simulamortem

[simulamortem]

"Thought so," the sim responded. Adding without looking at Octane, "That's yours, too, isn't it?" If he had to make a GUESS.

Revenant answered without missing a beat. "Pass me a knife and I'll show you." Curious then if halfsuit might actually indulge him, most of all when handing a knife to a MURDER MACHINE may not be the most inspired idea. Not like the simulacrum would need one if he really decided to bleed the other Legend in the privacy of this little office, though.

"That so?" TESTING, turning Silva's suggestion over through the cadence of his voice as if inspecting a plate of food or a piece of art. How many times had Octane been personally victim to the sim's luxuriating in a kill? Or witness to his PLAYING WITH HIS FOOD? There had been less of that in his former life, to be fair. But lots of time spent honing his skills, training muscle and reflex. And lots of downtime lying in wait for a mark.

Octane looked at him like he was stupid. "Uhh, green? Duh."

He straightened and put his hands on his hips with a scoff. It was a joke. He supposed he could count on Revenant for the humor not to land. That or the sim was playing him for a fool. Both were equally likely.

"And anyway, what do you consider a knife trick, then?" he challenged. "I can do all sorts of 'em, not just games. But tricks and stunts don't really sound like a hitman's wheelhouse. No offense. You're just--" He gestured broadly. "--To the point, I guess."

It was like comparing the talents of a jester to a king. Why learn knife tricks when the wielder could just as well end lives without a second thought? He supposed a little fun didn't hurt, but if he had to guess, killing trumped the thrill of a few flashy weapon maneuvers every time.

He wouldn't know the first thing about that.

#deathchasing #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #they still think this is a game. 》( main v. )

[simulamortem]

He studied Sunil's grumbling before the matter of dinner came up - at which he studied Sunil's GUILTY LOOK, too. Scarlet glow vaguely amused, maybe. Then the thick aroma of food wafted in with hot dishes from the kitchen.

It smelled even better now that it was on the table.

Revenant avoided looking at any of it, besides briefly noting what Symphony was served. PICKY? He watched the queen's defense of his cooking ability, but seemed to shy at the warmth in her gaze - before regarding Irmé with some reluctance. Or, perhaps, timidity. "... Only for her, sometimes," all but murmured. Insisting, "I'm no chef."

And he hadn't known Symphony to be a picky eater, either. He knew enough about what she liked that she seemed EASY TO PLEASE when it came to food, and she had always been enthused about trying things from the Outlands.

❝ sounds about right, ❞ sunil agrees nonchalantly as he unbuttons some of his robes, as if making room for their FOOD. symphony shook her head and rolled her eyes as if he had just said a bad joke. ❝ who was that you were talking to? ❞ she says in a half attempt to deflect the attention back at her father.

sunil winces and sighs heavily. ❝ no one you need to concern yourself with... coruscanti bureaucrat types... ❞ he grumbles as he adjusts himself in his seat before his eye cast glance over towards the kitchen doors instead. coruscanti bureacrat could have been ANYONE that worked that worked in that side of the galaxy, from padmé, to any of her representatives, to even the chancellor and his office staff.

❝ so what's for dinner? ❞ he says, ungracefully changing the topic. ❝ dinner's been ready for a while, we've just been waiting on you, dear husband, ❞ irmé answers with an eerily NUETRAL tone before giving sunil a flat smile, who just gives her another apologetic look.

as if the staff were listening in, the kitchen doors swing open and a cart full of steaming food was pushed out by the staff who began to set out each dish in front of them. for the parents, a bowl of hot bouillabaisse was set out in front of each of them, a variety of seafood marinated in a tomato, garlicky broth. as a waiter recommended a wine that paired well with sunil's stew, another set out a modest bowl of dark cavier in the middle of the table for anyone to reach in, atop a board of accompaniments that paired well with the eggs.

for the queen a plate of stuffed bell peppers was placed as well as a side of caprese salad. with how uninterested and almost TIRED the queen presented to be before the food, she seemed more AWAKE now.

