixie is definitely the best alternate history that we could cook up for this already alternate history of the Star Wars universe. [face_rofl]
     
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  6. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Vehn

    Coruscant

    The Galactic Senate had collected to itself a series of peculiar traditions. Though the slate had been wiped clean by the Galactic Empire and Galactic Federation of Free Alliances, some of the eldritch ways of the Old Republic had seeped into the current incarnation. Perhaps the Third Republic, as it was sometimes affectionately known, sought to cloak itself in the majesty of that first Republic.

    One the more innocuous curiosities was the tradition of the maiden speech of Galactic Senators. New senators were expected to not immediately rush to the floor to proclaim their ideas, but to observe their colleagues first. Once they were properly steeped in the rhetoric and elegance of the Senate they would then speak. A maiden speech usually focused on a single issue, one that set the tone for the senator’s term. Until a senator made it, they were not expected to take part in floor debates, the Senate’s highest form of drama.

    Maiden speeches could be spectacular. Some senators had made their careers on them, but that was less common than popular imagination suggested. Most often they were just a rite of passage for galactic legislators, one that was dutifully dispensed with.

    Most of the class of 301 in the Senate had passed this milestone. Of the handful who had yet to be recognized by the presiding officer, one was Declan Trieste.

    Ordinarily no one kept track of who had their maiden speech ahead of them. The occasion was usually marked by the speaker in their preamble. However, it had been a long time since the Senate had a member in their number who had once spoken so much to the galaxy and so ably suited to the thrust and parry of the Senate floor. Not since Eleanor Vehn had a senator come to the body with D13 experience (and even Eleanor had only spoken before the D12).

    Declan’s continued silence puzzled the deliberative body. He attended floor debates (a duty that a noticeable minority found to be optional) in silence and seemed for all appearances to pay his colleagues attention during their remarks. A select few who noticed sent discreet inquiries to the speaker’s dais. The response confirmed the surprising suspicion: Senator Trieste had not requested to be recognized for a speech.

    As word circulated about Trieste’s continued taciturnity, interest grew. Staffers were put to researching the current session’s records. Declan had not even asked a question during a debate (something that tradition allowed of senators who had yet to make their maiden speeches). The records of committee proceedings indicated he was an incisive questioner of witnesses, but that had not translated to the Senate floor.

    Some senators, perhaps to amuse themselves, decided to press the issue. One referenced Declan in passing during their remarks. At the conclusion of the speech, the presiding officer asked if Declan wanted to exercise his right of reply, triggered by the use of his name. He declined, stating there was nothing to reply to.

    The next senator took away this pretext by referencing legislation, “about which Senator Trieste doubtless possesses an opinion.” When given the right of reply, Declan accepted stating, “My colleague is correct that I have formed an opinion on the matter, one I shall record through my vote when it comes to the floor,” and going no further.

    Some days later, a third senator rose and during his speech asked bluntly, “The Senate would be most obliged if Senator Trieste were to illuminate us on the finer points of the bill in question, especially as it has come through his committee and we all know of his diligence in committee business.”

    When Declan took his reply, he delivered three highlights of the bill in 27 seconds (a handful of senate staffers timed him) and referred the Senate to the committee report’s executive summary for a more detailed analysis.

    It got to the point that Coruscanti media began blasting the headline, “When will Declan Trieste address the Senate?” A formality for every other senator was now a capital obsession for the one hailing from the Bakura Sector.

    Eventually, Senator Serling decided enough was enough. He stopped by his junior colleague’s office one evening on his way out of the building. “Just make the speech already, Declan,” he said, his words almost an order.

    “In good time,” Declan pledged to his unofficial mentor.

    “There’s no such thing as an invisible legacy in this place,” Serling warned him.

    “It’s all in hand,” Declan reiterated.

    Serling let it go at that. Declan might be his lover’s son, but he was also an adult. Besides, Gavin’s curiosity had been peaked. He wanted to let this play out a little more. Worst came to worst, the Senate could use some spicing up.
     
  7. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    I suspect that maiden speech will be a powerful one. It just has to be timed perfectly.
     
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  8. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Vehn

    Hapes

    Minister for Culture was the kind of job you gave someone you wanted if you wanted them to think they were important, but actually weren’t. Often it was a way to neutralize a potential political threat by burying them in the state bureaucracy. Some governments probably wanted to eliminate their culture ministries entirely to reduce their spending.

    None of those governments were in the Hapes Consortium.

    Contrary to her peers, Minister of Culture Aliz Razfi was one of the most powerful government officials in the Consortium. Hapans were zealously defensive of their culture. Programs for its promotion (naturally as the only correct one in the galaxy) naturally ran through the Ministry of Culture. Woe to the Queen Mother who did not recognize the role the Ministry played in anything she wished to accomplish.

    For a Queen Mother who wished to move the needle on gender equity like Sierra Chume, a supportive Minister was essential. Razfi was full-blooded Hapan, but, like Babitte Sidse, a veteran of the Consortium’s diplomatic corps. While many returned to the Consortium further convinced of the wisdom of Hapan ways, Razfi came back with the opinion that Hapes squandered the potential of half its population by barring them from positions of power. There was no moral righteousness in her stance, just simple economic calculation.

    Such a reliable ally was useful for fostering the cultural exchange with the Centrality. The Ministry of Culture hosted events that fostered dialogue between the first class of Centrans to enroll in Hapan universities and their hosts. If all went according to plan, prolonged engagement would not just send professionals back to the Centrality, but expand the worldview of young Hapans who had known only Hapan ways.

    Sierra Chume trusted Razfi to do this work—and she also entrusted Prince Ivegenni to the watchful care of the Minister for today’s levee.

    “Your Highness, may I present Bronwen Sucratelle and Gaina Lucretta?” Razfi said, introducing yet another set of Centran exchange students to Ivgenni. “They are attending the Royal College for engineering and agricultural studies, respectively.”

    “If today’s guests are any indication, then the Centrality shall have the best bridges and richest farms in the whole galaxy,” Ivgenni said. It seemed that the sons and daughters of the Centrality who had taken advantage of the free university studies in the Consortium were nothing but eminently practical aspiring professionals.

    “I think we’ll content ourselves with just building infrastructure to move beings and goods across our planets before we aspire to be the best in the whole galaxy,” Bronwen said. She did not match Ivgenni’s levity. The Centrans were all so serious. Ivgenni couldn’t blame them. They had grown up with war and civil strife. It was probably hard to smile when you could still remember troop carriers flying through city streets.

    “Much of galactic history has been the pursuit of food,” Gaina added. “On some planets, it still is. The struggle to properly feed the populace is the first thing any society must solve.”

    “And I have no doubt you both will be part of the Centrality’s solution to these pressing issues. We are honored to have such dedicated citizens join us in the Consortium,” Ivgenni replied, shaking their hands. “Forgive me, I must circulate to meet everyone, otherwise I would stay to talk more about how your studies already are preparing you for these challenges. I know that Minister Razfi is deeply interested in these topics though.”

    Ivgenni stole away, abandoning the Minister of Culture to what would doubtless be extended conversation. He knew he would pay for this later, but it was a price he would gladly pay for a break from the endless rounds. He’d thought having to be polite to the courtiers that collected around his mother was interminable, but at least then he could amuse himself with their inauthentic fawning. That was like a game. There was no enjoyment to be found among the earnest idealists the Centrality had imported to the Consortium.

    With a sigh, Ivgenni lowered himself onto a couch. He was sure he could catch a droid’s eye to grab some canapes from a proffered tray. That was the one thing ordinary beings never thought about: there was rarely enough food at these kinds of events.

    “You will not find what you are looking for here.”

