Bunker Brunch

[Saul]

Apollo could not say that he was thrilled about the prospect of meeting a news reporter to discuss any aspect of his life, much less ones which involved killing, destruction, theft, fraud, and all other manners of crime. But, better he than some of the younger, more idealistic kids who wouldn't know when to keep their heads down and lips shut. Or so he had told superior. As he sat fiddling his thumbs in a run down room, he realized that that had been a mistake.

Electrical cables slithered out of gashes in the wall, lights flickered, water licked its way out of pipes, and whines echoed from who knew where. In the distance, only quiet isolation broken by the occasional hum of a speeder blasting by. Despite the serenity, Corellia was a warzone, and calm always preceded the storm. Only four days before, Apollo had been involved in a skirmish with a Sith patrol, an encounter which had cost him two good boys. The fresh bloodbags that had replaced them were too green, and Apollo wouldn't bet on them surviving any longer than a month. They had a lot to learn.

So, too, would this reporter, he wagered. The people of Corellia did well enough on their own - the fighting was low intensity, isolated mostly to radical pockets with occasional confrontations within the safe zones established by the Empire. The safe zones were established to provide peace and security for Corellians, and it was Apollo's job to ensure that they would not feel peace or security. Peace and security only reinforced the belief that the Sith offered order and prosperity. He doubted the reporter would recognize the necessity of evil in a conflict like this. It would probably be necessary to temper the truth, weave in deceptions, and speak mostly to the more noble aspirations.

Shit. Were there even any left? Five years. Some people might even have forgotten what they were fighting for.

He rapped the tips of his fingers along the table, eyes warily watching the restless dust drift beneath the flickering lamp that served as the sole point of illumination for this room. The only thing Apollo knew about this woman was that she had weaseled her way into this interview via a contact of a contact of a contact, and that she had promised to pitch a story that broadcast the Sith in a negative light. The commander hoped such a piece might eventually slip its way through the filters on the HoloNet and find it's way into Joe Corellia's living room. Apollo knew better than to believe Joe Corellia cared anymore, but entertain the woman was the job he was given, and he was nothing if not industrious.

Any minute, he assured himself. She was being escorted through a checkpoint right now, he imagined. He could almost imagine the woman's expression of disgust as gruff savages dug into her crevices, violating her privacy, nervously searching for any devices the Empire might use to tap the conversation. Afterall, it was more probable that the woman was a spy.

@Padmé

 

[Padmé]

Getting to the bottom of the truth was the singular reason Vivian Ophilia-Toroue took on the task of traveling to the Force-forsaken-dump. Corellia. A friend of an associate of a personal acquaintance tipped off Vivian concerning tragic news of the Rebellion. Given the sate of the galaxy, and lack truth circulating on the media, Toroue took on the risky assignment. She after all, had a stake in Czerka News Network thus it would behoove her to act accordingly.

In lieu of her usual suit and accessories, Vivian opted for an attire that made her fit right in to the crowd of natives she found herself surrounded by. The check point of her contact location didn't give her much trouble- something she was prepared to deal with should that be the case. Within minutes of arriving on the grounds, Vivian was escorted into a rather obscure room. It was only then that the journalist felt a sense of fear- mostly for her 14 year old son whom thankfully was under the watchful eyes of Vivian's parents and guard on Galatalenta.

"Vivian Ophilia-Toroue." Said she at the sight of man whom she assumed to be THE contact she'd been sent to. With firm, but yet gentle grip, Vivian shook the man's hands and released her hands. "Pleasure to meet you, Apollo?" She added every so cautiously.

 

[Saul]

Apollo rose from his seat to greet the woman and was almost surprised by the woman's confidence. It took guts to walk into a building filled with murderers armed to the teeth and watching you for even the slightest sign that you were there to betray them. It gave most people an uneasy sense that they were guilty even when they weren't. He grabbed the woman's hand and gave her a firm shake before motioning to the seat in the center of the room. "Ma'am," he acknowledged her but was hesitant to begin the conversation.

He proceeded to sit down once again, cleared his throat, and glanced around the room. "Sorry we couldn't be more accommodating. We reserve the five star meeting rooms for parties and cult meetings," he snickered. He was, in fact, the man that the woman had been sent to meet. "Can I interest you in some hors d'oeuvres? Tea?" The offer was genuine, Apollo knew the woman could probably do with a meal after her trip. Despite that, the sarcasm was palpable.