❝ a shame you can't join us, ❞ sunil says as he turns his attention back to revenant. ❝ sym's past partners couldn't stand her picky eating, we thought her only hope was marrying a CHEF. ❞

❝ who says rev isn't a chef? ❞ symphony teases as she looks back at revenant quite fondly. ❝ he knows his way around a kitchen. ❞

their eyes light up, IMPRESSED. ❝ you cook? ❞ irmé asks.

#naboocrowned #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

He watched the pair CAREFULLY, aware, too, that the subject could be a treacherous one if Irmé decided to turn it on them. Gaze lingered on Symphony at the revelation that the senator was unmarried. Fortunate that that wasn't something they ever had to worry about.

He gazed again for Irmé as she went on about a royal wedding - at which Revenant looked away, taking his turn at a brief search for Symphony's father, who soon APPEARED and finally spared them the topic. Optics didn't follow him, but studied him some once he was seated. "Postponed," Revenant answered again. Explaining with another softer, slightly playful gleam at Symphony, "Her Majesty needed a nap."

luckily the queen's brief startle only amounted to nothing more than her breathing loudly in her glass and accidentally spitting some of the wine she was in the middle of sipping. symphony sets the glass back down and uses the knuckle of her thumb to wipe at the corner of her mouth.

❝ don't you know better than to bring up personal matters around complete strangers? ❞ symphony scolds her mother but not before waiting for the waiter to slink away back towards the kitchen after having set up her father's plate. her mother only shrugs and waves a dismissive hand. ❝ as if she could HIDE it from people for much longer, ❞ irmé rolls her eyes and symphony does the same. she would much rather talk about politics and the ongoing war than she would about her senator's pregnancy, knowing FULL WELL the dangerous direction a conversation around children could lead to, given symphony and revenant had only just recently REJECTED irmé's envisioned future for their only daughter.

❝ they must be excited. i didn't know the senator was married, ❞ irmé continues despite symphony's clear disinterest. ❝ she isn't, ❞ symphony corrects, and irmé takes a moment to take in that answer with another slow nod. ❝ a shame. a royal wedding of a former queen's would have been glamourous and would have been the talk of theed for years to come. ❞ the matriarch casts a knowing glance at the couple, mostly revenant before nursing her glass.

the gods were good in that the awkward pause didn't linger for too long now that her father reentered the ship with a tired sigh. ❝ my apologies for keeping everyone waiting, ❞ sunil's booming voice reverberated through the small dining room as he walked in. ❝ how are you darling? ❞ he leaned over to quickly kiss symphony's hair before walking over to do the same for his wife, who seemed less humored by his apology than sym did. he briefly acknowledges rev's presence with a single nod before taking his seat besides irmé.

❝ so how was the tour? ❞

#naboocrowned #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

"Mmm," a thoughtful hum. Drawling, "You don't think a faulty trigger finger would've made your matches a little more exciting?" DRY as ever.

Revenant, too, regarded the other Legend's hands as Silva held them out to observe the scars. "That what you consider a knife trick?" Sounding less than impressed. When documents had finished copying, he targeted a couple other folders, then started on one of the email accounts, which would take a few minutes.

"No... Mostly legal docs, having to do with everything outside the company. And emails, which I'll go through later..." There might be something to glean from these emails that wouldn't be in WORK emails. He wasn't going to dig into them now, just copy everything over for him to look through when he felt like it.

"Tell me," Revenant answered then, CURIOUS if he might be able to GUESS.

"Oh-- yeah." He turned and pulled his sleeve up, wriggled his fingers around. "Good as new! Thought about letting it heal on its own, might've been kinda cool to have all the scars. But I probably would have lost feeling in a couple of fingers. No bueno."

He approached the desk and set the whiskey on top, paused to hold his hands in front of him in scrutiny. "Besides, I got enough scars on these guys already. You don't learn knife tricks-- or get really fuckin' good at five finger fillet-- and come out without a scratch."