    “Don’t tell me the Kaizu nerf on the crackers are all gone already,” Ivgenni said. “They’re usually the best thing at a government function. You’d really think the food would be better.”

    “I mean you will not find a wife here,” the woman on the settee next to him clarified. Ivgenni couldn’t place her look. She looked like she was simultaneously from anywhere and everywhere. “It’s obvious from the way the Minister is squiring you around that’s why you’re here. Proof of your mother’s commitment to her alliance with Carley.”

    “That would by ‘Queen Mother’ and ‘Queen Carley’ to the likes of everyone in this room, myself included,” Ivgenni said.

    The conversationalist gave the barest of shrugs. “I have little use for any being whose authority derives solely from an accident of their birth.”

    “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but the accident of birth is often all any of us have going for us. I speak from extensive personal experience,” Ivgenni said.

    “Clearly,” she said, unimpressed.

    “So, what great tract of land will you inherit in the Centrality that entitles you to be so flippant about inherited advantages?”

    “I have not an acre coming to me,” she stated. “I shall live and die by the work of my hands and the fruit of my mind. It is why I came here. Opportunity.”

    “Yes, there is so much work to be done at fancy cocktail parties,” Ivgenni jested.

    She gave him a disapproving sidelong glance. “The beings in this room will be the professional class of the Centrality of my generation. In time they may even be part of the ruling class, as much as anyone can be under a monarchy. If I wish to accomplish anything, I will need to know and be thought of well by them.”

    “Smart,” Ivgenni agreed, “but we’ve gotten off the point.”

    “Which is?”

    “Why I won’t find the wife you think I’m looking for here.”

    “Because you misunderstand who the beings in this room are. They are not social climbers, they are patriots,” she said. “They have traveled across a quarter of the galaxy because they believe that here they learn how to improve their homeworld, to create a better society. Not a single being in this room has any inclination to make themselves the prize trophy of a Hapan Prince.”

    “You clearly don’t understand how Hapan succession works,” Ivgenni said.

    “We all understand that your wife could be Queen Mother, should the worst happen. None of us want that.”

    “I’d say that makes you all excellent candidates for the position then,” Ivgenni replied. “In fact, I’d say you’re heading the list.”

    This got a loud, bark of a laugh from the Centran woman. “I can assure you that will never happen.”

    “You’ve yet to be wooed by a Hapan man. We’re trained by society to be quite…accommodating.”

    “You have nothing to offer me in the way of accommodations.” She gave him another look out of the corner of her eyes. That was all Ivgenni needed for her to make her point.

    “This has been delightful,” Ivgenni said, standing.

    “How nice it must be to be so easily amused.” Her criticism was light, but unmistakable.

    “Hardly. You’ve just saved me from having to attend any more of these. And who do I have to thank for the pleasure of this education?”

    “Lillias Camax.”

    “Ms. Camax, one thing we do know about in the Consortium is what a capable female looks like,” Ivgenni said, taking her hand, by the fingers and bowing slightly. “I suspect our paths will cross again one day.”

    “I wouldn’t be so sure. This is no meetcute from a romantic holo,” Lillias said.

    “I may be a prince, but I live in the real world. No, I suspect our next meeting will be professional in nature. You came here to meet beings who will be useful to you?” Ivgenni released her hand gently. “You have just made an acquaintance of the most useful one in this room. And you seem too smart to let that acquaintance lapse.”

    Ivgenni left her, a smirk on his face and vague annoyance on hers.
     
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  9. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Vehn Sometimes you realize you need to tie off a dangling thread from long ago posts. ;)



    Westcott, Bakura

    “What a good boy,” Falene murmured as she rubbed her hand up and down the long nose of the horse. “Yes you are. You’re going to run so well today, aren’t you?”

    Falene Trieste might spend almost all her time in Wild Space and the Unknown Regions, discovering new planets and charting hyperlanes, seeing places and things no other being from the known galaxy had ever seen, but every year she found her way back to her homeworld. Even the tantalizing possibilities of the frontiers of science and knowledge couldn’t keep her from the Union Westcott races.

    Not only was Falene responsible for the existence of the Noble House stables, but she had also committed the family resources to the construction of the racetrack. Though seen at the time as an eccentricity of an unconventional Taoiseach, Falene’s relatives had come to enjoy Union Westcott as a reliable and entertaining feature of the social calendar.

    Falene was just here for the horses.

    “Such a good boy,” Falene said, putting her forehead against the flat space between the horse’s eyes for a moment. With a final pat of his neck, she finished her fawning. It was important to leave the animal to itself so it could prepare for the race. There would be time for apples offered by open hands later.

    Falene headed out of the barn, its ground thankfully tended to obsessively by droids designed for the purpose. Anything less would have required much different shoes for the visit compared to those she was expected to wear in the owner’s paddock and the viewing box. She could have done without the latter set, but even her unconventional time as Taoiseach had taught her that sometimes needs must win out.

    As she crossed into the paddock, she entered the world of glamor that surrounded the Union races that were the pinnacle of the racing calendar on Bakura. Two days of straight track contests with the largest purses. Westcott had chase courses with hedges and irregular corners that offered sizable prizes to the top finishers, but the crowds for the oval races edged out those for the wild ones.

    In the paddock, other owners watched the parade of beasts with satisfaction, each imagining themselves in the winner’s circle just minutes from now. When the Noble House had a horse in the next race, the grass almost always hosted a gaggle of Triestes enjoying the prestige of the moment. Though the next contest featured no steed of the Noble House stables, Falene’s mouth pricked up into a smile as she found two of her cousins were present.

    “I heard you were going to give us some competition this year,” Falene said.

    “Don’t blame me,” Corrine said as she watched her horse walk around the paddock ring. “It’s all Vienna’s fault.”

    The young Harlow gave Falene a look that said guilty as charged. “I suggested that Corrine get some horses so she’d have a legitimate reason to visit Bakura. At least one that didn’t require a disguise.”

    “Not that we need it anymore since this one decided to get herself famous,” Corrine remarked, not looking away from her horse. “But the principle still holds. Hapans will tolerate me coming to Bakura when they think I’m trying to prove Hapes is superior in anything. Horse racing is as good as any other reason. It was an easy sell to mother.”

    “I heard you got some press,” Falene said to Vienna.

    “Not intentionally, but since it’s going to happen I’ll make the best of it,” Vienna replied. The young woman had been a drab, unremarkable teenager. It was a decided contrast to her chich mother, who was usually fashion plate perfect. Now Vienna looked like the one likely to make the celebrity holos in her contemporary slacks and heels (the latter of which definitely wouldn’t be suitable for most stables).

    “If you want out, you can always run away with me some day. No media out in Wild Space,” Falene joked.

    “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got things to do here now,” Vienna said with a smile. When the media thrust their attention on her, the university student had deftly turned them onto programs she cared about and facts that usually didn’t make the news.

    “I was really happy to hear that the Foundation is backing your program.” Falene had founded the Prytis Accords Foundation to support the Kurtzen and Sith survivors of Kitokaime’s reintegration into society. Their recent grant to Tiarest University to study Kurtzen biology for the purpose of developing organ replacement therapies was Vienna’s doing. The undergraduate would even participate in the research herself as part of her schooling.

    “We wouldn’t be able to do anything if it wasn’t for you. I’m just using what you set up.” Vienna smiled.

    “Will you two stop being so virtuous for a bit?” Corrine complained. “They’re heading to the track now and you’re going to make me look bad when I win loads of credits with Flying Cloud.”

    “Oh, of course Your Majesty,” Falene said, ribbing the heir to the Hapan throne.

    “I’m not even going to bother to correct that,” Corrine sighed.

