The Spider and the Storm

"Even so." She had that fatigued look about her again, the one that aged her beyond her years. "Some things should remain private." They entered a hall with windows facing the garden next.

Garoche, oddly, remained despite Sirejj's dismissal of the apparitions. His face was sullen, and he nodded in response to something no one had said.

"Of course." His brow furrowed faintly. Why Garoche still seemed to flicker in the corners of his mind, he did not know. He put it up to the fact his signature remained here despite the years past. Or perhaps it was his mother's connection to him that kept his memory -quite literally- alive. Either way, it struck him as odd, and slightly disquieting.

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There was no wind on Coruscant.
There had been, once, many thousands of years ago, but in no one’s living memory had there ever been so much as a breeze through the mighty spires stretching up into the ever-blue sky. The WeatherNet was all-entangling, snaring the barest hint of wind or rain and secreting away as a tourist remarked how tranquil the city was, how clean the air. No pollution here, they exclaimed in surprise and approval, and moved on before the thought could become a question. Those privileged few in their top-floor penthouses sometimes paid for a strategically placed gust or domestic roll of thunder for their guests to marvel at, usually on an insulated patio where it could not escape into the world.

Meanwhile, below, the people of the city's gutters struggled through the waste from above, heads aching from the constant whir and grind of the machinery the upper levels needed to function. Their eyes watered from the heavy air that stung their pores and clung to their clothes. Those who had hoped that Coruscant would bring them good fortune wondered what fools had ever claimed this forsaken planet had clean air and clear skies. They could see nothing but the buildings and pipes.

Up above, the city was positively humming with activity, leisure vehicles zipping along the lanes like millions of ants. On the highest levels, Senators in heavy silk strode to and from their business, Imperial officers walked in little clusters with white-armored stormtroopers flanking them, and the civilian elite talked behind their ring-encrusted hands. All was well out in the open, and the air smelled faintly of fresh rain. It was neither humid nor arid, though, and the clouds existed only to provide occasional shade from the sun.

Thalassa had been here more times than she could count, bouncing between the Motti apartments and the penthouse she shared with her husband for the past few decades. There were so many homes to keep track of all over the galaxy, but her and Tarkin's here on Coruscant was perhaps her second favorite--or it had been.

It was a perfect melding of their tastes, shaped by them both and reflecting it perfectly in its architecture and decor. The floor plan was fairly open, with decorated arches leading from room to room. The walls were pale gray and complemented the dark floor, which had rugs of fur and expensive fabric covering it. Wave and coral patterns were inlaid in the floor tiles and a lot of the furniture, intertwined strangely with angular abstractions and curved toothlike shapes. It worked, oddly enough, these two contrasting designs, in a way that was more offputting than comforting to visitors. It was as if shards from two different pots had been glued together, fitting just closely enough that the new pot was artistic and not haphazard.

There was a granite and metal sculpture at the center of the entryway, another jagged marriage of Thalassa's and Wilhuff's aesthetic preferences. It was dark gray and gold, abstract and flowing wildly out from a polished base as if it were trying to escape invisible confines. A vaguely humanoid form could be made out in parts, though it faded in and out of reality depending on what angle someone looked at the sculpture. Thalassa paid it no mind as she stepped inside, looking instead toward the wide window a few rooms ahead. It opened up onto a balcony with two tables and four chairs, which had an excellent view of the Imperial Palace.

Sirejj had never truly had a desire to visit Coruscant, and as they entered the atmosphere and the glimmering metal surface reflected the sun into his eyes, he found it even less attractive. The planet's signature hid from him. It was illusive and dark as if it was being overshadowed by the billions of life forms that walked its surface. Peoples from all over the galaxy gathered here. It was literally the center of the universe.

Sirejj felt stifled before they even landed. There was next to no greenery, unless it was potted or in someone's private enclosed garden. The voices of the planet's core were smothered by the dead stone and metal. Despite it teeming with life, Coruscant felt cold and unwelcoming.

That being said, he could not help but admire the architecture of the palace Lady Motti called home. Even by Coruscant's standards, it was magnificent. His upbringing and way of life were primitive compared to this. He doubted he could afford a single one of the shimmering floor tiles they stepped over as they entered the home.

He sensed the both of them here; Lady Motti and Governor Tarkin. There were years of history wandering about the passageways and lurking behind each carved statue. He took it all in with a subtle breath, the silence of the halls telling him more than the words of his companion.

"Interesting taste in design, My Lady." He spoke in a slightly lowered tone as they entered. He'd adopted a quieter presence physically lately, matching his indetectable existence behind the planet's veil. A year ago he would have been proud to cross these steps, but that pride had long since been replaced by caution.

