#ementior vera

[overcaffeinated-creative]

Solus Drags Everyone the AU

Notes: So, started as an over-caffeinated tangent like three days ago. The entire premise is Solus got hit with a hot mic during what becomes the most extra 15 minutes of her life.

Characters: Solus  Vetra, Erkan Vel, Ementior Vera

Rating: T

Chapter: 1/?

Genre: A kind of dark humor? Maybe some angst?

Summary: Solus has colorful things to say about the Senate. Very colorful things.

Covertly filming a corner booth was difficult but Ementior Vera was crafty. This would be his big break. He could feel in resonating down to the bottom of his self-admittedly shallow soul. A friendly conversation between two random Jedi was nothing. It was like eavesdropping on senate janitorial workers. But, this duo held a Jedi he knew. She was not a household name like Skywalker nor even on par with Kenobi or Windu. Yet, he remembered her enough to recognize this gilded opportunity. When he was finished Vetra would outshine his new bank account. - Roll film. “Three pints of that piss tasting ale says you aren’t fine,” the Kiffar chastised before drawing up his wine glass for a sip. His tanned face wrinkled in displeasure at the taste. “Just lay everything out now. It’ll make it easier on me and your liver. As your friend I know it needs a break.” The recorder lingered on him long enough to get a few good angles for later identification. A strong profile with emphasis on the three black stripes running down his cheek. Luck granted him a full frontal view showing the tattoos were mirrored to the other side. The Unknown also had a slightly crooked nose and noticeably lacked a braid but had a lightsaber. At least a Jedi Knight, going off his apparent youth. A thick mane of black hair cascaded around his broad shoulders and well-muscled, bare biceps beneath his tunic. If it stuck with him a little longer future viewers would be okay. No one complained about quality eye candy. “Well, I say I’m fine,” Vetra snapped back. A silver switchblade rolled effortlessly between her fingers; blade extended. “My liver is doing well. It had the entirety of Sundari to recover.” Ementior shifted his sole focus to her where it would stay. Jedi were supposed to be blank more often than not. The masses had heard about their phobia of emotions and knew they wore humble robes. Yet, she leaned heavily in the opposite direction. Easily read annoyance was painted across her snow face. A common thug’s blade rolled hypnotically between her fingers while she drank ale in a seedy bar. One seedy enough to not frown at a patron openly displaying a weapon. Even the rich navy of her close cut tunic and black leatheris accents failed to scream Jedi, or even Baby Jedi. Only that braid gave her way. The man forced more wine down but looked on determined at his companion. “Then, at least tell me why you have this one,” he gestured to her knife with a nearly empty glass. “It’s not your usual fare. A gift then?” “Because you never know when you’ll have to gut your enemy and let the dire-cats eat ‘em alive.” No part of her voice raised before she smiled at the end. Something razor sharp with prominent fangs. Predatory really. “Not at all.” “Was that a bedtime story for a four year old?” came out in a complete deadpan. “Sure it-” Vetra cut him off, “Three and it doubled as a history lesson.” Something wistful wove across her face in place of the previous emotion. “It was part of a reminder really. That even a terrible threat, who thought himself above all, was nothing but mortal in the end. He died well.” A snort of laughter served as the Kiffar’s answer. For a second the holorecorder slipped out of focus as he straightened up. Ementior felt his balls attempt to retreat into his body at the exchange. The Kiffar was still a no name but she was a new layer dangerous. Beyond the Jedi training and ruckus attached to her martial skills lurked something more. A whole lot of something that had a hand in training her. Spying may end up being a terrible idea after all. No story was worth dying to get. The knife twirling stopped as a waitress passed. “Another ale, please?” she asked sounding courteous with a softer smile. “Just bring me the bottle of wine,” her companion said resigned to his fate. “I might as well finish it. Save some poor sap from having to buy it later.” He got a laugh from the waitress. Several moments of silent footage passed. Already he debated if it should be edited out or left. Vetra did paint a pretty picture sinking into her seat. One long leg kicked out drawing attention from wedge heeled boot trailing into something black and skin tight before disappearing beneath her tunic. The posture even caught a hint of lightsaber clipped to her belt. He would keep