    “Love you too, kid,” Falene said, putting her arms through her young cousins’. “Come on. Let’s go drink whatever expensive booze Declan and Regan bought. I don’t notice the difference other than the price tag, but I always enjoy it better knowing they’re paying for it.”

    Her companions laughed because it was true.
     
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  10. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    Yay, good to see Falene again and see that she's survived all her adventuring. :p Corrine's into horse racing? That's just awesome and means more excuses to see her again.

    Sometimes the best updates are short and sweet. This one is both. :D
     
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  11. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Vehn

    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    Few dinnertime conversations on Bakura, even in Salis D’aar, regularly featured a judge, a prosecutor, and one of the city’s best civil litigators.

    Of course, this was a regular Taungsday in the Eldred household.

    “I heard you’ve instructed your ADAs to stop asking for cash bail at arraignments,” Regan said to her daughter.

    “It’s a tax on the poor,” Trixie stated. “Beings who have cash or collateral put it up and get out. Beings who don’t have cash are stuck in jail awaiting trial, unable to earn any credits that their families need. That often makes things worse for the families, who have committed no crime. In fact, it can create cycles of crime in what other family members get driven to do.”

    “I’m aware of the theory,” Regan said. “This isn’t the campaign trail.” She clearly did not want to start a debate.

    “That hasn’t stopped you from orally composing opinions at the dinner table,” Trixie observed.

    “I’d say the elimination of cash bail is a worthy topic for family dinner,” Atticus interjected.

    “I’m sure she got the idea from you,” Regan stated.

    “The fewer beings in jail, the better,” Trixie continued. “We don’t live on Kessel.”

    “Next you’ll tell me you want to decriminalize spice,” Regan said.

    “Let’s not get into that one,” Atticus suggested in the interest of harmony.

    “Actually, that sounds like an excellent topic,” Trixie said, stabbing a piece of meat with her fork.

    “It’s an even bigger loser than cash bail,” Regan began. “That’s too far left even for Salis D’aar, let alone Bakura as a whole.”

    “I heard that Shenandoah and Niall are taking meetings,” Atticus said suddenly.

    That stopped the females in their tracks. They both looked at him.

    “What kind of meetings?” Regan asked her husband.

    He pushed some vegetables around on his plate as a prelude to spearing them with his fork. “Someone mentioned it in passing at the partners meeting. Some kind of discussion about the current political landscape.”

    “Are they fundraising?” Trixie pursued like a Karkarodon scenting blood in the water.

    “From what I hear they’re not turning down donations.”

    “To what?”

    “A political action committee. I forget the name.”

    “Something generic and vaguely patriotic, no doubt,” Regan hazarded.

    “Is it just them?” Trixie asked.

    “What do you mean?” Atticus titlted his head slightly before putting the fork of vegetables in his mouth.

    “Is Fianna Fail in these meetings?” Trixie clarified.

    “Not that I’ve heard.”

    The table was silent for a moment as they pondered that. “Do we know what the meetings are about?” Regan inquired.

    “Not specifically. I just heard about them as an upcoming event, not a report after the fact,” Atticus said.

    Regan hummed thoughtfully as she chewed and thought.

    “It’s got to be election-related,” Trixie said.

    “Why do you say that?” Atticus asked.

    “It’s all Shenandoah does,” Trixie replied simply.

    “You have a point,” Regan said.

    “Finally. Something you both agree on,” Atticus said with a smile.

    The females rolled their eyes in unison.

    “What are we agreeing about?” Horst asked.

    The other three beings at the table turned to look at him. It was easy to forget that he was there sometimes, especially because Horst was so good at entertaining himself when it came to food.

    “Nothing,” Trixie said, patting his hand.

    “How was your day, Horst?” Atticus asked, bringing him into the fold of the conversation.

    “Oh it was great! I watched the holo of the fight,” Horst gushed.

    “I didn’t know BBC Sports was broadcasting one. What was it? Gamorrean sparring?” Regan asked casually, not all that interested in the response.

    “That would have been cool, but this was better!” Horst said.

    “Selonian water wrestling?” Trixie said.

    “No, this was the fight with Fionn.”

    “Fionn who?” Regan asked absentmindedly.

    “Fionn Trieste,” Horst replied. “You know, your grandfather, Trix.”

    Everyone looked at Horst again, this time with shock.

    “You’re going to have to explain this one, Horst,” Regan said slowly.

    “Is that a before or after I finish dinner explain myself?” Horst asked.

    “Let’s go with before,” Atticus instructed gently.
     
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  12. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Vehn Hopefully this one was worth waiting for. It's an idea I've had cooking for years and only now decided to do. ;)

    The Ando Prime vid recording predates Fionn Dunross Trieste’s time as Taoiseach and the razing of Bakura by Neo-Sith forces. Current estimates date it prior to his first encounter with the Jedi Order on Ossus, somewhere in the late 190s. This recording of Fionn Dunross Trieste was kept in Noble House archives for centuries. Its existence was a closely-held secret within the Trieste family. The Ando Prime recording was only recently donated to the UB Salis D’aar Noble House collections and is made available to the public for the first time now in these annals.

    —W. Súilleabháin, Editor

    Ando Prime
    Over a century ago



    The vid begins with a Togorian mopping the mat inside a ring, fenced by mesh wire that extends up out of the picture. The efficacy of the mop is questionable. It may just be diluting the sticky fluid on the floor, spreading it around rather than soaking it up. In the background is the hum of the surrounding crowd, dimly visible beyond the far side of the combat area. The clink of bottles and glass jumps through the chatter.

    As the Togorian leaves the ring, dragging his bucket behind him, the mop propped over one shoulder, a couple voices can be distinguished from the general hum.

    “Next one’s, what, Shaskk?”

    “Yeah. Wouldn’t even take action on her straight up. Only gave over under on the round.”

    “Sheesh. Can’t blame them. You get in on that?”

    “Yeah. Took the under.”

    “What’s the line?”

    “3.5.”

    “Oh yeah. You take the under on that. I mean she—”

    The comments are overtaken by the enthusiasm of the crowd as a female Trandoshan enters the ring. The fighter, her torso bound with wrappings, her lower half encased in tight leggings that put her muscles on display, pays no heed to any of the enthusiasm. She simply takes a seat on a stool and waits.

    Shortly thereafter, a male Human walks into the cage. The door shuts behind him automatically. He wears no shirt, showing off a trim trunk, though not a musclebound one. He braces himself against the chain mesh, looking unsteady. Maybe even drunk. He goes to the corner opposite from the Trandoshan, placing his head against the padded pillar.

    “Gentlebeings, we’ve got an old favorite for you here,” an unseen announcer says, “It’s an iiiiiiiceball bare-knuckle classic! We’ve got our reigning monarch of the mesh, queen of the cage, Shaaaaaaaaskk!”

    The Trandoshan barely reacts as the crowd chants her name.

    “And tonight’s challenger is…” The announcer pauses. “F-eye-ohn Try-est-ee?” Then, less distinctly, but still audible, “What kind of a name is that?” There’s a brief silence as someone further away from the mic likely offers an opinion, but it can’t be heard. The announcer continues with enthusiasm, “As always, it’s a 15 round knock-down, drag-out, last-being-standing match!”

    A buzzer sounds harshly, signaling the start of the round. The Trandoshan jumps to her feet and the stool folded back into the pillar in the corner. She stalks forward, her hands already clenched into heavy fists. Fionn pushes off the pillar and cage, his back still to his opponent.

    He turns around, just in time to take a fist on the chin, snapping his head back. The Trandoshan proceeds to land several body blows as Fionn blocks his head with his forearms. She drives him back into the mesh as she continues landing punches. While the Human hangs in there, he’s not going after Shaskk. She doesn’t care. She punches with the philosophy, “the sooner I can knock this fool out, the sooner I can get paid.”

