So much has happened since she last saw Ysanne Isard. She watched the news about Isard's death and felt no sadness, she destroyed Talon Squadron and wondered if Isard would have been proud of her.
And now, now this was days after she left Admiral Trigit to die aboard his ship, with newly dyed blonde hair and missing the trademark beauty mark on her cheek. She's been in a med center, making friends with Wraith Squadron pilot Ton Phanan. Because she has a Plan. The ultimate in Intelligence operations. Infiltration and destruction from the inside.
And now she'd been let out, and she was walking into her apartment on Coruscant, only it had become the Bar. And she thought she'd try being nice. As nice as she could to the cold-hearted woman. A cup of caf is set before the former Intelligence Director, the glass chinking against the wood of the table.
Isard looks up -- and her mismatched gaze holds steady for a long moment.
It is not a particularly friendly moment. Ysanne Isard is not a woman who forgets anything lightly. She remembers the last time that she spoke to this woman. A costume change; hair dyed, identifiable marks gone -- this is Isard's game.
One eyebrow arches, faintly. "And to what do I owe this unexpected -- honor?"
"I'm a new girl. A new start, perhaps." Her accent is a soft country drawl, a farmgirl's talk. "You're not a factor in my life anymore, Isard. A new start."
You don't matter to her. Though it does imply that once, everything Isard thought of her did matter.
"I can see that," she says, and she does not mention how short this new start will be. It's behind her eyes, though; behind the mocking half-tilt to her mouth. 'I know something you don't know,' it says, 'and wouldn't you like to know what that is?'
She wraps long fingers around the mug of caf. "And what shall I call you?"
Comments 22
And now, now this was days after she left Admiral Trigit to die aboard his ship, with newly dyed blonde hair and missing the trademark beauty mark on her cheek. She's been in a med center, making friends with Wraith Squadron pilot Ton Phanan. Because she has a Plan. The ultimate in Intelligence operations. Infiltration and destruction from the inside.
And now she'd been let out, and she was walking into her apartment on Coruscant, only it had become the Bar. And she thought she'd try being nice. As nice as she could to the cold-hearted woman. A cup of caf is set before the former Intelligence Director, the glass chinking against the wood of the table.
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It is not a particularly friendly moment. Ysanne Isard is not a woman who forgets anything lightly. She remembers the last time that she spoke to this woman. A costume change; hair dyed, identifiable marks gone -- this is Isard's game.
One eyebrow arches, faintly. "And to what do I owe this unexpected -- honor?"
Reply
You don't matter to her. Though it does imply that once, everything Isard thought of her did matter.
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She wraps long fingers around the mug of caf. "And what shall I call you?"
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