Kanan Jarrus (
notallofus) wrote2017-11-25 10:05 pm
Entry tags:
that time they were undercover married
So imagine there's a woman. You love her, and you want her, and you're partners in everything, and there's very little you hide anymore, and it's good that way, the greatest, but you're not . . . You're not together. Like that.
Now imagine that there's a mission, and it involves a sudden opening in someone's social calendar, and this opening involves a fancy party for married couples where lips are guaranteed to be loose, wine and spice flow like rain, and some very valuable materials and information will be less guarded for six hours than they ever will be again.
Imagine that the person who provided the opening is a Twi'lek, and she has a husband, and it's their slots that someone has to be prepared to take at this shindig.
"I think whoever made these pants cut them a little too tight."
Uh.
"My dear."
Now imagine that there's a mission, and it involves a sudden opening in someone's social calendar, and this opening involves a fancy party for married couples where lips are guaranteed to be loose, wine and spice flow like rain, and some very valuable materials and information will be less guarded for six hours than they ever will be again.
Imagine that the person who provided the opening is a Twi'lek, and she has a husband, and it's their slots that someone has to be prepared to take at this shindig.
"I think whoever made these pants cut them a little too tight."
Uh.
"My dear."

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"I think we'll all be glad to see the last of pirate scum crowding the trade runs."
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And people keep conflating them with the various rebels against the Empire, which . . . no.
"I'll be glad to think our shipping runs will be safer, too."
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Hera's smile fades, and she raises her hand to her chest, as though struck by this. "Really? There's something worse than pirates?"
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Someone, it seems, really needs them to be impressed with the oncoming terror.
Kanan grimaces. It's the best approximation of terror he can come up with. And he's not sure Zak would believe in such a threat, anyway.
Right?
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"That's very troubling. We'd hate to see the good fortune the Empire has brought us threatened. But surely there can't be many of them."
The Moff takes a step closer to them, eyes now trained on Hera, clearly enjoying the effect he seems to be having on her. "You'd be surprised at how often traitors can be found in high places."
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This Moff is disgusting. Why a certain kind of person loves to see fear . . .
"But surely you'll rip them out root and branch, right? You and the rest of the Imperial officers and governors. The loyal ones, anyway, if there really are traitors that have gotten so far."
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"Of that you can be rest assured."
Before another word is spoke, there's a commotion near the doors. A very elaborately dressed couple, who must be a king and queen of some planet or other, have entered the party. Their tall silver costumes, weaving around them like cocoons, glitter under the party lights, and many other attendees begin to head in their direction.
Including, apparently, Moff Laval. He lifts his glass to Hera and Kanan. "Until later."
Hera watches him as he leaves, leaning back into Kanan's arm. "That's someone to drop by later."
Maybe after he's had a few more drinks, at least.
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"Yeah, he seems like the kind of guy with something to say."
He shifts a little, resting his free hand on top of hers for a second.
"You'll tell me if I come on too -- if I'm too defensive, right?"
The way these Imps treat Twi'leks is already wearing on his nerves and they've been here less than an hour. He doesn't want to break their cover. (Break some faces, yes, maybe. But not their cover.)
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"You're doing fine."
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Ah, well.
"Right. I can do that. Yes."
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Hera's eyes flicker once around the room, before she looks down again, lifting her glass. She's still leaning into Kanan's shoulder.
"The ISB agent by the holosculpture? More art you can criticize."
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His voice is only a little dry.
"You ready?"
He's trying to muster his own gumption just now.
"I think I'm going to go with color criticism this time. Such a monotone palette."
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"That's Imperial taste for you," she agrees.
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"Quick, let's do this before I lose the two sips of drink I've had."
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Or some other way to surreptitiously dumping their drinks. Hera has no interest in more than a couple sips of wine while in a room full of Imperials.
Still, she smiles at him again, eyes lingering for a few seconds. But then she blinks a few times, and glances away again, back to their ISB agent.
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Because of all those people having affairs with ISB agents. Or rumored to be, anyway.
"Right. Here we go."
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As it is, she puts on a vapid smile, and flickers her eyes from the agent, to the sculpture, and the stars in its hands.