    As she pulls back for another punch, Fionn lashes out with a fast left jab that catches Shaskk square in the face. His fist seems like it’s barely pulled back when a right jab follows, with a left hook that lands on the cheek.

    Shaskk steps back for a moment, which allows Fionn to slip out to his left, away from the corner, and into the middle of the ring. He looks less lethargic now, almost as if the rapid beating shook out the cobwebs. The Trandoshan isn’t cowed by the sudden, if brief, assault. She pivots to pursue him.

    She sets her feet and throws punches like hammers. Watching them land on Fionn’s abdomen almost makes one feel their impact. His jaw sets with each one. Sometimes he slips one of her punches. When Shaskk misses, he comes in with a combo to punish her for the mistake.

    But she drives forward with focus and purpose, pushing him back against the wire mesh again where she starts unloading piledrivers as Fionn protects his head. Just at the point it seems like it goes on too long, Fionn counterattacks with a four-punch combo at the head again.

    Before Shaskk can respond, the buzzer sounds to end the round. The pair retreat to their corners, well-behaved the in absence of a referee to enforce the rules. The Trandoshan leers at Fionn from her stool. The Human slides onto his seat, his fingers hooked into the links as he stretches his arms wearily. Yet underneath heavy lids he too glares at his opponent.

    When the buzzer sounds again, all too soon, they both get to their feet and meet again.



    Fourth round

    Shaskk has settled into her strategy: land as many punches as possible, confident that one of them will drop the Human.

    Fionn has settled into his strategy: take punches and wait for openings to punish the Trandoshan.

    The fight has gone on longer than expected, now on the other side of the line. Several beings have lost their stake, but they remain, perhaps taking new side action to recoup their losses. It’s unclear from the video what prop bets are being made, but one could image new bets are being laid on how many punches Shaskk will land before Fionn goes down. The guesses need to be in the hundreds given how the first three rounds have gone.

    The Trandoshan now begins working Fionn’s left side, as if to prod him into a corner where he’ll be completely trapped. Instead, he lunges forward, hanging on his opponent, taking away her range with which to power up her fists. It’s almost as if he slow-dances her off the cage wall, like an awkward high school student at prom. As he slowly spins her and his face comes into view, his mouth moves, the words inaudible.

    Perhaps in response, Shaskk pushes him off her and he backpedals. She charges forward again to get in striking distance. Again she goes after Fionn’s body and he seemingly lets her. Until he slips an uppercut under her defenses and knocks her head back. The crowd gives a low sound of appreciation, unable or unwilling to conceal it. Now it’s Fionn driving forward with the torrent of punches and Shaskk who protects her head. He takes her into the cage wall this time. Unlike her prey through the opening rounds, Shask doesn’t counterattack, but rides the storm out. The buzzer sounds again and Fionn withdraws to his corner.

    As he takes a seat, he turns his head and spits out a gob of pink phlegm through the mesh. One can hope it goes into an unseen bucket. It seems like a vain hope.



    Sixth round

    The match has gone on almost twice as long as expected. Now the crowd presses closer to the wire. This Human, whoever he is, must have impressed them with his stubbornness—or perhaps his stupidity at continuing to take a beating.

    Shaskk’s handiwork is now all over him in the form of bruises that are starting to purple. It hurts to look at Fionn, but he continues to stand in there, strategy unchanged, and take the punches.

    However, the blows aren’t coming as fast anymore. Shaskk is resolutely landing them—and no one would switch places with her opponent for they still have plenty of power behind them—but her pace has slowed since the early rounds.

    Fionn is on the mesh again as Shaskk continues to punish him. He finds a small break in the barrage and escapes into open canvas. Shaskk pursues, her shoulders hunched. For the first time she looks tired.

    She strikes out with one fist for a punch, and for the first time Fionn leans back, the Trandoshan finding only air. She’s off balance for a moment and that’s when the Human steps into a barrage of punches, all aimed at Shaskk’s head. The crowd noise jumps an octave as they watch him unload on the champion. Shaskk tries to block, but in doing so tucks her head out of reflex. In this moment, Fionn has a height advantage on the Trandoshan. He gets under her fists with a left uppercut, sending her head back again. In the next moment he tags the side of her head with a fierce right hook.

    It drops Shaskk and the crowd gasps and cheers in the same breath. Fionn takes two steps away. Shaskk is not out—she simply needs to get to her feet in the allotted seconds and the fight continues.

    She’s up with time to spare, but before Shaskk even has her fists up Fionn is on her with a three punch combo that puts her back down. In a sanctioned fight a referee would have prevented such a thing, but this fight is a galaxy away from such rules.

    The Trandoshan nearly misses the buzzer, struggling to her feet using both hands now and once again Fionn levels her before she’s even back in the fight. It’s only the buzzer that keeps her from being eliminated. She can barely get back to her corner as Fionn sits, breathing heavily, his eyes never leaving her.

    When the buzzer announces the start of the seventh round, Shaskk is on her feet, but doubled over. Her mouth moves, but whatever she says is lost in the crowd noise. It doesn’t seem to matter to Fionn. A downward swooping right hook connects with her head and she falls so heavily that it’s clear to anyone watching, especially those present on Ando Prime, that it’s a knock out. Fionn stands over her, his body heaving, looming, the embodiment of the sudden violence he has just meted out. He doesn’t move until the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the fight.

    The crowd cheers. Without even kneeling to check on Shaskk, Fionn turns and heads for the now open door of the cage, presumably to get paid. Maybe even to collect a bet on himself, one that would almost certainly pay out at huge odds. He clutches his abdomen with his left arm, as if finally allowing himself to feel the punishment that has been visited on him. He staggers out of the cage.

    The recording ends.
     
    Last edited: Oct 14, 2021
  13. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Nov 15, 2004
    Could I be perchanced tagged as this continues? Playing catch up but I will get there.
     
  14. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn It's been a while since I last shared the family tree in case you need help keeping the players straight.

    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    The Eldreds and Penns looked at the dark vid screen. Silence sat heavily in the room.

    “Wasn’t that—” Horst began enthusiastically.

    “No,” Regan said, halting whatever thought her son in-law was about to share.

    “That must have been before he was Taoiseach, after he left Bakura,” Atticus mused. “He certainly looked young enough.”

    “To get away from his parents’ ambitions for him,” Trixie commented wryly. “Not that I know anything about that.”

    “But then at the end when he—” Horst started again.

    “No,” Regan stopped him once again.

    “It was—” Trixie started with a gleam in her eye.

    “Cruel,” Regan cut her daughter off. “Barbaric.”

    “He wasn’t exactly playing gentlebeings’ rules,” Atticus agreed.

    “This would make for a great holo!” Horst said, finally getting his say. “I hear they want to get Brosan Pearsh to play him. He was great in those Alliance Spy holos. He’d make a great Fionn!”

    Regan stood and went to the terminal. She ejected the drive with the recording. “Did you make a copy, Horst?”

    “You can make copies?” Horst asked with complete surprise. “I should have done that with seasons 4 through 7 of Tales from Mustafar!”

    “No one is to speak of this to anyone.” She looked at Trixie, clearly feeling her daughter was the most likely to share the news, despite the fact her husband seemed more taken with the contents of the recording. “This is the last time we will ever talk about this.”

    “What are you going to do?” Trixie said, attuned to her mother’s manners and moods.

    “To take care of this,” the Chief Justice said, leaving to pack a bag for her flight.



    Coruscant

    “I want this placed in the vault on Empress Teta,” Regan said, sliding the drive across the table.

