prvtocol

[prvtocol]

Brienne Guyot, Interview Quotes

[prvtocol]

gps but for a way out of this

[prvtocol]

♡ Brienne & Bolgan ( + art © @nightbrcther )

[prvtocol]

Brienne, Blasters, and the Three Statutes of Aargau

Brienne does not know how to use a blaster and refuses to carry a weapon, a peculiar trait for an Aargauun, considering a law requires its citizens to be armed on their home planet. 

In Aargau, order and organization are paramount. The government operates with only three primary laws called The Three Statutes of Aargau:

No unlawful removal of precious metals.

No possession of weapons except by Aargau citizens who must be armed.

No willful conspiracy to defraud, discredit, or deceive the Bank of Aargau. 

image source: x

These crimes are punishable by immediate execution by IG assassin droids (yes, that strict). 

Focusing on number two, it is known that non-Aargauuns entering the planet through Security and Customs are required to surrender their weapons. Meanwhile, citizens are required to be armed. Full citizenship (and thus being beholden to this law) is obtained at age 20. Likewise, the fine print of “armed” expresses more potential for citizens than simply carrying a weapon on their person. In particular, "armed" could include personal security. For Brienne, when she returns to Aargau to visit, she travels with one of her family’s escorts, who is contracted as an armed protector. 

Similarly, certain spaces prohibit the carrying of weapons. These include private school campuses, workplaces, and some government buildings, among others. Likewise, no one needs to be armed on their own estate grounds. Considering Brienne departed Aargau for Coruscant post-uni around age 23, gaining a lucrative internship with the Bank of Aargau’s satellite office that turned into a permanent position after, and prior, used her family’s security escort to travel to and from a school campus that prohibited carrying, she was never faced with needing a blaster. In Coruscant, living in an upper-level, safe neighborhood, she likewise never considered taking up the habit.

[prvtocol]

Fine, but inaccurate, he explains, and without correction, leaving her mildly confused. “Ah, there are details then.” An amused comment is given in passing, her attention diverted to the tea. Quiet, graceful steps of low chunky heels bring Brienne to the office’s small drink bar. With controlled movements, she measures two scoops of loose Tarine tea leaves into a pot before filling it with hot water from the inset dispenser. After, two white porcelain tea cups are carefully spaced onto a gilded tray along with the closed pot to carry over to the table where the Jedi investigator is seated. 

     “Well. That is understandable for certain situations.” Though drawled, a kind smile stays put on her face as the tray is set down, its contents offloaded, and then placed aside before she takes a seat across from him. Posture straightens, and her hands softly fold atop her lap; the time remaining for the leaves to fully steep is noted.

     So continued vagueness amid this Jedi takeover; she will remain polite and accommodating, but with a push from her boss to not let the Bank play the fool. “Yes, there is something we would like to know.” The client liaison starts as if ready to conduct a transaction. “Would it be fair to say this lack of forthcomingness is because the person in question is one of your order, thus, the reason the case falls under your jurisdiction?”

Were he less green, he'd blend right in, he thinks. In his grey ensemble, he looks ... just like so many he's seen in here. It's almost uncomfortable to him, looking so prim and proper, representative — but he was made to. Put on your most pristine, Master Sinube had instructed. Something with sleeves, Twinpar. So he did: he'd plucked his least-worn tunic off of the hanger to wear under his longline vest. The sleeves, not quite as flowy as many of his peers', neatly reach down his forearms, even obscuring the chrono on his left wrist, fringing his prosthetic hand.

He waves that very same hand in gentle dismissal of her apology, underlining it with an inoffensive smile her way. “That depends. 'Master' as an honorific is fine; as an indicator of rank ... has a nice ring to it, but inaccurate,” he clarifies, feather-light amusement breezing across his face.

He lets Ms Guyot shepherd him to a chair and sits himself down. “Ah, well, tea would be fantastic. Black, if you have it. Thank you. As for the handover: apologies about that,” he proceeds. “I imagine the CSF wasn't very forthcoming about the reasons behind it. I might be no better, depending on how our talk goes.” Another gust of amusement flits across his face, but there's a tension in him, too. The various unanswered questions on his mind put him on edge.

