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Star Wars: The Crimson Covenant / Re: CC: Circle of Freedom
« Last post by Syren on September 01, 2025, 08:30:15 PM »“Faith
Feel it but it fades away
All that I can do is pray
For mercy…”
-Cult of Venus
Chandaar: Republic Capital
Surface: Serinus: The Menagerie
Quentin Swire shifts in the chaise lounge, trying desperately to get comfortable.
His body still aches from the altercation with the RSB agent, which he dulls with a mixture of alcohol and narcotics. The semester is over, so he’s got a little time to regroup. He managed to execute the mission and pass all his finals, but it is the relative quiet that follows that gives him a low-level anxiety. It did make headlines, but was quickly overshadowed by the conflict at Corellia, which has now dominated the Holo for days.
So far, they had gotten away with it. Not that he expects Barrett to express any gratitude.
He watches Quinn carefully as she takes an impressive hit and thrusts the joint at him. A cloud of dank, lavender smoke swirls around her head. Somehow, she still manages to make it look sexy. She has mentioned nothing about the mission, not that he really thought she would, but she carries on as if this is all part of the fabulous circus of her life. That nanotech really is impressive.
“Babe, I’m starving. Let’s go out.”
“In a bit,” she murmurs distantly, staring at herself in the mirror. “Kinsa is swinging by to pick something up.”
“What?”
“I dunno, some outfit or whatever she wants to borrow for a thing.”
He attempts to lean back, but the chaise is so awkwardly designed that it makes it impossible. He pouts, but adorably, “Surely the studio would have sprung for an outfit. She has connections.”
“True, but I get to keep all the clothes. It’s in my contract. So, I have a better selection at the ready. She’s my sister, Q. You like her, right?”
“Yeah, sure. She’s just…kinda weird.”
Quinn turns, expression flawless and serene, “We’re all weirdos, babe.”
Can’t argue that. He hits the joint while she absently braids a strand of her silvery white hair. The door chime interrupts his wandering mind, and soon Kinsa is standing in front of them. He smirks, allowing a tendril of smoke to drift from between his full lips as he looks her over. Where Quinn is devastating and unattainable, Kinsa is a more accessible hot, an extremely pampered and expertly styled version of someone you could have grown up with, known all your life. She is historically less aloof than Quinn, but lately, she’s been more frenetic, and it’s wigging him out. Vibes are off, but he can’t place it. Surely, it can’t be residual resentment for what happened to her friend’s sister on Hesperidium. He had nothing to do with that. Besides, Corinthos is dead now, so she can take comfort in their reunion. He wonders if the transitions are affecting her non-active state. Not something that appears to be impacting Quinn, but not entirely out of the question, considering they are routinely generating new personalities and skills for them as the mission requires. Something to monitor, for sure.
“Thanks for letting me raid your closet. I had a few options, but they didn’t feel quite right.”
Quinn laughs, a hollow sound coming from her, and gracefully gestures toward the massive walk-in, “I totally get it. Knock yourself out.”
She nods to Quentin and disappears into the closet. Her heart is pounding, but she steadies herself with a few deep breaths. Focus, focus, focus. While she runs a hand across various designer gowns and intricately arranged separates, her eyes scan the tower of heels at the back of the space, arranged compulsively by color. Yes, she does have a thing, but that is not the real reason she came here. The ride home from the launch party stayed with her, and now she is compelled to do something that could lead somewhere her mind really isn’t ready to go. Kinsa pulls a Viu Viu wrap dress in a bold slate when she spots the silver heels in the tower. Grabbing a gray shawl, she quickly snatches them and folds them into the soft fabric.
“Found something,” she exclaims, sweeping out of the closet dramatically.
Quinn pauses mid-dab of lip gloss from a small jar and smiles, “That’s cute, and you paired it with-”
“Yes. Better safe than freezing. I’ve gotta run, but thanks again!”
“Anytime,” she calls as Kinsa departs, returning to her reflection. “Okay, mister, let’s eat.”
“Yeah, cool,” Quentin says, eyes narrowed at the door.
*
Surface: Downtown
Kinsa Cavanaugh manages to get everything back to her flat, where she pulls out the heels and inspects them. It seems insane, but she knows what she saw. Sure enough, the bottom of the left heel is stained a deep, rusted brown. She shivers. Pulling on gloves, she smashes the heel against her polished stone countertop repeatedly until it breaks off. Escara Wu would be pissed at Quinn, but she’d get over it. She carefully places the heel in a small container and drops it in her purse.
Satisfied with herself, she changes into the slate Viu Viu wrap dress, slips on a pair of wedges, tosses the shawl over her shoulders, and heads out the door.
Surface: West Ambaril
It is a modest premiere.
