Bentre looked over the office. The desk laid overturned, pieces of flimsiplast littering the floor around him. The armory lightsabers laid forgotten beside the desk. His replacement had fled off somewhere shortly after the conflict. His fellow Corellian had been initially unwilling to part with the object at first.
It isn’t like it matters, the voice, both his and not his cooed the words in the back of his head, there is no question who is Alpha. Stahoes tried to ignore the presence. It was an uncomfortable sensation, like brain-freeze or a low-grade migraine. He would need his wits about him. In his absence the Clan had faced betrayal at the hands of Scholae Palatinae, elections had occurred within Kel Rasha and Muz Ashen had taken the reins as the Quaestor of Marka Ragnos. As a leader he felt out of place. The Clan was in a state of flux with the departure of Darius Tu’kul to unknown space.
So while he felt out of sorts, it was the time he had to step up as Aedile. Fishing his trustworthy datapad, the Shadow began taking down notes. His reception by Darkblade had been less than warm. It would take some time before the pair could work together as well as the Consul probably hoped but there were larger issues at stake.
A chiming noise resonated through the scantily furnished space. The sound caused the man to stiffen. “You may enter.” The command came out sharply, with the same authority the Versea Patriarch had tried to carry in past. As the door hissed open, the Sadowan was met by the stern gaze of a member of the Warhost.
“The Consul and Proconsul demand your presence, sir.”
“Oh is that right?”
“I don’t believe it was a request either.” The soldier’s tone had more than a hint of urgency.
Go on, see, the presence was less hissing, almost sing-song despite its raspiness, it must be fun to come at the beck and call of the man and his Jedi pet. Bentre scratched at the side of his head, his eyes cast down at the ground in thought. For a moment he wrestled with the idea of blowing off the summons before he looked up again. Locking eyes with the Warhost member, he gave the most sincere-looking smile that he could muster.
“Alright then, lead the way.” Bentre watched the man proceed out the door before following after. His mind started to reel. He hadn’t been back that long- so what did Locke have against him now? Was there anger stemming from his deposing the O’Maille-Versea as he had? Or was it anger that branched from his returning unannouced? Could it maybe be that word has just reached Locke that Bentre had left without checking out via Tasha’Vel? The voice in his head whispered almost inaudibly, adding to his irritation. With so many questions, the trip from Aeotheran to Sepros was going to be long.
Stahoes followed for several moments as he was led through the Lion’s Tooth. Lost in his own thoughts, Bentre studied the architecture. The sound of trickling water ticked at the Corellian’s ears, bringing him back to attention. He was now standing in the entrance hallway of the citadel, marching toward the entrance. As his eyes adjusted to the dark of night outside, the Shadow realized that the Consul himself was standing outside in the Courtyard.