“To that end, perhaps we can start at the beginning — unless there's something you'd like to know from me beforehand?”

[prvtocol]

fulliaa

[prvtocol]

Brienne’s wardrobe includes a few designer pieces of Ghorman twill, but once the Ministry of Enlightenment started spinning its propaganda against Ghorman, they were pushed to the back of the closet. Can’t be caught wearing something that could be deemed a political statement.

A reminder that Bri avoids engaging in politics like she would a Ghorlectipod in her room. 

[prvtocol]

When a full smile graces her lips, lines creep into the corners of her tired eyes. In the early mornings, the joints of her dainty hands ache with the constant damp of her surroundings. Signs of her age mark and depress the lady. To live immortal, to not feel the burden of these heavy years and be dulled as such, perhaps it makes one who feels robbed of her desired life, envious. The tall lord’s question diverts any further rumination, however. 

     “A council.” Brienne's reply comes somewhat flat; bureaucracy diminishing the importance of being chosen as others seem to have been by some strange, mystic vision. The vote by Dorwinion’s remaining free council of lords and ladies answered the need to send someone trusted, yet also without their own household, and thus less needed at home. A biting reminder of remaining unmatched. 

     “A message there was, but our homeland is already beset by the encroaching Shadow, and we must tell of Rhûn’s predicament to those who might help stop what seems inevitable.” Small hands loosen only to refold again.

     “I am afraid my question is concerning another guest, one who may be familiar to my people. I do not mean to pry, my lord, but to sate curiosity amid concern for her origins.”

Elladan dips his head in acknowledgement of her introduction, mirroring the gesture she pays him in kind. By the time his eyes meet hers again, the corners of his are lifted by a smile — light-hearted, though not as obvious as it might have been prior. The long shadow that the future has already cast makes even his amusement a weighted thing.

“You need not apologise. Time has a way of desensitising us to these things. I am Elladan Peredhel, son of Lord Elrond,” he clarifies after a moment, his smile upheld thence by the footnote regarding twins' significance in the lady Brienne's culture. That, then, her distant home shares with his. Where children are a relative rarity, twins might border on the miraculous.

“Of course. And what bade you come here? A vision, a message?” It almost feels impertinent to ask ... Almost. It would have, perhaps, if not so many had arrived near-simultaneously under unclear circumstances. “I suspect my father among others will serve to alleviate your confusion more so than I.” There are those things that his father mandated secret, or too uncertain yet to be discussed with those unaware of the danger. Elladan does not seek to go against his vow of silence. However ... “But if you have questions, I shall answer them to the best of my ability.”

[prvtocol]

i have this constant feeling of wanting to leave all the time, i don't know when, i don't know where, but i only know that i want to leave

[prvtocol]

Aargauun Hairstyles

In Aargau, hairstyles carry symbolic meaning. Brienne’s below waist-length hair is a sign of her being an unmarried woman (see Arranged Marriage). It's an old tradition primarily carried on by the elite class. Likewise, certain hairstyles she dons speak to her class and region of birth.

Living off-planet since she finished university brought about many moments when Brienne desired to cut it more noticeably short. However, her trips home were frequent enough that upholding this tradition meant avoiding being included in community gossip. If she cut her hair shorter, people might think she got married to some off-worlder and would wildly speculate who before finding out she’s breaking with tradition. Over time, and despite diminishing her return visits home, she embraces her long hair and thinks less of ever parting with it.

[prvtocol]

me: *sees a baby* me: i need one

[prvtocol]

All business pleasantries are mediated, but Brienne knows she must further temper interactions with military officials, as hard as that is for her affable nature. Not all are receptive to small talk or matters outside the business at hand. Perhaps not so with the Commodore. As pleasant as their side chats may be, she remains wary all the same of potentially wasting his valuable time. 

     Clear blues instinctively fall to the datapad, a quick recall of what’s left on her schedule for the week and the time needed to slot in a review of the accounts he forwards. Officer requests take precedence. When casually reminded of the potential need for physical enforcement, to locate the transgressors, that is, the people behind the numbers, and her ability to advise on such matters, folded hands press flat against a suddenly uneasy stomach. An uncomfortable position, but one she cannot ruminate on with talk of something even more immediate.