    Declan looked at it without touching it. “Should I know what’s on it?” the Taoiseach of the Noble House asked.

    “An artifact of your grandfather’s time before he assumed his responsibility to the Noble House,” Regan said. Declan didn’t need to be told which grandfather. He only had one grandfather that he knew about. His wife was something of a rarity in her family in that she gave birth in wedlock. “You can watch it if you want.”

    “What will I find?”

    “My father at his worst. Someone who would beat another being for credits without mercy,” Regan stated.

    “Not the being who dedicated his life to rebuilding a homeworld ravaged by the Sith,” Declan stated, providing the opposite side to the credit chip of Regan’s sentiment.

    “Not the being whose bed I cried at when he died, who gave me everything,” Regan said, looking her nephew in the eyes. “I would not have the galaxy see him as someone he was not.”

    Declan did not say that clearly he was both: the second father of Bakura and a being who would earn his living with his fists.

    “I understand,” Declan said. He closed his hand over the drive. “I will take care of it for the family.”

    “The family would survive this coming out. But I wouldn’t.”

    Declan nodded once. “Safe travels home, Aunt Regan.”

    “Thank you,” she said softly, taking her leave.

    When Declan was alone, he considered the drive in the palm of his hand. He wondered exactly what it was his aunt wanted secreted away among the treasures of the Noble House, deep in the heart of the Core…
     
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  15. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Time for a slicer to tell us what's in there...great narrative here!
     
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  16. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    What's in there is the Ando Prime recording of the cage fight, so the unknown aspect is only on Declan's end. ;)
     
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  17. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn I must admit that whenever I need a senior Hapan official, I enjoy flipping through my mental files to identify a great woman actor, usually over the age of 40, to represent her. Maker bless Hapes. :D



    Royal Limmie Grounds, Hapes

    “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me! Come on!”

    Ivgenni turned with amusement towards the source of this comment. Of the many beings crowded into the luxury box at the Royal Limmie Grounds, no one was more disgusted with the official’s call than Minister of Sport Willene Bexamond. Officially her portfolio was the promotion of sport throughout the Consortium, largely at the amateur level, and showing that females were excellent (if not superior to males) athletes. Given that the professional Hapes Consortium Buccaneers limmie team was a royal asset, Minister Bexamond was the de facto chairwoman of the nation’s most prominent sports team. It had been her recommendation that brought Saoirse Sloan and her analytical models out from the Bakura Miners to be the general manager of the C-Bucs.

    “Are you even watching the game?” Bexamond shouted down to the field. It was probably good for the officials that the Minister was not on the sidelines. No one could accuse the Minister of being dispassionate towards her duties.

    Today those responsibilities included hosting the prince for the Buccaneers’ “friendly” game against the Centran Royalists of Erlinar. The term referred solely to the fact that the game had no impact on either team’s standing. Even though it was another Consortium/Centrality joint cultural event, the game was fierce.

    After the Ministry of Culture’s levee had failed to produce any results, Lillias had suggested a less professional event might produce a more suitable set of prospects for the prince. Ivgenni had eagerly seized the idea. Today’s attendees were still selected from the Centrans attending Hapan universities, but talk of studies and future plans were nowhere to be heard. The conversation was squarely focused on the game and the merits of the Royalists.

    “You didn’t need to bring me,” Lillias complained from her seat next to Ivgenni. She seemed to be the only being in the box not absorbed by the game. Unfortunately, an invitation from the prince was not the sort of summons she could ignore. Lillias was smart enough to know that student visas could be easily revoked.

    “Nonsense. How else will I steer clear of traps masked by passion for sport?” Ivgenni said lightly.

    “It would be more efficient if you used this seat for interviewing prospective princesses,” Lillias remarked. It would be hard to slip out of this one early…not that the Centran would ever do something like that.

    “Nonsense. If I had one woman on either side of me, I’d have to ignore one of them and that would offend her,” Ivgenni pointed out.

    “I’m sure the Minister would be happy to provide that cover to you,” Lillias attempted.

    “What? And miss the game?” Willene remarked without taking her eyes off the field from her seat next to Lillias. “Please. I understand the Queen Mother needs to marry her son off, but I’m not going to let His Highness’s flirtations distract me from when Callax scores today.” She gave a dismissive, rapid wave of her hand as if to say, Sort it out amongst yourselves and stop bothering me.

    “I’m surprised you consented to this idea at all,” Lillias mumbled.

    “To the contrary, it’s an excellent plan,” the Minister for Sport responded. “A princess who can’t embrace the Buccaneers should be run out of the Consortium on a rail. It would be a sign of a lack of class.”

    Lillias rolled her eyes. It was a good thing she wasn’t interested in the job.

    “So what should I be looking for, oh Centran whisperer?” Ivgenni asked, leaning into the armrest that separated him from Lillias.

    She flicked her eyes to the right where the majority of the guests were. “I’d avoid the ones in jerseys. They’re trying too hard.”

    “Or they’re trying just the right amount,” he countered.

    “Where’s your jersey then?” Lillias asked innocently.

    “I concede the point. That does narrow the field.”

    “Now find the ones who color coordinated with the Royalists.”

    Minister Bexamond snorted, clearly keeping one ear on the conversation. “Who chose teal and orange for colors? Dreadful.”

    “Aqua and orange, officially,” Ivgenni interjected. “See? I did some research.” He scanned the box surreptitiously. “Aha, here we go. I think I’ll start with third from the right, in the aqua maxi dress.”

    “If you want to waste your time,” the Minister remarked. The prince and Lillias turned in unison with inquiring looks. “What? She’s clearly into the man to her left. She reacted late the last time the Royalists scored, and only because he did. No, you want that one.” She gave a subtle flick of her index finger.

    “She’s not even wearing aqua,” Ivgenni said once he identified the Lillias’s candidate.

    “But she picked up on the hint of blue in the color scheme,” Lillias said, her appreciation clear. She looked back to the Minister for Sport. “I concur.”

    “Of course you do,” Bexamond said confidently. “You’re clearly one of the smart ones. If there’s a hundred more like you in the Centrality, it’s no wonder why the Queen Mother forged the alliance.”

    “You’re too kind,” Lillias said.

    “I think I have what I need,” Ivgenni said, standing and shuffling down the row of seats until he got the aisle. He confidently skipped up the steps to the bar that overlooked the seats, arriving at the shoulder of a willowy Centran.

    “Hello there,” she said, appraising the prince with a once over. Her tone held notes of appreciation and approval.

    “Allow me to extend a belated welcome to the Royal Limmie Grounds on behalf of management,” he said, taking her hand in his.

    “Oh, do you work here?” she asked. It was unclear if it was a genuine inquiry or if she was attempting to playfully put the prince in his place.

    “You could say that. Ivgenni.”

    “Charmed. Prairie,” she responded in turn.

    “That’s a name you don’t hear every day.”

    “Let’s just say I come from wide open spaces,” Prairie remarked.

    “And how are you finding the close comforts of the Consortium?” Ivgenni asked.

    “Well I certainly like the boloball,” she said, looking to the field. “Quite a show you put on here.”

    “And this isn’t the half of it,” the prince said.

    Prairie looked back at Ivgenni, one corner of her mouth pulling up into a grin. “I can see that…. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be up for a bit of a wager, would you?”

    “What did you have in mind?”

    Prairie leaned over and whispered in Ivgenni’s ear. When she finished, he looked at her with one eyebrow raised. After a moment, he offered his hand. “You’re on.”

    “Oh good. I can’t abide someone who isn’t up for a little risk,” Prairie said, giving it a firm, single shake.

    “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Ivgenni agreed, turning back to the action on the field.

