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    1. #1
      Atara Themis's Avatar
      Atara Themis is offline
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      New Aldera, New Alderaan


      All the languages of the galaxy combined and there still weren't enough words to describe the emotions coursing through Atara Themis. She was home. After all these years, all the work, the Chief of State had finally found a moment to make it back to New Alderaan. The fanfare was over, all the official mumbo jumbo done. No press and no staff. It was just her, a few Republic Guard, and the old house she had grown up in.

      Through an open window she basked in the summer sun and took in every smell and sound of the outside world. A world no longer in danger of Empirical slaughter. It was a surreal moment for the Alderaani, moment too long in making. It was a shame it was only temporary.

      "The painter is here Madam President."

      Atara looked over shoulder, blue eyes acknowledging the guard that had spoke. She smiled softly, "Show him in, bring what he needs, then you and the others take some time for yourselves."

      No sooner had she spoke did the guard attempt to protest. It was put with rest assuring shake of her head.

      "Don't worry Nosfay. I'm safe here...for once. It's only an artist after all..."
      Chief of State - Atara Themis


    2. #2
      Nova's Avatar
      Nova is offline

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      It wasn’t uncommon for Nova to get commissions for his work as his cover Serian Loria, usually when someone wanted a piece done privately it was for a portrait. However he wasn’t overly fond of sedate posed pieces and preferred to catch a moment in time that wasn’t forced or uncomfortable. When his dealer said he’d been asked for by Atara Themis herself, his immediate instinct was to reject the proposal. He hadn’t in the end of course, once he thought about it, but as he neared the estate, he had his doubts.

      His immediate thought was ‘what would the Council think if they got word of this?’ Naturally he knew they would be peeved that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to kill her, something anyone else would have attempted. He wasn’t everyone else. Having connections to the Lady of the Republic herself, was a possibility he wasn’t going to turn down, nor a resource he was going to end if it could help the Sith in the long run. The Imperials were a foolish ally and he wanted an option available for once they proved him right.

      The Jedi have never really been useful to the Republic, maybe in the beginning, but now? With their offer of neutrality other than healing the sick? What good would that do when there was a war going on that could easily be finished if the rebels only turned to the Jedi’s darker counterpart? The Sith were no strangers to war and the methods therein could easily be negotiated to adhere to what the Republic would accept. Serian Loria was a different face compared to Nova, well, insofar as a gentle use of cosmetics went to change his appearance enough so that when a camera caught him it couldn’t be linked to his other life.

      Loria was a dark eyed quiet man who, while dressed nicely, always seemed a bit rumpled around the edges. He was mild mannered and polite, content with his art and the modest wealth he garnered. A far cry from his other half who commanded, within reason, the resources of the Sith Empire. He stepped out of the speeder and lifted the case containing his supplies. Nova still wasn’t used to the drops that changed his eye color, it always left his eyes feeling peculiar. However, it was a necessary evil.

      A servant greeted him and took him to wait in a room for his patron and Serian stifled a yawn. He was tired, not quite physically, but the anxiety and stress from all the different trails he could see were taxing. He was mentally fatigued, but not so much that he could be accused of making some foolish mistake. He took off his coat and folded it neatly to rest on his case and just stood quietly with his hands folded behind his back. He didn’t look around, he didn’t need to as he had seen quiet plenty as he had walked in.

      He took in a host of details about his surroundings just by walking and didn’t usually need to look around and gawk like others would have. A cursory glance was generally enough and were someone to question him, he could point out that one of the pictures on the wall aws a hair unlevel, that the flowers arranged were probably a couple days old and someone had recently opened a window to air out where he now stood. Details that most would not have noticed, but then, he wasn’t ‘most’ either.

      He stood at a lean six foot nothing, his black hair was shoulder length and slightly messy out of his face. His brown eyes were almost hazel colored, but light brown. He wore plain grey pants, a darker grey vest over a long sleeved white shirt and his shoes were worn, but comfortable black. He looked hardly dangerous and while he was attractive, certainly not too distinctive nor threatening. In short, he was a man that someone might remember if they wished, but could be forgotten if not. Someone ‘safe’ and in the grand scheme, unimportant, just the way a useful mask ought to be.



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