Snickering to himself, he leaned his elbows on the desk and put his chin in his hands to watch the holo display scroll around, the idle flick of the sim's claws through scattered light vaguely soothing to him. Gaze darted about for any files that might stand out, grasping onto a lingering hope that there might be any proof that Torres had valued him or his family life at all. Nothing. He expected to feel disappointed, but he supposed he was all out of that these days. He dug around to find what he could feel, and much like what he was presented with, he also found nothing. Maybe that was for the better, but he didn't like anything that implicated his similarities to the man.

"You find anything good yet?" he asked conversationally, eager to avoid following that thread. "Secret messages? Blackmail? What his favorite color is? I could tell you that one."

#deathchasing #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #they still think this is a game. 》( main v. )

[simulamortem]

#I used to wear a skinsuit too. 》( visage. ) #I could use the cover. 》( Legends. )

[simulamortem]

Revenant scoffed. Stupidity and ARROGANCE, hand in hand. He browsed through what little had been left in the drawers before golden glow flicked again to Octane at his answer about drinking. The sim chuckled.

He sifted through some other storage in the room despite the other Legend's advice. Some things were kept SAFER in a physical medium, completely excluded from any risk of digital access; sure enough, he came upon a small data drive in a hidden compartment. Examined it just briefly before stowing it in one of his pockets. Searched a couple more places before finally returning to the desk.

Studying the desk's surface, the sim quickly recognized the interface and moved to open up the holo display, gaze searching then over the menu and folders he was offered. This, too, had obviously been unlocked in search of a will. He browsed through folders, and while there were some items - documents regarding various properties and legal proceedings, photos, a couple of email accounts and adjoining storage - it was clear the elder Silva hadn't used this computer much. Probably because it didn't appear to have been used for WORK.

REGARDLESS, Revenant produced a cable and hard drive from his pockets to plug in and start to COPY THINGS OVER. He sat himself in the desk chair in the meantime, slouched comfortably. Optics roved over the room, observing Silva, and then settling on the whiskey he was staring at before looking him over again.

"You ever get your hand looked at?"

"No," he replied. "That's why legal's been in touch. Otherwise I'm sure I'd be left out of all this."

An absence of a will did seem to imply Torres hadn't expected Revenant to react the way he did. The thought made him smile a little. As far as blunders went, that was a pretty bad one. Hubris was a bitch.

He finally stepped further into the room and relegated himself to its borders, idly looking over cabinets and shelves. Unsurprisingly, there were no framed photographs, no keepsakes that would hold any personal value - just some modest decor, a few fancy clocks, a single generic painting on one wall. Cold and empty, befitting of a man whose whole world had consisted of only work.

He stopped at a bottle of whiskey— probably priced in the thousands, he ventured— and subconsciously touched his chin where metal claws had lifted to look at him moments before. He’d been too preoccupied to really think about it until they had entered the quiet of the office. His hand tapped the glass anxiously.

“And to answer your other question: no to that too. I was planning on it, was halfway through my first drink til you showed up.”

His tone was only half accusatory, but fuck if he could’ve used it, as boring as he found champagne to be. The whiskey on the other hand - tempting. A rebellious and angry part of him thought about downing the whole thing just to spite his old man. Maybe he’d steal it for later.

His eyes remained on the bottle but he continued, “The desk doubles as a touch interface. Whatever you’re looking for, your best chances are probably digitized.”

#deathchasing #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #they still think this is a game. 》( main v. )

[simulamortem]

He glanced briefly for the queen again. DOUBTED she wanted to be discussing politics on vacation, let alone the war that had been giving her so much grief over the course of her term. But his gaze lingered at her choice of words.

Brutes. Revenant couldn't imagine that he was any better; all these hundreds of years, and he hadn't yet had the chance to fight a Mandalorian. He had seen some Apex fans theorize he had been one once.