it as a reminder of exactly who she was. “We could use that kind of reminder right about now.” Her absentminded twirling of the blade restarted while her attention focused on the ale. “Dealing with the big shots that bad today?” A snort of laughter came from her. "I would've rather read my personal comms to Yoda.” It was her friend’s turn to laugh. "Even the steamy ones with your captain?" "Yes, even the steamy ones with the attached pictures.” A beat passed. “There are no steamy ones with my captain. Who is not my captain despite your insistence. Jabiim was a temporary assignment.” “But you kept in contact?” A smile spread across his face. “Sounds like something to me.” “Anything is something to you.” Things took a shift back to petty, boring gossip. While it was less of a danger to his personal well-being it did nothing for his career. She was sleeping around. The Kiffar looked like he knew a thing or two about sleeping around. It was something they shared with three-quarters of the Senate. But, that failed to him any real credit. What he need was something with more substance about a breech of the chain of command and broken chastity. “What actually happened?” More red wine was poured into his empty glass. It rose higher than a typical pour in anticipation. “The Senate are nothing but hut’uun.” There was a pause followed by a bitter peal of laughter. The word mention something to her. “They really are just a bunch of karking Hutts with more palpable looks when you stop and think about it. The same cowardice and greed runs throughout. Every damn one of ‘em is lying when they say they care more than their pockets. If they cared, they’d really do something. Three sips of wine passed. “Military spending?” “Among other things. The whole bunch is so withdrawn from this war they’re making us fight. Instead of trying to solve the underlying problems it stays on the surface. I’ve seen better self-reflection from Almec and I know that one was a lie.” Half of her ale was downed in one gulp. “Meanwhile, I’m on the front lines watching my troops die at ever turn. They keep telling me to make do with what I have. I’m Force Sensitive and resourceful but not fucking magic. At this rate, we’re gonna end up beating the droids into submission with our bare hands. While someone bitches about us needing more bacta.” This was a line of thought he prayed they would follow. A Jedi, of known name, railing against the Senate could get him something. From the looks of it she was only just winding up too. A deep sighed proceeded, “I don’t want to ask but I do. How out of touch are we talking?” The blade spun faster through her fingers into a silvered blur. “Overall, they don’t know their asses from their elbows. The more specific examples could not be cleansed by fire.” Her countenance went dark. “I overheard a conversation that boiled down to wanting to know why the Kaminoians charged so much for replacement parts. Since whatever they were producing was defective if it died so easily.” Tanned knuckles whitened around wine glass. Everything in his posture shifted into a defensive mode. “I’m sorry.” “Parts,” the rest of her ale was gone in a flash. The glass clattered onto the scarred table top. “Not soldiers, not troops, not even clones. Just parts. Pieces in a machine to be replaced.” A snarl crossed her face, “Meat droids as far as they’re concerned.” Ementior consciously had to stop himself from vibrating in excitement. It would never make into onto film but there was something in the air. A dark tension that clanged like credit pieces in his mind. Whatever rant he anticipated was nothing compared to what he had. Every side would have something to say. “Those are men. Living, breathing men who never got a damned choice to fight in this war.” A note of fury worked into her voice while long ears pinned back. “Even with our brevetted ranks we still got a choice. It was leave the only home you’ve ever known or fight but it was a choice. They did not.” More mauve flooded her face growing nearly red in unbridled anger. “The Grand Army of the Republic is fundamentally built on the backs of slaves and no one gives damn. But, everyone pro-Republic is fine with it because it’s not their people dying. But, I care because it’s mine.” The knife twirling stopped when it was stabbed into the table top. “They’re a slave army of Mandalorian blood and I care. Because we’ve never meant a damn thing to any of these people unless we’re their attack dogs. Order included.” Mandalorian. They were Mandalorian. She was Mandalorian! She called them a slave army with the venom behind every word to mean it. Seven hells she went after the Jedi Order too. This was not gold. No this was an untapped spice mine of career starting potential.