The influential genre crowd is out in full force. Admittedly, the Holofilm is incredible. A haunting take on the Bothan spies that died bringing the Rebellion, you know, that information. Outside, Kinsa calls Kezlan Roan. She would have asked him to join her, but thought it would make the half-Bothan side of him sad or something.
He’s wrapping up drinks with a client but would be down for another. She agrees and meets him at a small wine bar, where the crowd thinned out after having moved on to dinner elsewhere. She knows people may talk if they are seen together. At a party here or there, no problem, easy enough to explain away, given his connection to the agency and studios. But a more private meeting could signal legal trouble or whispers of a romance – possibly a legally troubled romance. Despite her initial and rather circumstantial thoughts about him, she thinks he’s cool and fun, and Kinsa Cavanaugh is kind of out of gal pals. He wafts the glass under his nose and smiles.
“I was pleasantly surprised to hear from you. I’ll have you know I went out with Oxana the other night, so thanks for the introduction.”
She brightens with a flirty shoulder shimmy, “And how did it go? A fulfilling experience, I hope.”
“Smashing. What a doll. I didn’t see you with your eye on anyone at the party. I asked around. No skeletons of acting leads in your closet. No salacious rumors about torrid affairs with delusionally hip industry types. What gives?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?”
She touches the edge of her glass against his, “The price we pay for fame.”
“True enough. Are we becoming friends?”
“All my friends are dead, so, yeah, obviously. We’re really exploring the multiple facets of our relationship. Over drinks, of course. This is mostly social, but I need some perspective.”
He leans back, arching a bushy brow, “Something tells me we should have ordered the bottle.”
“Probably. Do you happen to know of anyone who can conduct discreet testing?”
“What kind of test are we talking about?”
“A substance.”
“That’s not-”
“Hence, the testing. I need to know what it is.”
“Why?”
“You’re on my retainer now, not the agency, so this stays between us.”
“I take it this is the professional facet of our relationship?”
“One of the facets, yes! I need clarity, but it could be, like, bad.”
“Not sure I like the sound of that,” he groans, taking a long sip from his glass.
She keeps her voice hushed, “I don’t like the sound of it either, but I have to know!”
“Do you though?”
“Kez!”
“Alright, alright. Let me see what I can do.”
They finish their glasses, then another, and Kinsa slips him the container.
“Off the record,” she warns.
Roan makes a connection with an “independent” lab to test the sample on the heel. Two days later, he urgently summons her to his office, which is closer to that wine bar than she thought. It’s a lovely neighborhood, and she makes a mental note to examine it further. She chose a simple white blouse tucked neatly into a deep burgundy pencil skirt with a matching embroidered cape for some reason. It felt official, befitting of the moment. Safely in his office, he frowns at her from behind his desk.
“Why are you dressed like a reluctant but impossibly chic governess?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t question the outfit.”
He nods, motioning for her to sit. “I asked to meet you here because it’s completely secure. Swept for listening devices twice a day, the last of which was shortly before you arrived. One can never be too careful with the clients I represent.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“That’s because it is, Kinsa. The quote-unquote substance was blood. Human blood. But something tells me you already knew that.”
She pulls her cape together, “I may have…had a hunch.”
“Moonlighting in forensics? How enterprising. It gets worse.”
She gasps, gripping the sides of an insanely expensive chair, “How much worse?”
“So much more. Does the name Pola Vrent mean anything to you?”
“Is that…a person?”
“It is. Agent Pola Vrent. Of the Republic Security Bureau. The one who questioned you about a certain piece of jewelry they suspected your friend Ambassador Janessa Kain used to blow up the Republic President.”
“Oh, right. That. Wait, that’s…her blood?”
“Correct. She’s in the system. It came back as a match.”
Kinsa blinks rapidly, trying desperately to piece together sense out of all this. Why the hell would an RSB agent’s blood, especially that RSB agent's, be on Quinn’s heel? Roan, seizing on the opportunity of her stunned silence, leans forward and taps the console on his desk. Several news stories appear between them, headlines above what looks like a crime scene.
“And what happened to the intrepid Agent Vrent, you may be asking yourself? Well, she died a little over a week ago near the border of Five Points and Serinus. Quote-unquote fell down the lift shaft of a partially constructed residence tower seemingly in the middle of the night. Construction droids discovered the body in the morning. Coincidentally, her partner, Agent Ule Ollo – the other agent who questioned you – was killed around the same time in an apparent home invasion.”
Kinsa marvels at the wrongness of it all, the weight of dread anchoring her to the chair.
“Please tell me it doesn’t get worse than that,” she whispers.
“I wish. Do you know what night they both died?”
She shakes her head, willing him to say anything else. Roan sighs.