Optics flicked for the dishes being set out for him, which he didn't think much of. Brushing the faux pas aside as mere PROCEDURE, though his stare followed the waiter pointedly to make sure the mistake would not risk a repeat.

The sim was more startled by Symphony's short startle than by what was actually said, glancing between the women.

the queen's mother nods somberly. ❝ it brings me some comfort to know that symphony's SAFE on solace than she is on most part's of the rims, especially with how VICIOUS the war has gotten for some like our friends on mandalore, ❞ irmé begins, and symphony could feel a headache coming on with the sight of political discussion on the horizon.

❝ they're separatists mother, mother, they are not our friends. at least not officially, ❞ symphony reminds her gently, TIREDLY, as a member of the wait staff quietly made his way over to begin setting up the dinner table. her prayers were answered when the gentleman offered her a glass of wine before the food was brought out.

❝ well, officially, no, but you and the empress have been friendly. and the crown has made dealings and negotiations with her, ❞ irmé shrugs.

❝ that doesn't make us friends, ❞ symphony reminds her, eyeing the wine being poured into her glass, indicating to the waiter once her glass was filled to her liking. ❝ and i've only negotiated with the empress as a favor to padmé. otherwise i wouldn't work for those brutes. ❞

as symphony swished her wine in her glass, the same waiter walked over to begin preparing revenant's dishes and utensils. it wasn't until the gentleman looked at him to offer him his choice of wine that he realized his grave ERROR. ❝ oh, my apologies, sir, let take these away for you, ❞ he hangs his head apologetically before hastily taking the fine china he had just set down in front of him and moving on to the irmé's side of the table.

irmé didn't seem to have noticed, instead nodding softly as if to ponder on symphony's answers. ❝ i heard from the grapevine that padmé is with child, ❞ she brings up seemingly out of nowhere, and symphony almost spits her wine back out.

#naboocrowned #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

The simulacrum crouched atop the WRECKED REMAINS of the ship, golden glow peering down for the survivor. Meatbag had managed to land the thing relatively intact, but the thick plume of smoke rising out of the metal carcass implied it wouldn't be getting back into the air so easily.

Now its pilot was stranded. On an island. WITH HIM.

There wasn't much surveillance in this part of Kings Canyon either, it being nothing more than swamp and some ruined shacks. He wondered if the Apex Commission had even noticed the crash... Seemed he might have this supposed Jedi to himself for a little while. He had never met one before now. Never fought one. Might be fun.

"Do the Jedi always make friends by crashing their ships into foreign planets?"

@simulamortem / snarter call.

"It makes sense you would have not seen a Jedi in these territories before, I suspect it's been a decent number of years since we were even sanctioned to travel so deep into the outer rim." The Order had stopped lacking the resources to give the Explorcorps their usual free-reign early on into the war, needing every Jedi they could back at the temple and ready for deployment. And above their lacking funding, the senate rarely approved for them to delve so far from any of the core planets or into wild space itself. Once, they would have ignored such orders, but it had proven to be too dangerous to ignore the senate's rule—not worth being at the opposing end of their ire—so they only went where they were called, only willing to spare a knight or two for the most dire and subdued of emergencies.

If this were an example of this system's defense then Obi-Wan could understand why they had never called for aide before. Without being able to sense a living energy signature, he would have easily presumed he were speaking with an advanced and equally impressive droid, something more impressive than Grievous had ever put before him. Had they the numbers, he bet they would give Mandalore a run for its money.

"Nevertheless, we are now and we thought it best to try building better relations with your end of the galaxy," offered in as chipper a tone as he could (as he was quite uncertain and intimidated). "I understand this area isn't strictly isolated from the rest of us, but your . . . government has done an excellent job at remaining outside conflict. And also at not making an enemy of ours."

#spokewar #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

The glow of his gaze regarded Symphony's bit of bristling fondly, amused at having riled her with only a brief look. "Yes..." He answered Irmé's theory. "Wouldn't surprise me," he agreed. "Symphony's favorite vacations are ones where she gets to sleep in." Eyeing the queen fondly again.