     Codes? Sight scans the numerical lines, the project files extracted, but she stops short of bemoaning the immeasurable oversight of her office. It is what it is. Protocol indeed, but when a military officer comes knocking… 

     “Does this concern what's happening in Aargau, sir?” Uncertainty sits in her soft tenor, catching his gaze with hers, but a fair guess nonetheless. The holonews is ablaze with the crisis, the longstanding neutrality of the Bank of Aargau, its government, in question. “Either way, I can provide an assessment. But are you saying it has been disseminated to some extent?” What exactly is she working with?

@prvtocol: ❛ we cannot linger on pleasantries. ❜

"Indeed not." Agreement was given with the slightest downturn of his lips as the only hint of regret; she had by now ingratiated herself through being a pleasant conversationalist, both in discussing the developing project he had sought her aid in, and the occasional matters unrelated to it. Her amenity brought a welcome ease lacking in interactions with high command and most others. As she correctly indicated, however, there were currently far more pressing matters at hand.

He continued speaking as he keyed the datapad he'd brought in with him. "With the co-operation of your staff, my aide has successfully traced the misappropriated funds to the accounts whose details I am forwarding to you now." Once more, Lieutenant Commander Vanto's aptitude for statistics and numerical tracking had proven to be an invaluable resource at the Imperial Navy's disposal. "I trust you shall know what to do. If physical enforcement is required to retrieve them, you are welcome to advise the forces I dispatch once we locate the transgressors themselves. There is something I more immediately require your knowledge of." He turned his datapad towards her. She no doubt already possessed the information of which he would not risk further compromise by sharing. It was a list of a handful of codes, and the reason why a military element had been tasked with overseeing efforts towards amending the current crisis on Aargau. "These are the project files which they were able to extract from your database. I am aware that there is protocol in place and your own conviction to confidentiality to follow. However, I must impress upon you that if I am left unaware of what their contents are, I will be lacking information that could assist in finding the criminals. I need as much as you can provide." Glittering crimson hardened in its gaze towards the funding manager. "At minimum, an accurate assessment of how serious it may be should this material be disseminated across other rogue elements and insurgents."

[prvtocol]

[on the verge of having a complete breakdown] i need to make some kind of list or perhaps sort things into categories

[prvtocol]

Funding Manager Guyot ( vs Lady Guyot ) ♡ commission by @nightbrcther

[prvtocol]

hc + travel [ @cyberpawn / hc + word ]

Brienne owns a star yacht, initially purchased as an investment rather than a need. When she would make periodic trips home to visit family on Aargau, the luxury liner saw more personal use. Now it’s in possession of her often-holidaying mother, who says she likes her daughter’s ship better than her own. Ask Brienne about this arrangement, and she thinks it’s a way for her mother to keep a line to her. 

Regardless, Brienne’s travel these days (later-Empire) is mostly for her job and less for holidaying. As a senior funding manager who's been tasked with more oversight, her quarterly auditing trips to various companies and testing facilities come with the government protocol to use designated transport, whether public or military issue. The star yacht life will have to cycle back in retirement, that is, if her mother is willing to return her ship.

[prvtocol]

The Bank of Aargau’s satellite office on Coruscant carries on the architectural aesthetics of its home planet. A sleek pyramidal design, made of glass and stone, all angles and light. The welcoming lobby is bathed in the latter with its impressive glass facade. Likewise, slanted windows dot the outer office walls where the corporate-dressed client liaison stays poised and patient. Slivers of light stretch out on the cool marble flooring beyond each of her sides, greeting the Jedi agent as he enters the big doors. 

     Oh, Brienne’s brow lifts a modicum. The striking Mirialan is impressively tall and imposing in stature, not at all what she expected for a Jedi investigator. But then, has she ever met one? Small hands stay folded at her front, and she tries not to let them wring. No need to be nervous. The fraud’s discovery, along with her own interactions with the suspect, has her here for what she suspects is a questioning. 

