Entrance Post

[too_far_in]

A door wooshes open on a Star Destroyer and it slams closed in a bar

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[iceheart_isard]

Ysanne Isard is not a woman often surprised by anything.

Still, when the door opens and she glances up absently from her table, her gaze freezes on the young woman standing there. She stares a half-second, uncharacteristically unguarded, and then she schools her expression and clears her throat.

[too_far_in]

Gara hasn't seen her face to face since that day. The one where Director Isard said she was watching her career with interest.

And there she is, standing in the middle of this strange place. And it's natural, the snapping to attention and the soft, "Madame Director."

[iceheart_isard]

Isard has not seen her, either, not since the day they spoke in an empty classroom, Gara a rising star in the world of Imperial Intelligence. She has followed her career, though, just as she had said. Society girl Kirney Slane to Ensign Gara Petothel to Lieutenant Gara Petothel, to Flight Officer Lara Notsil of Wraith Squadron.

To a dead young woman.

Ysanne rises from her seat. "At ease, Lieutenant," she says, and the words come easily, the cold indifference just as naturally.

[too_far_in]

At ease with this woman? Yeah right.

Isard's still alive in her time, for a few more months at least, and even in death, she surely would be able to strike fear into Gara's heart.

She murdered her father.

But she answers, as she should, "Yes ma'am."

[iceheart_isard]

"You haven't been here before?" Her hand is settled on the nearest chair back.

[too_far_in]

Her fingers twist around each other behind her back. "No ma'am."

[iceheart_isard]

"Then," and she sits back down, settles herself at the table with a sharp scrape of the chair legs against the floor, "you will sit."

It simply would not do to have Petothel met by a Rebel and given false information.

[too_far_in]

She stares at the other chair for a long moment. She knows better than to disobey an order (and there's no doubt that was an order), but this is Isard. The woman murdered her father...the woman is her--

No. Not going there. Not right now.

"Yes ma'am." She gives in, stepping forward, and sitting. Extremely straight backed.

[iceheart_isard]

Isard approves of the lieutenant's decorum.

"This place is called Milliways Bar. I have been told that it comes about through magic, but I highly doubt that," she says scornfully, but she is forced to admit, "However, I have yet to discover the real workings of it yet. They tell me that persons supposedly come here from all places and times, all drawn in by the door, as you were."

[too_far_in]

"Yes ma'am." She repeats, taking in the information, and staying utterly deadpan and calm. If she doesn't, she's not sure what will happen.

[iceheart_isard]

"The place is filled with Rebels." Her lip curls. "There are even Jedi on the security force."

[too_far_in]

She swallows, nodding slowly. A wave of disgust rolls through her, because she's a good Imperial.

She's a good Imperial.

[iceheart_isard]

"They have rules, which the Rebels flout. No violence, nudity, sexual activity, or outside business inside these walls." She glances away for a moment as she speaks and her mismatched eyes fall on the bar. "The bar serves items without a bartender."

[too_far_in]

Her eyes (brown now, no longer blue) glance over at the bar as well. "How is that possible?"

[iceheart_isard]

"I don't know," she admits grudgingly. "This place is supposed to be the end of the universe. They even have a clever simulation set up in a mock viewport." She waves an imperious hand (gesture tightly controlled, as always) at the observation window.

[too_far_in]

"You don't believe it?" She asks, looking out the window. "It's so real. And..." She smiles slightly. "Pretty."

Maybe she's still has child like idealism inside of her somewhere.