Looked to Irmé once more at mention of SOLACE. "Not like Naboo, no," Revenant answered. "Some imports have taken a hit of course... And some refugees have fled that way, if they have family in the area already." The Outlands were largely self-sustaining, but not an especially desirable place to move to for someone in need of a new home, unless they already had connections there that would help get them back on their feet.

But they were comparatively very SAFE from the war. A good place for someone who could afford to simply wait the whole thing out. He expected more of those types would come trickling in as the conflict dragged on.

symphony immediately looked to him at him throwing her under the bus, tilting her head. ❝ i offered to give you the tour beforehand but you refused, ❞ the queen scoffs, fluffing up what little offense his joke gave her. ❝ also you didn't have to NAP with me, you could have just gone on a self-guided tour. unless you were scared of getting LOST. ❞

or, more than likely, he didn't want to run into either one of her parents and get pulled into an awkward and uncomfortable conversation without symphony there to save him.

❝ it's a miracle that she get's any sleep to begin with, i suspect you won't be seeing much of her the moment she's out the palace doors, ❞ irmé chuckles. ❝ she's got about FOUR YEARS of sleep to catch up on. ❞

again symphony looks over her shoulder to eye where her father had gone. she couldn't see him anymore from where they sat.

❝ the war had kept sym and her father BUSY. my husband had worked with naboo royalty for over THIRTY YEARS, i've only seen him this busy when the trade federation were at our shores... ❞ irmé reminisces somberly. ❝ has the clone wars effected solace like it has naboo, rev? ❞

#naboocrowned #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

Revenant funny cool moments compilation

#I used to wear a skinsuit too. 》( visage. )

[simulamortem]

It was all too easy to hear when the metal springs in Octane's feet fell silent, at which the simulacrum paused, gazed back for him. Allowed him a moment to catch up before reaching, abruptly catching the other Legend's chin in cool metal digits. "You been drinking tonight, stimbag?" Revenant half-teased, looking Silva in the eye before letting his hand fall away with a CHUCKLE.

Silva made a good point, anyway. From what he'd seen, Duardo Silva didn't seem to be here much. But that might make it more likely he'd had some things stashed here, AWAY from locations he was known to frequent. They would just need to be secured from Octane's meddling.

The sim followed, pace leisurely, where Silva led to the office door. Watched him anxiously HESITATE before opening it.

He observed the space as the lighting was switched on. Searched first for a computer or laptop before stepping further into the room to observe the shelves of books and displays, then approaching the desk. Drawers that had obviously once been locked were now opened without issue - probably searched by whatever legal firm had been looking for the will.

"He leave a will?" He remembered a search for a will being reported in the news but not what had ever come of it.

There were a lot of things Octane could have said to defend himself, but they remained unspoken. He wanted to say he would have never done something to hurt the other Legends - but he wasn't sure how much truth there was to that, he realized, thinking back to some of the tasks he'd stooped to, particularly the Icarus fleet incident. Barring that, he'd been deep in denial when he was in Torres's employ, had turned a blind eye to every red flag just for a sliver of his old man's recognition. He wrinkled his nose; shame was not a common emotion in his limited repertoire, but this was one such case that warranted it.

Revenant was right about the Syndicate, but Octane wasn't so sure anyone else would have actually finished the job. Torres had always been one step ahead, perpetually mapping out every move he made like a damn chess board. Everything he did was a game. Like father like son. Octane hadn't thought about it much, but Torres being the way he'd been made it all the stranger that Revenant was the guy he'd had chosen to gamble on. It didn't make sense. Some part of Octane was almost scared Torres wasn't done, even in death. He'd seen him torn asunder. That should have been enough, but--

He looked up, suddenly aware he'd stopped following. "Sorry, um--" He shook his head and tried to double back on whatever Revenant had said before. Just wanted to take a look - sure.