    The game was suddenly much more interesting.
     
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  18. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Love my Hapan updates. My fave
     
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  19. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    I guess this means the Bakurans need to get more interesting. [face_rofl]
     
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  20. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn Fun fact! Kevin J. Anderson signed my copy of Darksaber at Comic-Con when I was a kid with the quote “Never trust a Hutt.” Sadly, I divested my library years ago and no longer have the book, but it thrilled young Trieste to meet his favorite EU writer! (What? You thought I wasn’t going to be a fan of the author who created a redheaded, killer Imperial admiral? Clearly you don’t know me.)

    (Though, yes, Timothy Zahn would have also been a good guess. Mara Jade is my biggest request for future Star Wars TV series.)


    Gesco City, Bakura

    Though manufacturing had made Gesco City’s fortune in the early days of the colony, that industry required credits to keep running. The beings who provided those credits had no interest in being entangled in the political morass of Salis D’aar. They were devotees of efficiency. They could spend more time making credits if the beings they did business with were located in town instead of on the other side of the planet. This gave rise to Gesco City’s financial district, a monument to the economic power of the metropolis.

    The turbolift doors opened on the 74th floor of one of the gleaming skyscrapers that comprised this statement of affluence and influence. The receptionist automatically looked up to greet the visitor, but, in his surprise, he found his welcome caught in his throat.

    The beings on the trading floor turned as they sensed the presence approach.

    “Oh wow,” the first to notice said, looking up from her workstation.

    “Korriban yeah,” another said appreciatively with a broad smile.

    “The boss is back,” a third said happily, stating the obvious.

    The boss said nothing, but continued until she reached the stairs that let to the upper level of the lofted space. She took them one at a time with purpose and ease.

    “All hail the master and commander,” her second-in-command said, coming out of her glass-walled office to greet the captain of finance. “It’s about time you got back in the real game.”

    She settled into her desk, which had remained empty for the last few years. Though she’d delegated her tasks to her subordinates in her absence, no one had dared to occupy her space.

    “The time for games is over,” Vesper Lynd said as she took the reins of the Frontier Fund in hand again. She had taken a leave of absence from the hedge fund to be the head coach of the Rydonni Prime Monarchs, the professional limmie team with whom she’d won a Galactic Cup of Limmie. Not many beings would have made managing billions of credits in investments their second career, but Vesper was not any being.

    She was a being with a competitive instinct that bordered on killer.

    “I take it Dorian is doing well enough to leave the nest?” the chief operating officer asked. Vesper’s son had been the star player of the Monarchs during her tenure as head coach.

    “He’s got everything I could give him,” Vesper confirmed. “Time for him to earn it.” She looked at the COO.

    “And it’s time for us to make a lot of credits again,” Vesper stated.

    “We have missed you more than you could ever appreciate, boss,” the COO said with a smile.

    It was time to get to business.



    Hapes

    “We’re coming in on target with our economic projections,” Treasury Minister Sif Wend reported. She’d joined the Treasury at the Queen Mother’s invitation after a long career in high finance and banking. Though she lacked the interstellar experience of some of her peers, she made up for it in pure intuition and insight.

    She was also one of the richest ministers in the government. It was anyone’s guess if she or Darriah Morningstar took the top spot. Unlike polities with representative governments, Hapan ministers were under no obligation to disclose or dispose of their private holdings when they entered public service.

    “The Centran government has kept to their word in expediting infrastructure contracts across their territory. Hapan engineering and construction firms have gotten the vast majority of new contracts, though some non-Hapan firms have won bids,” Wend continued, displaying holographic charts and statistics. “The negotiated rates from the Queendom Pact have been the largest contributor to our market dominance. The Hire Centran policy has also been influential. It’s bolstered local economies by increasing employment and raising wages. For Centrality, it’s also supporting their domestic goals, increasing the skill of their workforce, helping the transition to a peacetime economy.”

    Sierra nodded. “And tax revenues?”

    “Most of our growth comes from the corporate taxes, which come off the top. However, we’ve seen some wage growth in firms with Centran contracts. That’s happened in our middle tax marginal tax brackets, though we’ve seen large executive bonuses in the top brackets. All told, we’re up in the nine figures thus far on the fiscal year and will probably get into the low- to mid-ten by the close of Q4,” Wend stated.

    No one in the council of ministers needed to be told that those billions would flow into the royal coffers to be disposed of as the Queen Mother saw fit. Wend knew better than to talk about the exact disposition of the windfall with anyone other than the Queen Mother. She was Treasury Minister because she brought discretion as well as expertise. The less anyone knew about where the Sierra Chume kept her credits, the better for the Queen Mother.

    “Excellent. Well done, Minister,” Sierra said. High praise from a Queen Mother.

    “A question for the minister, if I may.” The heads around the table turned to Darriah Morningstar. “Where do the negotiations for the Centrality’s arms purchases stand? The Ministry of Defense approved the export permits months ago, but we have yet to see the approved contracts. What’s holding things up at Treasury and Foreign?”

    “We’ve been prioritizing our treaty obligations,” Foreign Minister Babitte Sidse said. “Need I remember the Defense Minister that the Pact does not include provisions for Centran arms purchases?”

    “The Centrality is still economically recovering from the civil war,” Wend stated. “Blasters and butter aren’t an option for them. The Centrality needs to capitalize on peace dividends. If they start printing currency to pay for battle dragons, they’re going to put their economic into an inflationary tailspin.”

    “Need I remind the Treasury Minister,” Morningstar said, aping Sidse, “that none of the export permits are for battle dragons?” The idea that Hapes would sell its premier starship model to anyone was incendiary. The Minister of Defense made sure to shut that rhetoric down immediately. “I realize the Centrality is coming off a war footing, but the truth is that their fleet is woefully weak compared to every other D13 nation. Has anyone looked at a map lately? Now that the Federation has let them off the leash, the Hutts could launch a full invasion before anyone noticed.”

    “They’re DISC signatories,” Sidse interjected. “They would destroy their interstellar credibility if they broke their treaty obligations.”

    “What’s the old saying? Oh, that’s right. ‘Never trust a Hutt,’” Morningstar said. “I’m all for building roads and schools, but they’ll mean nothing if a fleet bombards them from space.”

    Before the argument could continue further, the Queen Mother spoke. “Minister Wend, are there any executed contracts with the Treasury Ministry for arms sales to the Centrality?”

    “Not to my knowledge.”

    “Minister Sidse, does the Foreign Ministry have any?”

    “There are none on file.”

    “Then the matter requires no further conversation. Until there are contracts, there is nothing to approve.” Everyone knew the conversation was over.

    Darriah Morningstar also knew that the Queen Mother was using her influence with Carley to quash any such contracts. The monarch was willing to deprive herself of the generous tax revenue from the contracts just to keep the measly remainder from flowing to Darriah and her allies.

    It was spiteful. While Darriah had the self-control to keep herself calm during the meeting, she knew she would break some things when she returned home from the palace.

    And when she was done, she was going to get reinforcements.

    Queen Mother Sierra Chume, the foreign pretender, needed to be cut down to size, one way or another.
     
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  21. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    I don't claim to be an expert in Hapan politics, but I suspect someone is going to die. I cannot see any other outcome to referring to the Queen Mother, even privately or in your head, as a pretender.
     
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  22. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn Years ago I realized that Prytis is basically Aspen without the mountains. ;)


    Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

    Declan set the committee hearing prep materials on the side table with a sigh. He might be dedicated to his work, but there were still limits. He knew that he wasn’t going to retain much more, no matter how much he wanted to keep plowing through them.

