LIVE TRANSMISSION FROM THE OFFICE OF THE GRAND MOFF
He speaks, and his words race across the galaxy, his image replacing sporting events, local news broadcasts, schlocky holodramas from before the Clone Wars and COMPNOR approved documentaries. Such are the privileges of being one of twenty souls whose choices govern the galaxy. He stands before a map of the galaxy, spine parade ground straight, arms folded behind it. Military combat plates unable to hide the cabled defintion of his chest and shoulders taut flatness of his stomach. Chiseled features locked into stoic professionalism. Eyes staring straight ahead, his elocution crisp and his accent perfect Core World refinement. Almost the Imperial ideal made flesh. Almost. Because he is Lorn Vree Taa, the one among twenty, forever marked out among his peers for oh so many reasons.
"Citizens of Oversector Fourteen, I bid you all Dark Greetings. And I interrupt your regularly scheduled transmission to tell you the truth."
On the map behind him, a red glow ignites in an otherwise unremarkable section of the Outer Rim, like an ember catching flame, or a slitted, fiery eye opening.
"In the Yavin system, the armed forces of His Imperial Majesty have suffered a mass casualty event the likes of which the galaxy has not seen since General Grievous assault on Imperial Center. Among the dead are Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, Admiral Conan Motti, and over one and a half million enlisted personnel." He lowers his gaze then, eyes falling into shadow, his breathes deepening, a catch making its way in that theater stage perfect elocution.
"I do not have the words to describe the monstrosity, the heinous nature of this act. What I do have is an answer. An answer to the question each one of you is asking.
How did this happen?" The last phrase is almost a shout, and suddenly he explodes into motion, arms shooting out from behind his back in great scything arms, blades strapped to wrist and forearms catching the light and then clashing with each each other hard enough to throw a spray of sparks into the holocam lens.
"We did this. Each and every one of us. Wilhuff Tarkin, Emperor Palpatine, they built the perfect army, they gave us peace, they gave us prosperity, and what did we do with it? WHAT DID WE DO?" Spittle flecked at the corner of his lips, veins standing out in his neck, arms thrown wide and eyes blazing with fury, with fervor, and then he masters himself, chin lowered to his chest, clawed gauntlets hooked against one another, edge grinding against edge as he almost whispers to the unseen audience.
"There is a lie we tell ourselves. And we all do it. We look at what we have, and we say this is it. This is enough. I won, I am done, all I need to do now is build a wall around this and enjoy it, eat, drink and be merry, the fight is over, I am safe, no need to strive, no need to push myself. And we told ourselves that, and we did, and one and a half
million men and women paid the price. And that is our shame, and our failure. But we still have a choice. We still a chance, a chance those one and a half million will never have. The chance to change. The chance to start again. To atone. That is the truth."
Raising his face to the holocam again. Staring into with every ounce of intensity he can summon up as he speaks once more. "And to the perpetrators of the Yavin Atrocity. To those celebrating, those smiling over the deaths of our husband's and wives, our sons and daughters, I say this. Laugh and smile while you can, you will weep and scream soon enough. That is the truth."
TRANSMISSION END
He remains in that position, he will not call it a "pose", for several seconds, feeling the beads of sweat run down his chest and forehead, he can run for kilos in the baking Ryloth heat, he can batter a training dummy with combination of strikes for round after round, why is he sweating now? And all he can think, all he can do is measure his faltering efforts against those who came before him. Wilhuff Tarkin would have never raised his voice, never altered his expression, no hesitation, not a hint of uncertainty, as regal and as calm as a judge ordering the execution of a prisoner held in chains before the bench. His father Orn Free Taa (Senator from the GREAT planet of Ryloth) would have had an audience, most likely comprised of the most attractive female next of kin to the deceased service members but he would have played off them, to them, tossed his cloak of office aside and rolled up the sleeves of his senatorial robe, he would have had everyone in the Oversector shouting along with his oration. But he is neither one of those men, he's only himself, and so he simply nods along as his aides compliment his own mediocre efforts, holds his arms out straight so they can take the Eriadu hunting blades off his arms and examine the edge alignment after the abuse he subjected them to, and then he brushes past them, seeking out the opinion of someone who actually matters.
His sister is sprawled across a chair in the back corner of the studio, baggy pants and top hanging off her slender form as she takes a long drag on a death stick before letting it drop to join several others currently scorching the hardwood floor. (He's advised her about the health impacts of that habit several times, he's firmly suggested she give it up, very firmly). Still, she is here, that's good, he hoped she might, this is very much in the line of her interests before...and she's wearing her jewelry, silver earrings and studs in her nose and tongue that accentuate her lavender skin, yes otherwise she's dressed like she just climbed out of her bed but the jewelry is probably a good sign. Probably.
Not that anyone is likely to notice the jewelry considering, he has nothing against the teeth filed into a mouthful of fangs, that's tradition, that's the mark of a warrior of the old school (he's never done it himself, it's supposed to mark a warrior who killed a
worthy enemy in close combat and he's never done that) but the transparisteel plating used to reconstruct the lower right side of her face, it's certainly a striking image, especially with the filing, half her face locked in a permanent flayed razor grin, it just seems a bit much to him, especially as she swirls the smoke from the death stick over her laid bare fangs and gums, but this is not the time or the place for that argument, so instead he simply smiles at her expectantly.