"The non-specifics ain't gonna help you here, dude. Waaaay too broad. But if I had to guess," he said, looking at the sim pointedly, "You probably want stuff about you. And I dunno if you're gonna find it here. I think he kept important stuff as far away from me as he could. Less chance for me to mess things up."

Granted, they had spent many years simply staying out of each other's way. It had only been in the last few that their paths had crossed again by way of the Games. It was possible Revenant could still find something of value to him.

He ran a hand through dyed hair-- bright red today-- and looked down the wing to their left, gestured vaguely. "You could try his office, I guess."

This time he took the lead, the typical tap of his metal legs muffled by an extravagantly-patterned runner that spanned the spacious hallway. He stopped in front of a comparatively ordinary door, marked special only by the security scanner to the side. Normally he'd need Torres's fingerprints to get in, but legal had overridden access for him in the absence of a will.

He fidgeted, visibly uncomfortable, before he put a tentative hand on the knob and opened the door.

He hadn't been in this room since he was a boy - Torres had locked him out long, long ago. He'd forgotten what it looked like. Similar to the rest of the mansion, it was designed with a blend of sensibilities: aesthetically vintage-- old bookshelves, ancient fireplace, grand desk in the center of the room-- but modern in practice, outfitted with expensive tech and backlighting, finished by one wall of broad, sleek windows that opened up the space.

He glanced at Revenant expectantly. "Well, have at it."

#deathchasing #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #they still think this is a game. 》( main v. )

[simulamortem]

As soon as the tall figure turned, facial recognition sprung up across his HUD. A WARNING that this was someone who had killed him before, and the location and date it had happened on.

Right. He remembered now. Extra set of arms, and a style of combat he had never seen before. That had been a fun fight.

Wasn't everyday that an opponent surprised him like that when he was hardwired with countless fighting forms. Regardless, Revenant produced a low chuckle. "I'm surprised how easily you admit to having BABYSITTERS," he taunted, optics flicking over the guards. "You here to shop or sign up? Or are you gonna need a parent-guardian signature just to get your hands dirty?"

     The chatter of the visiting sponsors and others around him had quickly become irking. None of them were of interest to him, all showing to be cowards just like San Hill and his banking clan. Looking to make quick money off the strongest looking warrior.      Grievous is not in this place to make credits or fill the pockets of greedy fools. It is a test of his training, to see just how well Dooku taught him to wield a blade ; to reassure his skills as a warrior.

     When a voice addresses the group crowding around -- a tickle of amusement out of the cyborg at them jumping at the voice -- his attention shifts. A turn, golden eyes narrowing slightly at the appearance of this one.      He can recall something familiar. Like he has encountered the other before on not so favorable conditions.       “ They're not here for my protection, ” Grievous responds in a dry tone, keeping his body cloaked in the dark cape, “ My guards are here to ensure nobody else gets killed by my blades. ” A threat left out in the open air for everyone to know. He would gladly take out his lightsabers and kill these fools, but alas that would not give him much of a challenge. A waste of his skills.      This one is definitely familiar. He will have to keep an eye on him. . . ensure it is not just a hunch but something true.

#kaleeshbled #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

The whole floor was thick with the smell of hot food. Would it smell like this all night? Would it smell like this EVERY NIGHT? He would need to avoid this floor around whatever mealtimes he was able to skip.

He glanced briefly for Symphony at her mother's compliment; hadn't expected Irmé to remark aloud on their matching color palette. It didn't surprise him, though, that she didn't seem pleased about Sunil taking a work call in the midst of their VACATION. Revenant supposed somebody had to be handling some of the queen's work while she was away, and Sunil almost inevitably had a hand in that.

He followed Symphony's prompting to take a seat. Sat at least a little more upright than he might normally, with his hands in his lap, observing the table before his optics flicked for Irmé again. "Postponed," the sim answered, "for a nap." Looking to Symphony then to indicate she had been the more worn out between the two of them.

the queen smiles and takes revenant by the hand before leading him out.

the dining room was parallel to the living room that was located upstairs from where their quarters were. it was modest in size to accommodate not only the living room but the kitchen that was attached to the dining room as well. the air already began to smell of baked seafood the closer they got, something that didn't BOTHER symphony but let her wonder what was being prepared for her.

her mother could be seen sitting alone at the dining table, but her eyes light up when her eyes catch symphony and revenant entering through the open doorway.