    The Galactic Senator stood and walked to the window of the great house, looking out at the twilight blanketing the fields and woods around the house. If Ayn were here, they probably would have taken a break together. They might not have stopped talking shop, but sharing the conversation would have gotten them out of their heads, providing variety. What came next, how to get there. They had been on the brink of such big endeavors when they’d died. Declan still imagined where they’d be now if Ayn was alive. He knew he shouldn’t, but he did.

    Perhaps they would have discussed what the twins were up to. Shenandoah and Niall were so confident that they were sliding under everyone’s sensors with their plans. Ayn would have had them pegged instantly, but she would have smiled because she remembered been 25 and laying her plans for the future. She had been just a year younger when she’d made hers. What plans they’d been. She’d accomplished so many of them.

    Declan supposed that he and Ayn could have taken a walk in the gloaming, bundling themselves against the weather that seemed to cool ever so slightly day by day. As he looked out at the darkening landscape he could feel the chill air against his cheek. The thought of an evening walk tempted him, but he knew that wasn’t what he really missed about that scene.

    He left his study and found N7. “Please have a speeder readied for me,” he requested.

    One of the benefits of having droids was that they didn’t comment about orders that were out of the ordinary. N7 simply dipped his head in acknowledgement and began taking care of it.



    The knock on the door took Mrs. Safin Ayada by surprise. All of their dinner guests had arrived for the evening. Everyone was still milling about with preprandial cocktails and hadn’t yet taken their seats. She dismissed a servant who made to answer the sound. Unlike the Triestes, the Ayadas were of the old mold of Bakurans. Droids were not to be trusted. Much better to pay a sentient being, even if it might cost more.

    She slid the door open and was met by the twin surprises. The first was a burst of fresh, bracing air carrying the scent of the coniferous trees that surrounded the Ayada home. The second was the visage of Declan Trieste.

    “Forgive me for not replying to your kind invitation,” Declan said. “The schedule of the Senate can be unpredictable, which is inconvenient for maintaining a social life. Perhaps this will make up for my lack of manners.” He extended a bottle of wine from Roon to the hostess.

    To say Safin had not expected her nearest neighbor tonight was an understatement. As a matter of good form, she extended invitations to her soirees to Declan Trieste given their proximity (though in this part of Prytis no one lived that close to each other by a matter of design). After the first few polite declinations from his droid (a failing, but then again he spent so much time on Coruscant she supposed he’d gotten used to them) she realized her offer would never be accepted. Even so, she had been raised in the school of thought that there were beings you invited to social events knowing full well they would never come. It was good breeding.

    “Allow me to assure you that not only is this a favorite of my cousin Eleanor,” Declan continued, not needing to drop his famous cousin’s last name, “but it’s also sufficiently expensive to constitute something like the beginning of an apology for upsetting your seating plan through my inconsiderate ways.” The proffered vintage was, Mrs. Ayada knew from a glance, expensive enough to be a worthy apology.

    Declan was no slouch when it came to breeding himself.

    “Please, come in. Delighted to have you,” Ayada said.

    Oddly, she meant it then and later that evening as Declan slipped into the quiet warmth and collegiality of an evening of the Bakuran rich. It would not be his last. The winter of Declan Trieste’s life thawed just a bit that night.



    Coruscant

    Not every Galactic Senator took advantage of the recess to travel home. Senator Traxt of Bestine had much less distance to travel than Declan. However, he rarely departed the Galactic City not because of distance but because he had no desire to ever leave Coruscant (which he had come to see as vastly superior to the world he hailed from and represented).

    His extended time in the capital had the advantage of feeding his propensity for holding grudges. Senator Traxt was the kind of senator who seemed to be incapable of letting something go once the offense was caught in his orbit. They were more common in the Senate than was healthy, though few were surprised at their numbers.

    At the current moment in time, he was consumed by the Corporate Sector Authority’s decision to raise tariffs on imports of datapad glass. Never mind that Bestine didn’t manufacture datapad glass. Somehow the tariff was now one of the greatest injustices in the galaxy and Senator Traxt was going to make life for the CSA miserable until they rethought the error of their ways. (It should be noted that rarely did Senator Traxt ever succeed in his avenging crusades. More often than not he fought them until there were no tools left at his disposal, at which point he conveniently found some other matter that suddenly offended him.)

    The senator had set his entire staff on yet another thankless task of finding every lever available to buttress his upcoming speech before the Senate on the matter. His staffers rarely lasted more than one term. They envied their colleagues who worked on legislation instead of retribution. Their reward for such misery was being able to have a resume that contained a reference to their time serving Galactic Senator, which would glitter in their interviews for lucrative private sector positions.

    “Senator, I think I’ve found what you need,” one of them piped up, providing hope for the beleaguered masses that they might actually get to go home soon.

    “Yes, yes?” Traxt asked without paying full attention.

    “It looks like several years back someone filed a trade complaint with the Ministry of External Trade against the Corporate Sector Authority. Something about exploitive employment practices,” the staffer said, swiping the file to Traxt’s datapad. “The weird thing is that it’s languished since then. No follow-up.”

    “Typical bureaucrats,” Traxt mumbled as he read through. “If they’d had any sense they would have hammered the CSA then and we wouldn’t be in this mess now. Remind me to have External Trade brought into an investigative committee hearing to offer their lackluster defense for their incompetence.” Though the senator threatened investigations, he lost steam before executing them about half the time.

    “What have we here…” Traxt said, suddenly perking up. His eyes flitted across the screen faster as his reading speed picked up. When he finished, he slapped one hand on his desk so hard the sound echoed in his office. “We’ve got them now! Get me on the speakers list for the first day once the recess ends. I’m going to flay the CSA until they’ve been laid bare as the hypocrites they are! They’ll see what happens when you mess with a Galactic Senator! And get the media ready for this too! Tell them they won’t want to miss it!”

    Senator Traxt was off and running now. His staff sighed internally. They weren’t going home anytime soon.
     
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  23. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn They might be dueling in the Centrality, but, meanwhile, in the Consortium it's a different kind of pairing.


    Hapes

    Prairie turned over in the morning light, propping her head up with a hand, her elbow braced against the pillow. “You know, it’s a good thing you told me who you are or this would be incredibly awkward right now.”

    “What? You mean this?” Ivgenni gestured with one hand to his lavish bedroom in the palace.

    “No, I mean your accent. I’ve never woken up in bed with a guy with a posh accent like yours. I’d probably think I was still dreaming,” she replied with a smile.

    “What are you talking about? I don’t have an accent. You’re the one with the accent,” Ivgenni retorted.

    “Oh I know that,” Prairie agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”

    “Well now I’m curious,” Ivgenni said, rolling onto his side to mirror Prairie’s pose. “Most beings don’t think they have an accent. Like I don’t.”

    “Most beings don’t grow up in prefab housing.”

    Ivgenni cocked his head. “Sorry if this is very posh boy of me, but what’s that?”

    “You darling thing.” Prairie reached out with her free hand and lightly brushed the end of his nose with one finger. “It’s the nice term for a trailer.”

    “You don’t say. I guess the war was hard even for Centran nobles.”

    “It was, but I wasn’t a baroness when I lived there,” Prairie said openly. “I only inherited the title, the money, and the scholarship opportunity when my aunt died a year ago.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “We weren’t close, but I wish we had been,” Prairie said. “It’s complicated.”

    “I know a thing or two about complicated families,” Ivgenni pointed out.

    “Right. Anyways, the accent you pointed out isn’t what you hear from the other Centrans around here. They all had elocution classes or whatever it is you posh boys and girls get to talk so pretty.”

    “I didn’t say you didn’t talk pretty.”