     “Good morning, Mister Twinpar.” Her habitually soft voice projects with a polite duck of her chin. “Or master, my apologies,” she’s already stammering with a possible mistake of calling him mister. “I’m unfamiliar with the honorifics of the Jedi. And yes, we were informed of the handover, but we lack the details for it. But please, take a seat.” A hand lightly gestures to the sleek table and chairs at their side. “Could I get you some tea or caf, or maybe a bottle of pure water, if you prefer?”

@prvtocol

It's far from his favourite part of Coruscant, but this year-long commitment of his has turned to near-obsession. A lead's a lead, and he'll follow through — for his friend and her heartbreak. If he has a chance at giving her a shot at justice, he'll give it, moral grey area be damned.

He's too familiar with the heartache of the unchangeable to be insensitive to hers.

Very well. He'll see what set off the alarm bells before all else.

To that end, he filters through the crowds leading to the Bank of Aargau. A few buildings away sits the corporation he spent his first assignment with — undercover as a yuppy assistant to some investment magnate. The memory would draw a smirk across Caspan's lips, if not for the steeliness his current task demands.

One of ours, they'd said. It could be someone else not within the scope of his familiar suspects, but how many of their fallen had a tendency to return? He knew of only one, at least. While tunnel vision isn't recommendable in his line of work, it certainly is tempting.

Caspan's hardly stepped through the doors before he's intercepted by a clerk. The Council must've sent ahead a description — damage control for the bank, no doubt, should anyone either correctly clock him as a part of the Order, or mistake him for law enforcement.

Before long, he's ushered into an office. Naturally, the one expecting him is already there. They wouldn't risk someone snooping through their records — or trying to, at least. He has no doubt security here is tight. Just before the door shuts behind him, Caspan thanks the clerk, and turns his attention towards the lady on the other end of the room.

“You must be Ms Guyot.” No codenames this time, Twinpar, he'd been instructed. The thought circles around his mind once or twice as he lets his eyes wander away from the other, gliding from one corner to the next. Cameras. “Caspan Twinpar. You reported suspected fraud to the CSF, yes? And they informed you they would pass the case on to the Order?”

[prvtocol]

hc + pyke syndicate [ @badtrigger / hc + word ]

Brienne thought her dealings with the Pykes and all other criminal syndicates were over the day she cut ties with her entrepreneurial father. His dealings with the Shadow Collective, of which the Pykes were a part, was as brief as the group’s existence. Brienne’s smuggling runs in her rigged star yacht, carrying special weaponry scraped from shipping factories, went to other contacts in the group, thus, she never came face-to-face with the spice traders. Pykes, Hutts, Ashiga, all might have been forgotten in the passing decades but for mentions on the holonews. The only syndicate name that stuck more clearly in her mind was the one her father joined at the end of the Clone Wars, Crimson Dawn. Feeling used and abused by her naïve conduct in his illicit weapons trade, her only hope was that he’d honor her wishes for no contact and let her live her life severed from his chosen life of crime.

Two decades pass, and her wish for distance is honored until his death, when her name is found written in his will, endowing her with a fortune of credits and a collection of fine art and artifacts. Her father was an avid collector; his friendship with Dryden Vos began over a conversation about Kitel Phard vases. His will and the fortune that awaited her in a hidden vault were information brokered to other syndicates by an informant after his death, bringing her unsuspectingly into the clutches of the Pykes. Deliver them the vault, sell the contents at legal art auctions on their behalf, and leak Imperial intel from her government sector job that might be of use. 

This uneven exchange with the Llanic underboss, Denagak, lasted until the Empire’s end (3 ABY to 5 ABY) and was only lengthened by an unexpected relationship formed with the Pyke lieutenant, Bolgan Salak ( @nightbrcther ), who dragged her into that world (as the enforcer sent by Denagak to steal the vault’s coordinates). Perhaps this relationship skews how Brienne views the Pykes. The blame for her involvement is put more so on her father for his unconsidered inclusion of her name in his will. And she is, of course, complicit in their affairs, even if in the role of a pawn whose only business in the criminal underworld is one to be used and tentatively discarded. For good and for bad, and in the altering of her early retirement plan, Brienne becomes unexpectedly sutured to the Pyke Syndicate.