❝ don't the two of you make a handsome couple, ❞ irmé chuckles as her daughter leaned over to kiss her mother on her cheek. their was no formality in their greeting, irmé was not expected to stand and revenant was not expected to greet her like he had that afternoon. it seemed like the women just had a natural NEED to touch one another and kiss one another. perhaps it was previously difficult to tell from what little revenant had been witnessed to being all arguments and tears, but they were truly a tight-knit family that LOVED one another.

❝ where's dad? ❞ symphony asks, looking around to where he could possibly be.

❝ he stepped out, something about a work call, ❞ she sighs and something on her face gave away that she wasn't TOO PLEASED about it, or that there was at least something on her mind that bothered her. but she speaks up before any of them were able to ask. ❝ but sit down, sit down, he shouldn't be too long now. election year's always a busy time for him with the circulation of new staff and all. ❞

symphony pulls up a chair and urges revenant to sit beside her before finally catching a glimpse of her father outside. they were seated too far away and at an angle to really get a good look at him but he looked like he was PACING, with a holographic figure coming from the palm of his hand. she couldn't get a good look at who he was talking to before she hears her mother speak again.

❝ how was the tour, rev? ❞

#naboocrowned #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )

[simulamortem]

"They didn't trust you because they didn't trust your FATHER, and you were at his beck and call," the sim responded, continuing toward the nearest hall. He scoffed. "Even the Syndicate didn't trust your old man. If I hadn't knocked him off, it would only have been a matter of time before somebody else did," Revenant said confidently with a vague gesture of his hand.

That had been his very FIRST THOUGHT when Duardo Silva had been elected head of the Syndicate: how incredibly stupid. There was good reason why the Syndicate was run by a council, and why those council members stayed out of the limelight.

Becoming the public head of the organization was a lot of power, sure. But it also made someone a very big TARGET.

And regarding what he was here for - "Dunno." Anything with his name on it. "Just wanted to take a look." Data was the priority. Anything to do with what had been planned for him, regardless of if it had been executed or not - along with any Syndicate plans, notes, communications, so he could put together a bigger PICTURE of all of the elder Silva's schemes and anything the Syndicate might have access to now.

Same went for communications with Hammond. Or the Legends.

"That's not what I meant."

Scowling, Octane bristled at his scorn, but trailed up the stairs after him all the same. Revenant's stride was long and Octane had to hop over every other step to match his pace.

"Everyone else grouped me in with the Syndicate. They didn't trust me. Even Che--"

He squared his jaw and went silent as they walked. Which was it? Did he want people to trust him or not? It had hurt, being othered, but it was also familiar. Trust, on the other hand, could be damaged. Betrayed. And he was a ticking time bomb as far as he was concerned. In the end he would rather be seen as a threat - at least then he wouldn't disappoint, and as a bonus, maybe someone would take him seriously.

Hostility he could handle. Trust, he wasn't so sure. But it didn't seem to be a matter of trust to Revenant, just logic. That was something he could live with.

"Nevermind," he sighed, resigning himself to be trapped with his contradictions. He didn't want to talk about it in any case, and they'd reached the second floor. "What exactly are you looking for, anyway?"

#deathchasing #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #they still think this is a game. 》( main v. )

[simulamortem]

#I used to wear a skinsuit too. 》( visage. ) #I could use the cover. 》( Legends. )

[simulamortem]

His gaze fixed Octane's, studying him. "What's trust got to do with it?" He answered flatly. "You already spilled to the masses what a shit father the guy was," he reminded. "Why bother trying to clean up the rest of his reputation? The Syndicate and Silva Pharma just wanna cover their own asses." Why would Octane give a damn about helping COVER UP the army and his father's involvement in it?