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Thalassa said, amused. "Wilhuff and I spent ages getting it just right--he's always had a good eye for aesthetics. The curtains there are his own design." The window she pointed to was draped in heavy fabric that mimicked the color scheme of the statue, composed of glimmering threads that had been woven into waves much like the ones on the floor but more pronounced. Immense care had clearly gone into the layout of pattern on the curtains, a painstaking but lovingly rendered touch.

Thalassa's gaze lingered on them; something stirred in her for the briefest moment--a sudden and acute lonelieness, a sense of loss that wasn't for her son but for someone else whose company she had enjoyed, whose conversation was sorely missed. Regret colored these feelings, then soured into bitterness. Her eyes flicked away from the curtains, and she walked around the statue to the right, gesturing for Sirejj to follow.

"My rooms are up that flight of stairs," she said, pointing to a winding flight up against the wall. "Yours will be just below, here." Her finger traveled downward to an open doorway just beside the bottom of the steps. "Through that room is a guest room."

Sirejj nodded, noting her thoughts and tucking them away for later study. "When are you meeting this friend of yours? And will they be coming here, or will we be going to them?" He would plan accordingly. Being here in this strange environment was a new experience. He felt extremely out of place in these gilded halls, but he would have to ignore his uneasiness for the time being.

"We'll be meeting her at her home," Thalassa replied. "I just wanted to see to it the bags were unpacked, and I wanted to pause for lunch. Senator Mothma's meals are a bit...spare for my liking. Lots of fancy garnish on very small portions." Her dark eyes flicked over the decor as she approached the stairs, looking for anything that might be out of place. Everything seemed to be in order, other than a couple scuffs on the floor off to the right. They looked recent; her brow furrowed, but she dismissed them for now. "Have you met any senators in a formal context before?"

"I'm afraid not." He supposed he would act as usual- seen and not heard. He was not here as a consultant, but a bodyguard. Though he was not afraid to speak with Thalassa when they were on their own, he was not foolish enough to speak out of turn in other company.

"Then I'll give you this piece of advice: Treat them as you would any other potential threat. Senators garner a reputation for being hedonistic and unserious while they're on Coruscant, but believe me, their work never ends. It's best to assume they know more about you than they let on and that they're hiding behind a facade of affected ineffectuality. They're masters of playing the fool. Senator Mothma is particularly dangerous, because even her facade is against Imperial policy--just not as vehemently as her deeper self." Thalassa raised her eyebrows at him. "I've done some digging on her. She's sharp, and she's careful. Don't let her catch you alone, do you understand? The flow of information must be very carefully controlled while we're on her turf--I'm not yet sure how deep into the fray she's gotten herself. Not a word is to pass your lips without my say-so, Sirejj, do you understand? Not so much as a nod of greeting to her or her her servants."

"Seen and not heard, My Lady, and hardly seen as it is." He said his thoughts aloud. "I have a habit of assuming ill intent- I will continue to practice that philosophy." He smiled briefly. "Not a word." He found her description of Mothma equally concerning as it was intriguing. He had no desire to become any more involved with the Imperials and their business than absolutely necessary, but had some level of trust that Thalassa knew what she was doing. She had not survived this long on uneducated decisions.

"I'm very glad to hear it." She rested a hand on the banister. "She's not the most venomous of the senators by far, but I always like to be careful. Especially given my myriad ties to organizations she considers unsavory. I'm shocked she accepted my suggestion to meet at all."

Part of her expected Mothma was gathering reconnaissance, or at least intended to. It was clear to Thalassa just what sorts of charities she was giving to, so she'd have to go in with the intention of being up front. Mothma's data trails were clean, of course...almost too clean. That had been the first thing to tip Thalassa off that something wasn't right. Further sifting got her information that made her just sure enough to act on it. Even with that advantage, though, who was to say the senator wouldn't think this was a trap? A crime boss and wife of a Grand Moff was the last person she might expect as a potential ally.

"Adversity makes strange bedfellows. A year ago I wouldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams I'd be here." He assumed their motives would be anti-imperial- to what degree he wasn't sure. So long as the Sith were not involved, he could tolerate a certain level of rebellion.

"A year ago I assumed you'd have been cremated or shot by firing squad," Thalassa said idly. "You were made privy to some very personal matters; I'm still a bit surprised you weren't done away with." She smiled. "Don't worry; your luck seems to have worked out for the better--I rather prefer you alive, I think."

"I prefer me alive as well, My Lady." He chuckled. "As fate would have it, I'm still the undying thorn in the everyone's side." Had the circumstances been different, Sirejj was certain Tarkin would indeed have had him killed. He was lucky in that respect.

"I'll endeavor to keep it that way. You're a useful thorn, my friend." Her fingers curled around the banister. "I'm going upstairs to see to it everything is unpacked; I'll meet you down here for lunch shortly."