“The night of the launch party. Now, is there anything you want to tell me?”
-TBC
Feel it but it fades away
All that I can do is pray
For mercy…”
-Cult of Venus
Chandaar: Republic Capital
Surface: Serinus: The Menagerie
Quentin Swire shifts in the chaise lounge, trying desperately to get comfortable.
His body still aches from the altercation with the RSB agent, which he dulls with a mixture of alcohol and narcotics. The semester is over, so he’s got a little time to regroup. He managed to execute the mission and pass all his finals, but it is the relative quiet that follows that gives him a low-level anxiety. It did make headlines, but was quickly overshadowed by the conflict at Corellia, which has now dominated the Holo for days.
So far, they had gotten away with it. Not that he expects Barrett to express any gratitude.
He watches Quinn carefully as she takes an impressive hit and thrusts the joint at him. A cloud of dank, lavender smoke swirls around her head. Somehow, she still manages to make it look sexy. She has mentioned nothing about the mission, not that he really thought she would, but she carries on as if this is all part of the fabulous circus of her life. That nanotech really is impressive.
“Babe, I’m starving. Let’s go out.”
“In a bit,” she murmurs distantly, staring at herself in the mirror. “Kinsa is swinging by to pick something up.”
“What?”
“I dunno, some outfit or whatever she wants to borrow for a thing.”
He attempts to lean back, but the chaise is so awkwardly designed that it makes it impossible. He pouts, but adorably, “Surely the studio would have sprung for an outfit. She has connections.”
“True, but I get to keep all the clothes. It’s in my contract. So, I have a better selection at the ready. She’s my sister, Q. You like her, right?”
“Yeah, sure. She’s just…kinda weird.”
Quinn turns, expression flawless and serene, “We’re all weirdos, babe.”
Can’t argue that. He hits the joint while she absently braids a strand of her silvery white hair. The door chime interrupts his wandering mind, and soon Kinsa is standing in front of them. He smirks, allowing a tendril of smoke to drift from between his full lips as he looks her over. Where Quinn is devastating and unattainable, Kinsa is a more accessible hot, an extremely pampered and expertly styled version of someone you could have grown up with, known all your life. She is historically less aloof than Quinn, but lately, she’s been more frenetic, and it’s wigging him out. Vibes are off, but he can’t place it. Surely, it can’t be residual resentment for what happened to her friend’s sister on Hesperidium. He had nothing to do with that. Besides, Corinthos is dead now, so she can take comfort in their reunion. He wonders if the transitions are affecting her non-active state. Not something that appears to be impacting Quinn, but not entirely out of the question, considering they are routinely generating new personalities and skills for them as the mission requires. Something to monitor, for sure.
“Thanks for letting me raid your closet. I had a few options, but they didn’t feel quite right.”
Quinn laughs, a hollow sound coming from her, and gracefully gestures toward the massive walk-in, “I totally get it. Knock yourself out.”
She nods to Quentin and disappears into the closet. Her heart is pounding, but she steadies herself with a few deep breaths. Focus, focus, focus. While she runs a hand across various designer gowns and intricately arranged separates, her eyes scan the tower of heels at the back of the space, arranged compulsively by color. Yes, she does have a thing, but that is not the real reason she came here. The ride home from the launch party stayed with her, and now she is compelled to do something that could lead somewhere her mind really isn’t ready to go. Kinsa pulls a Viu Viu wrap dress in a bold slate when she spots the silver heels in the tower. Grabbing a gray shawl, she quickly snatches them and folds them into the soft fabric.
“Found something,” she exclaims, sweeping out of the closet dramatically.
Quinn pauses mid-dab of lip gloss from a small jar and smiles, “That’s cute, and you paired it with-”
“Yes. Better safe than freezing. I’ve gotta run, but thanks again!”
“Anytime,” she calls as Kinsa departs, returning to her reflection. “Okay, mister, let’s eat.”
“Yeah, cool,” Quentin says, eyes narrowed at the door.
*
Surface: Downtown
Kinsa Cavanaugh manages to get everything back to her flat, where she pulls out the heels and inspects them. It seems insane, but she knows what she saw. Sure enough, the bottom of the left heel is stained a deep, rusted brown. She shivers. Pulling on gloves, she smashes the heel against her polished stone countertop repeatedly until it breaks off. Escara Wu would be pissed at Quinn, but she’d get over it. She carefully places the heel in a small container and drops it in her purse.
Satisfied with herself, she changes into the slate Viu Viu wrap dress, slips on a pair of wedges, tosses the shawl over her shoulders, and heads out the door.
Surface: West Ambaril
It is a modest premiere.