He had never known halfsuit to give a shit about his father's company beyond its supplying him with stim.

"Don't tell me you're already looking for a new boot to lick," the sim derided. Then gazed up over what he could see of the second floor. "I've got time," Revenant responded. "So if you don't wanna give me a tour, I might as well get started." Turning away to start up the stairs.

Revenant's obvious glee over every offense to Torres's name still felt like salt in the wound. It really hadn't gotten any easier with time. Octane had just chosen to ignore it. There was nothing he could do, and even if there had been, Revenant was well within his rights to despise the man, as was Octane; but unlike the sim, that didn't stop him from feeling guilty about it. Regardless, the discomfort was his own problem to deal with - Revenant would never feel remorse for what he'd done. No use whining about it to a brick wall.

Octane's eyes narrowed in thought. "What makes you think I wouldn't have a part in that? The legal team contacted me. Why do you trust me?"

Truthfully Revenant had no reason not to trust him. Octane had no interest in any part of Silva Pharmaceuticals or the various crimes against humanity his old man had perpetrated, wasn't even interested in revenge. If he really had to put thought to it, he almost felt empty. Revenant's cold and callous nature comforted him to some degree, moreso than sympathies and empty platitudes. He was real in a way a lot of this-- the money, the people, the fame-- wasn't.

But that didn't mean Octane couldn't be a threat to him. He despised the idea of being passed off like he was ineffectual.

He sighed at Revenant's demand. That part was simple, at least. Every piece of Torres's body would roll in its grave if he knew his killer was about to snoop through his things. "Mira, I don't give a damn about his stuff. But you got a lotta rooms to cover, big guy. I don't even remember what's in half of 'em."

#deathchasing #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #they still think this is a game. 》( main v. )

[simulamortem]

He drew back just slightly at her gentle cautioning, allowed her to turn around toward him. Studied the warmth in her face, the way her dark eyes regarded him, while she smoothed so FONDLY at his robes. Studied her smile, too, before obligingly leaning closer for her to kiss wherever she pleased.

His optics fell over her skin, down her cheek and throat, and he'd started to lean down CLOSER again only for the queen to turn away toward the mirror. Revenant slowly relented and stood straight, looking to Symphony's reflection before glimpsing his own and looking QUICKLY away.

He could still feel his metal. The subtle, electric hum of his processors instead of a heartbeat. He worked to get his mind back on track from what he'd seen in his reflection. Eiza. He would need to ask Eiza to teach him how to do the braids Symphony liked.

Looked to the queen at her prompting. "Yeah."

the queen could see revenant making his way to her and at some point she stopped admiring her dress and instead watched his strut, the lock of hair that could not help but fall on his forehead, and the way his HANDS fell to his belt. she shivered when his hands pulled her body close and the cool of his metal touched her warm skin.

but whatever warm feeling his touch gave her was muddled when she realized what his face was rubbing against. maybe wearing this dress WAS a mistake.

❝ careful, you'll wrinkle it, ❞ she cautions him, pretending to be more worried about the dress than the scar. instead she redirects his embrace by turning around to face him before pulling him back in. she begins smoothing out the material of his suit lovingly and affectionately tidying him up. ❝ it's a miracle that i didn't drool on this thing. ❞

once she successfully deflected his attention, she looked up at him with a sweet smile before gesturing for him to lean closer so that she could plant a kiss against his cheek. RED, where the crimson of her lipstick wouldn't be noticeable.

❝ you know, i'm going to miss having eiza braiding my hair every morning, ❞ symphony sighs as she turns back around to adjust her braid so that it covered a shoulder. ❝ it's hard to do naboo style braids on my own head sometimes. and no one could do it like she could. ❞

symphony gave herself one last glance at her dress and her hair before she felt ready for dinner. ❝ ready? ❞ she asks him.

#naboocrowned #death is my gift. 》( IC. ) #dive in and see if it burns. 》( Star Wars v. )