Starwars - Tuesday, January 11, 2000, 9:18 PM
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A quiet evening in the Capital of Corellia. John stares down from the
highest window in the city, the window of the OREO board meeting room. The
tall Corellian looks down at the city, but sees not the bright signs or
the moving lights of hover cars. His mind is burried deep in plans and
calculations. Plans of taking control of the known galaxy and calculations
of how to do it.

With a soft tone, a woman's voice calls into the room through the
intercom, "Sir, Mr. McKenzie is here." The sound dulls off to a quiet
volume, background sounds heard in the background.

Donivan turns away from the window slowly and makes his way to a large
leather chair at the head of the table. It is the only seat at the table
extravagant enough to be his, and is so labled by a small plaque sitting
on the table. John presses a button on the console in front of the chair,
and instructs the young woman to let his guest in. Meanwhile, while
waiting for his guest to enter, John pours two glasses of cognac and sets
one infront of his chair, and slides another to a place on the side of the
table.

A few moments after the response, a soft click is thrown into the room as
the doors slide quietly open. Behind them, a woman ushers a man into the
room. The man pauses for a moment, studying the room for half a second,
before stepping further in. The woman closes the door behind him, as soon
as the possibility arises. Bazil pauses a few steps from the door, looking
about the office momentarily, before heading forwards a few steps. In his
face lies a deep confusion, as well as a touch of suspicion -- mostly due
to the circumstances of the meeting, and the other who has put it on.

Donivan turns toward the door and looks the man over. "Come in Mister
McKenzie," he says in a deep voice, heavily accented with a Corellian
accent, "I've been expecting you," John sits down in his chair, and a soft
shadow falls over his face and shoulders from the tall back of the chair.
"Please, have a seat Mister McKenzie," John says and motions to the place
at the table where the second glass is sitting.

Bazil nods politely, before moving forward, and taking himself the
mentioned seat. His paranoia disappears, at least outwardly, as he studies
the other. He puts on a poker face, taking everything his recent
diplomatic training has entailed. Bazil looks John over for a moment more,
before forcing his eyes onto the others, cocking his head slightly as a
nonverbal question. His posture keeps erect, but loose, controlled
movements keeping him calm and secure for at least the moment. He still
doesn't know what this is all about, but he might as well make it look
good on his part...

"I am sure you are wondering why I requested your visit," Says the
Corellian. John picks up his glass from the table, his movements slow and
relaxed. He motions to your glass with his head and continues speaking.
"Your name has come up in some idle conversation Mister McKenzie." He
takes a sip from his glass and sets it back down. "It seems that you've
recently gone through a career change. Isn't that right?"

Again, Bazil nods softly. "Yes, it is. I was transferred to the Diplomatic
Corps from Star Ops, as a pilot." He leans forward an inch, gripping the
glass between a hand. Cooly, he pulls the glass to his lips, taking a
small sip of his own, pausing to take in the new flavor, before he sets
the glass back down, leans back, and folds his hands over his lap, looking
at the other with equally relaxed movements.

The falling shadows bring out the chizzled qualities in Johns face as he
finishes looking the man over. The Corellian's cold, glowing blue eyes
lock onto the eyes of the pilot, and John's face turns serious. "Ah, I
see," he says with little emotion. "It is a move," Donivan continues to
speak as he reaches up with his left hand to rub the side of his chin,
"although, I must admit, I don't see it as much of a move... up."

The grin happens within his mind before he lets it out to the other. The
corners of Bazil's mouth twist up softly, and he nods, "Definately not a
move up." He lets the words hang for a moment, before dropping his grin,
"It is, however, something I needed to do. A starfighter's life is not a
highly respected one. They are looked upon as the brute force grunts of
the New Republic by many. I thought, that by going into the Diplomatic
corps, I might get something better out of my career than dying in
simplistic space combat."

"Nonsense," answers the Corellian in a very regal manner, with a wave of
his hand. He seems a bit surprised at Bazil's answer. "Bravery and heroism
are things to be admired and looked up to, not scoffed at." John picks up
his glass once more with his right hand, while his left remains on the
side of his face. "It takes something that most men do not have to climb
into that starfighter and do battle." John takes another drink.
"Regadless," he says with another wave, after setting down his drink.
"Neither playing taxi for the diplomats, nor flying for the figher corps
give one much room for personal or career growth. Do they Mister
McKenzie?"

The altogether cool demeanor carries Bazil along, "No, they do not. But,
then again, I very much doubt that many military careers exist with career
growth, unless one goes into administrative or leadership roles. And even
then, it is not a very..." He pauses, tasking a word to the job,
"Fruitfull." His eyes glance around the area around the other for an
instant, studying the area, before again returning his attention to John,
interest growing in his face.