The influential genre crowd is out in full force. Admittedly, the Holofilm is incredible. A haunting take on the Bothan spies that died bringing the Rebellion, you know, that information. Outside, Kinsa calls Kezlan Roan. She would have asked him to join her, but thought it would make the half-Bothan side of him sad or something.
He’s wrapping up drinks with a client but would be down for another. She agrees and meets him at a small wine bar, where the crowd thinned out after having moved on to dinner elsewhere. She knows people may talk if they are seen together. At a party here or there, no problem, easy enough to explain away, given his connection to the agency and studios. But a more private meeting could signal legal trouble or whispers of a romance – possibly a legally troubled romance. Despite her initial and rather circumstantial thoughts about him, she thinks he’s cool and fun, and Kinsa Cavanaugh is kind of out of gal pals. He wafts the glass under his nose and smiles.
“I was pleasantly surprised to hear from you. I’ll have you know I went out with Oxana the other night, so thanks for the introduction.”
She brightens with a flirty shoulder shimmy, “And how did it go? A fulfilling experience, I hope.”
“Smashing. What a doll. I didn’t see you with your eye on anyone at the party. I asked around. No skeletons of acting leads in your closet. No salacious rumors about torrid affairs with delusionally hip industry types. What gives?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?”
She touches the edge of her glass against his, “The price we pay for fame.”
“True enough. Are we becoming friends?”
“All my friends are dead, so, yeah, obviously. We’re really exploring the multiple facets of our relationship. Over drinks, of course. This is mostly social, but I need some perspective.”
He leans back, arching a bushy brow, “Something tells me we should have ordered the bottle.”
“Probably. Do you happen to know of anyone who can conduct discreet testing?”
“What kind of test are we talking about?”
“A substance.”
“That’s not-”
“Hence, the testing. I need to know what it is.”
“Why?”
“You’re on my retainer now, not the agency, so this stays between us.”
“I take it this is the professional facet of our relationship?”
“One of the facets, yes! I need clarity, but it could be, like, bad.”
“Not sure I like the sound of that,” he groans, taking a long sip from his glass.
She keeps her voice hushed, “I don’t like the sound of it either, but I have to know!”
“Do you though?”
“Kez!”
“Alright, alright. Let me see what I can do.”
They finish their glasses, then another, and Kinsa slips him the container.
“Off the record,” she warns.
Roan makes a connection with an “independent” lab to test the sample on the heel. Two days later, he urgently summons her to his office, which is closer to that wine bar than she thought. It’s a lovely neighborhood, and she makes a mental note to examine it further. She chose a simple white blouse tucked neatly into a deep burgundy pencil skirt with a matching embroidered cape for some reason. It felt official, befitting of the moment. Safely in his office, he frowns at her from behind his desk.
“Why are you dressed like a reluctant but impossibly chic governess?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t question the outfit.”
He nods, motioning for her to sit. “I asked to meet you here because it’s completely secure. Swept for listening devices twice a day, the last of which was shortly before you arrived. One can never be too careful with the clients I represent.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“That’s because it is, Kinsa. The quote-unquote substance was blood. Human blood. But something tells me you already knew that.”
She pulls her cape together, “I may have…had a hunch.”
“Moonlighting in forensics? How enterprising. It gets worse.”
She gasps, gripping the sides of an insanely expensive chair, “How much worse?”
“So much more. Does the name Pola Vrent mean anything to you?”
“Is that…a person?”
“It is. Agent Pola Vrent. Of the Republic Security Bureau. The one who questioned you about a certain piece of jewelry they suspected your friend Ambassador Janessa Kain used to blow up the Republic President.”
“Oh, right. That. Wait, that’s…her blood?”
“Correct. She’s in the system. It came back as a match.”
Kinsa blinks rapidly, trying desperately to piece together sense out of all this. Why the hell would an RSB agent’s blood, especially that RSB agent's, be on Quinn’s heel? Roan, seizing on the opportunity of her stunned silence, leans forward and taps the console on his desk. Several news stories appear between them, headlines above what looks like a crime scene.
“And what happened to the intrepid Agent Vrent, you may be asking yourself? Well, she died a little over a week ago near the border of Five Points and Serinus. Quote-unquote fell down the lift shaft of a partially constructed residence tower seemingly in the middle of the night. Construction droids discovered the body in the morning. Coincidentally, her partner, Agent Ule Ollo – the other agent who questioned you – was killed around the same time in an apparent home invasion.”
Kinsa marvels at the wrongness of it all, the weight of dread anchoring her to the chair.
“Please tell me it doesn’t get worse than that,” she whispers.
“I wish. Do you know what night they both died?”
She shakes her head, willing him to say anything else. Roan sighs.
“The night of the launch party. Now, is there anything you want to tell me?”
-TBC