    Prairie’s face broke into a grin. “Flatterer!” She rolled towards him, bridging the small distance between them so she could kiss him.

    “But really—if it hadn’t been for getting your title, you wouldn’t have been here?” Ivgenni asked when their lips parted.

    “The queen has been generous, but she can’t send every Centran here to get an education,” Prairie said. “All the kids I grew up with are working the land, building roads. Some were old enough to be in the army. Some…” She didn’t need to finish.

    Ivgenni fell onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, a pattern of molding and color. “You must think me awful. I strut around in a uniform after going to a fancy military academy and I’ll never see even a millionth of the danger that so much of the Centrality experienced for so many years.”

    “Hey.” Prairie cuddled her body against his, putting her head on his shoulder. Ivgenni circled an arm around her back. “No sense in either of us feeling guilty about our good fortune.”

    “I suppose. I feel like I should do something, though,” Ivgenni sighed.

    “Well can’t you?”

    “You clearly haven’t taken any courses on Hapan political science, have you?”

    “Heavens no. Sounds boring.”

    “It is. Suffice it to say that I am a nonentity in Hapan politics.”

    “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve experienced firsthand just how much of you there is.” Prairie waggled her eyebrows.

    “You are awful,” Ivgenni smiled.

    “Guilty. But you’re being much too maudlin for such a beautiful morning. I’ll have to distract you somehow.”

    “I can think of a few ways.”

    Prairie gave him a shove in the face. “Incorrigible! Actually, there is a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

    “Yes?”

    “So the scary-looking ladies watching us last night when we were out.”

    “The chume’doro.”

    “Right,” Prairie confirmed. “They’re your bodyguards…so does that mean they’re still…watching?”

    “We have a modicum of privacy.”

    “So then they were definitely listening?”

    “Definitely.”

    Prairie picked her head up. “We’re going to be loud again!” she shouted in the direction of the door. “Sorry for the bother!”

    “Incorrigible,” Ivgenni repeated with a smile.



    “I do not appreciate having half my morning wasted when you’re the one who demanded I appear,” Lillias Camax groused when the prince finally deigned to appear for their meeting.

    “I can’t see why you’re upset. It’s your doing after all,” Ivgenni said breezily as he sat down to a belated lunch. “Come to think of it, I should have invited Prairie to join us.”

    “You’re not still seeing her?” Lillias asked with surprise.

    “It’s beginning to look like I’ve got this marriage thing sorted. Mother will be off my back in no time,” Ivgenni said as a plate was placed in front of him. “Wonderful, I’m starving.”

    “As much as I’d like to be free of having to constantly attend to your personal life, Prairie Hakewell is not the answer to your situation.”

    “Your caution is warranted. We’ll have to see how the next few months go, but I don’t foresee any problems.”

    “I understand your desire for a wife who lacks ambition, but Prairie has absolutely no political sense. The entire reason you have to get married is to create a backstop in the event of the worst. If Prairie were Queen Mother, she’d be toppled in weeks,” Lillias insisted. “She will never withstand the Hapan court.”

    “No one thought my mother would when she became chume’da,” Ivgenni stated.

    “She had years to learn. Your wife will likely not have that luxury if it comes to it.” Lillias growled in frustration, “and, beyond my better judgment, I inexplicably care whether about the future of your family.”

    “Funny how that happened.”

    Lillias gave him a withering glance that indicated she wasn’t interested in his jokes. “That means I can’t in good conscience let you marry Baroness Hakewell. I assumed you had called me here to ask for more ideas about how to find decent matches. As it happens, I recently met two who would be excellent candidates.” Lillias leaned forward with an insistent attitude that Ivgenni couldn’t ignore. “Please. At the very least think about relations with the Centrality. If you choose a noble of no court standing, it will undermine a relationship on which your mother had staked much of her rule. She needs to earn more friends on Erlinar than Prairie Hakewell can give her.”

    Ivgenni set his utensils down and looked at Lillias. After a few moments he said, “If you hadn’t made it clear you were uninterested on several levels, I’d say you just made an excellent case for your own candidacy.”

    “I’m certainly not going to make you any friends at Carley’s court,” Lillias demurred.

    “No,” Ivgenni agreed. “At least not yet.”

    The Centran narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

    “Nothing that we need to discuss while you’re still at your studies.” Ivgenni had picked up his utensils again and waved casually with a fork. “Now, about these other eligible young nobles you’ve found me.”

    “Right…” Lillias said, collecting herself. Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ivgenni was up to something.
     
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  24. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Hmmm what does that mean? Now I'm curious!
     
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  25. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @jcgoble3 @Sinrebirth @Vehn

    Coruscant

    Senator Traxt did not get his floor speech in the Senate. He’d taken up too much of the chamber’s time with his previous crusades. The Vice Chair’s office had put him on the schedule…in two weeks. While Traxt could in theory rise and ask to be recognized, both he and the Vice Chair knew he wouldn’t be.

    Traxt’s righteous fury would not keep for two weeks. He turned to the next best option: the committee room.

    Traxt had convinced a colleague on the Committee on External Trade to open hearings into discriminatory business practices in the Corporate Sector—and to call Traxt himself as the first witness. He had been testifying for 20 minutes without interruption.

    “The Corporate Sector has no conscience. They refuse to participate fairly in the galactic economy,” Traxt thundered. “In case the evidence I have presented regarding their exorbitant tariffs on datapad glass have not persuaded you, I have here proof, dating back years, that shows a pattern of this behavior.

    “This complaint—” Traxt hoisted a datapad above his head “—details how the Corporate Sector Authority keeps a vast amount of their workforce in conditions that amount to slavery. Their workers on so-called ‘personal service contracts’ are so deep in debt that they can’t even pay the interest on their contracts, let alone pay them off. They are charged exorbitant prices by company shops and housing that ensure they remain this way.

    “Lest you think, this complaint is the work of some disgruntled flunky who fled the CSA’s persecution, I direct the committee’s attention to the complainant. It is signed by the then-foreign minister of a member world of the Republic, a being who is held in high regard by this very body.

    “Senators, this complaint comes directly from Delcan Trieste during his tenure as Minister of State of Bakura.”



    Druckenwell

    Life for the Ypres-Eldred family was good. Corrie’s work for the Initiative was paying dividends—literally. Their fortunes had turned around as she returned to business as usual, which for Corrie has culminated in reaching the vaunted rank of Senior Vice President of the conglomerate. Quentin continued his work offsetting the environmental effects of the planet’s prolific industry. It was a battle almost literally without end, but he took pride and delight in it. Their son Morris, now seven years old, lived the comparatively happy life of a second grade student.

    Though they hadn’t repurchased the clifftop estate and the view of the sparkling ocean surrounding Il Avali they had sold to finance the work of The Way, the family had returned to the plush living that one could afford as a corporate officer on Druckenwell. They had no complaints.

    Until Corrie’s assistant put through an unexpected holo conference.

    “Viceprex Polarit,” Corrie said. “What a surprise to hear from you.”

    “An unpleasant one on my end,” the top diplomat for the Corporate Sector Authority replied.

    His tone got Corrie’s attention. Usually Karl Polarit was a paragon of manners and bearing. “How can I help you?” She wanted to get right to the heart of the matter.

    “This is a courtesy, despite the lack of such on your end,” the Viceprex stated. “I received your notice to terminate our agreement. The Corporate Sector Authority will proceed as we always do: with efficiency. Good day.”

    Before Corrie could say anything, the connection terminated. She almost shouted for her assistant to reestablish the link, but she realized that the Viceprex wouldn’t accept her call. Instead she turned to her terminal and opened the HoloNet, her fingers scrambling across the keys.

    She hoped she wouldn’t find what she knew she was going to find.