Donivan nods silently as 'the bottom line' is explained to him. "I see,"
he says while continuing to nod. "I am curious," John says, leaning back
in his chair a bit, "what do your new responcibilities include?" The
Corellian continues to stare into th pilot's eyes very agressively as he
speaks to him.

Bazil, trying to keep a foothold on the conversation's destination, shrugs
softly, smoothly throwing a hand up to make his point, "For the most part,
I fly several diplomats and representatives around, to various meetings,
help out with small things during the meetings, and assist however else I
can." He pauses, tinkering with an idea, "I am nearly always in the middle
of meetings, et cetera." His mind wanders for an instant, to a recent
meeting, before he snaps his attention back.

Donivan inclines his head to the side a bit, and the shadows shift arond
his face. "And are you happy with this new job Mister McKenzie? Does it
provide you with a sense of stability, or the possibility of a bright
future?" John squints slightly, trying to read the pilot's reactions to
the conversation through his body language. "Or is it just a shift from a
dangerous and low paying line of work, to just a low paying line of work?"

A mental curse floats through his head, never to be uttered. Bazil does,
however, retain his calm. Of course he didn't like his current employment.
He'd do /anything/ to be back in the Independent life. Not that it
mattered now. He was in the NR, and leaving so quickly after joining would
cause quite a few quirks of brow. "Stability? Yes. I can very well see
myself in this job for quite some time. A bright future, however, is
nonexistant for me as it stands." He offers a small shrug, letting
through, also, a tiny frown. "I am not entirely sure why I even accepted
the transfer." Bazil opens his mouth to speak again, before closing it,
frowning softly again. He bites his tongue, so as to prevent any further
information -- for the moment.

Donivan smiles softly and brings both of his hands down on the table. He
sits back up and leans forward over the table a bit. John's stare does not
leave Bazil's eyes for a minute. When he was young, he was tought that the
eyes will always betray one's emotions and it is a tale that he found out
to be true (at least in his own mind). "A very predictable answer, for
such meaningless work," he says arrogantly. "Let me ask you another
question, perhaps the last question of this evening." John's smile grows
slightly. "What do you want out of this life Mister McKenzie? Do you want
money and fame? Women? A top of the line luxury speeder? Perhaps a house
in the most prestegious area of any planet in the galaxy? Or, Mister
McKenzie, do you want to be nothing more than a go-for to a bunch of
people who talk for a living?"

His calm returns fully. Bazil, in a look of thought, sits back in the
chair, crossing his arms at his chest. "You seem to know quite a bit about
me, sir. In fact, I do not doubt you know more about me now than many of
my previous employers. You may well know that I worked the Independent
life for quite some time. Then, I went into the New Republic, thinking of
fame, glory, and a steady income." The left corner of his lip lifts
softly, his eyes flickering with humour. "I was dead wrong. About a great
many things. Neither flying around shooting Imperial craft every day, nor
talking with the leaders of said craft, for a mere ten credits a week, is
ample enough." Bazil frees a hand from their crossing, to wave it around,
"This, is my dream. Not medals or words from your superior." He bites his
lip softly after the words, the smirk still playing over his face. He just
compromised his career with those words; something that could get him
court-martialed, or worse. Yet, there was something in John's words that
intrigued him into it.

Donivan continues to smile an almost sinister smile as he hears exactly
the words that he wanted to. "Indeed. This was once my dream as well," the
Corellian answers. "Now it is mine, but I continue to dream." John locks
his hands together on top of the table and continues to speak. "To me, you
seem to be bright man, Mister McKenzie" Don says, "but one who lacks the
simple opportunity to make something of his life. I also once lived the
loner's life, selling whatever fell under hand for a profit... for a
living. I can offer you the opporunity Mister McKenzie, but it is up to
you to take it. Before I do however, I must have your assurance that what
is said within this office, will forever remain in this office."

"I understand," Bazil simply states after the point is finally made. "It
stays here. Please... continue." He offers another look of intrigue,
letting no greed or desire slip through his face, the diplomatic training
pushing outwards, cloaking any of his true feelings... mostly that which
he is very interested in the idea of money again.

Donivan nods and leans back in his chair again, relaxing a bit, now that
the bait has been taken. "I enjoy having access to various types of
information. Especially information that is normally unavalible to me, or
information of a restricted nature. Your position in the diplomatic corps
puts you in the perfect place to gather such information." The corellian
continues to smile and talk, but does not move. "I take great pleasure in
discussin information of this nature. If you could suply me with topics
for such discussion Mister McKenzie, I would be willing compensate quite
well you for your troubles."

In response, Bazil bobs his head softly, "Ahh..." Pausing for a moment to
think to himself, he offers, "Quite the proposition, sir. As it stands,
for the moment, I have yet to come across anything terribly significant,
due to my relatively low rank in the corps, as of yet." He stops for a
moment, taking into thought several previous encounters, dancing a
solitary hand across his chin, and lower face.