Norn Xhee Taa exhales smoke, savoring the burning over her lips as she considers her gormlessly grinning brother. Truth be told, it wasn't the worst effort she's ever seen but there was considerable room for improvement. There could have been images of some of the more hologenic casualties, some footage of
Invisible Hand bombarding Coruscant wouldn't have been amiss, and considering the tone he's trying to strike the Grand Moff should have appeared considerably more disheveled, as if he's been awake for a lengthy stretch of time wrestling with the enormity of the catastrophe...but saying any of that would increase the amount of time she has to spend with the Grand Moff Trying To Interest Her In A Productive Enterprise and away from her villa, where she can be interested in her Selonian masseurs and rewarching her favorite classic holodramas, so she simply smiles and says with positively poisonous cheeriness "Excellent work, brother mine, it was all I could do to restrain my tears for dear Uncle Wilhuff."
There, she's given her approval to this little endeavor, they've Acted As Family To One Another in this trying time, now she can get to her shuttle and Lorn can leave her alone for another three to five weeks before he takes it upon himself to Interest Her In A Productive Enterprise again. That's how this particular aggravating little game is played. And then her brother the Grand Moff smiles at her in a way she would consider passive aggressive from anyone other than him and hands her a data pad.
"Good, that is very good, I have been communicating with Grand Moff Polevas, Grand Moff of Oversector One, you know, and-" she taps two fingers against her transparisteel cheek, interrupting him before he can get going, no, no whatever little scheme he's concocted is going to be strangled in the cradle, there are limits and this is hers.
"I am, in fact, quite familiar with Oversector One." and she skewers him with a glare that has reminded any number of would be therapists, well intentioned physical trainers, and aspiring spiritual guides that she is the indulged sister of a Grand Moff and she can have them thrown into a pit of starving Coruscant hive rats. Unfortunately it is much less effective against the Grand Moff himself, he simply nods at her, "Indeed, as am I, as I was saying Moff Polevas and I agree `Uncle Wilhuff` and the other victims of the Yavin Atrocity deserve a proper commemoration, but as I will be otherwise occupied I require someone in whom I have the absolute confidence to-"
"Oh, aren't you just
so occupied." And she knows that is a jibe more fitting to a teenaged socialite but really, if she has to hear one more word of praise to Grand Moff Shacklemorr from her brother's lips she may be physically ill, it was bad enough to watch him pine for masculine approval from Wilhuff and Palpatine, but Klem Shacklemorr? At a certain point, yes, he is an older man with military accomplishments and, admittedly, a certain sartorial flare, yes, Shacklemorr does seem to have been assembled via "What you might bait a snare trap with to capture a Lorn Vree Taa" but goddesses above and below there must be at a certain point where enough is enough.
"Could you just look at my proposals." And there it is, finally a crack in that mask of forced geniality Lorn always wears around her, she snatches the data pad away and scrolls through the first set of images, barely glancing at Polima herself "a woman of mystery in a daring ensemble of krayt dragon pearls", of course Lorn would just cut and paste Coruscant holotabloid articles to illustrate whatever his latest half cocked assault on good taste is. And so she sees nothing odd in the fact that the section labeled GUEST LIST? includes "Ysanne Isard seen at popular night spot", or even "Rivoch Tarkin all grown up", but by the time she reaches "former Senator Shayla-Page Tarkin stuns in swimsuit body" she has lowered the data pad to her lap to glare once more at her brother, who has the GALL to look innocent. "Really? Really?"
"I really do need someone trustworthy to act as liasion with Moff Polevas, and you have, that is, you have not, for three months you haven't left the grounds of-" and she almost says something, then. Almost warns him about the dangers of becoming too deeply entangled with Shacklemorr, of just how likely it is that he's being used, duped even, but then she considers how likely it is that such a speech would yield any productive results whatsoever. And then she contemplates the likelihood of whoever replaces Lorn as Grand Moff allowing her to keep her villa and living allowance, and she sighs. Truly, the galaxy is a cruel place of late.
"I will contact the Grand Moff of Oversector One as soon as I have the opportunity to-" she vaguely gestures at her pulled on ensemble, and her idiot brother positively beams in victory. Very well then, he'll be far from the first to die in Hutt Space but perhaps he'll be the first to die happy, that must be worth something.
@Mina
Communications sent to Oversector One announcing the appointment of a liasion to coordinate with Oversector Fourteen in arranging a proper memorial for the late Wilhuff Tarkin, along with a list overhauls and modifications to every prior suggestion Grand Moff Taa made...except the guest list.
@dash931
GRAND MOFF TAA OFFICALLY DECLARES SUPPORT FOR GRAND MOFF SHACKLEMORR'S POLICE ACTION, VOWS NO LIMITS IN STRUGGLE TO BRING THE HUTTS TO THEIR KNEES