@Padmé

 

[Padmé]

Whilst Vivian waited for Apollo's response she wondered if she'd made the right choice in coming. She could have sent a field representative, or even conducted the interview via holocall, yet here she was amidst hard core rebels, being sneered at as though she was the fest of the day.

Surprisingly, it wasn't long before Apollo acknowledged that which Vivian suspected. What's more, he had an air of snarky attitude mixed with a queer charm that took the well-mannered journalist by surprise; albeit momentarily.

"Yes, thank you." Said she whilst making herself comfortable in the seat that was offered. Vivian immediately searched for her electronic device and then quickly turned it on. It was no secret that the conversation would be recorded. Should Apollo object to the idea of the recorder Vivvian will respect his wishes and cease the recording.

"Sorry we couldn't be more accommodating. We reserve the five star meeting rooms for parties and cult meetings," Without as much as thinking, Vivian responded in kind "Parties and cults are overrated, but that's just my personal opinion for the moment."
When the call for refreshments came up Vivian surprised herself and accepted. "Tea would do. Thank you." Her visit isn't about parties, cults or tea, however she could help but wonder if the tea about to be offered would compare to that of her family's teas. Being an heir to the biggest tea moguls on her home world and all.

"Tell me about your family." A rather poignant, provocative question- knowing full well she'll hit a personal nerve!

 

[Saul]

Apollo rose from his chair and walked to a dark corner of the room, shuffling around some shelves with cups, bowls and some packets. "We're not savages, you know," he said after a few moments, turning around with a tray and bringing Vivian a rehydrated nutrient muffin and a steaming cup of grey water within which a packet of sub-par tea leaves steeped. The tea itself was more to cover the taste of industrial waste than it was to make for an appetizing drink. He set the tray down before the woman before sitting down in front of her with his own cup and sipping at it, his face muscles reflexively twitching in disgust.

The mention of his family struck him in a personal spot. He was certain that a reporter would be able to strike a nerve, but he was surprised at how quickly the blow was delivered. He looked to the recorder mocking him on the table, carefully thinking of the words he'd salvo back. "My family are dead," he said after a long moment, the words delivered to the silence with a severity that forced silence. "I would wager most of my comrades have lost theirs, as well. If you want to ask me about my family, you've already met what's left of them. The men and women fighting this war are all that I have left."

He raised an eyebrow at the woman, knowing she would continue down this line of questioning. She was a reporter, he knew - she had to find a human story in a war so inhumane. Still, he refrained himself from slamming into the woman for her impudence.

@Padmé

 

[Padmé]

A few short seconds passed before Vivian felt the need to speak again lest Apollo find her line of reasoning disgusting. "Forgive me." Said she, quickly aiming to correct a wrong. "You're right. You are not a savage." Without belaboring the point, Vivian sat in silence affording Apollo the opportunity to gather and make tea. The brief silence forced her to ponder her line of reasoning and questioning. There were though questions to be asked which will naturally invoke strong sentiments, dislike and perhaps deep seeded anger about the culprits of the war. Yet, an element of respect and dignity in getting to Apollo's story was required from Vivian, yet for some strange reason, she struggles with the latter.

Tea shortly arrived- the presentation meeting Vivian's fine expectation too. "Thank you." She offered whilst accepting the hot beverage. Apollo took the first sip from his own immediately making the most amusing facial expression yet. Vivian surmised the beverage was the culprit behind the hint of disgust mixed with forced pleasantness.

"My family are dead." Vivian suspect Apollo had lost much due to the war, but never did she expect the proceeding words which immediately followed the man's answer. "...the men and women fighting this war are all I have left."

Where does one go with such an answer? Vivian pondered quietly to herself. She couldn't imagine losing her son, parents and the various family business which affords her a comfortable life. For Apollo there was no comfort, merely chaos. The only consolation Vivian could offer without risking being arrogant or at worst patronizing is a good exposé on the horrible war and her words of comfort "Sorry to hear that, sir." Her tone significantly more somber.

"This must be difficult, but could you tell me the worst thing you and your comrades have had to endure? If there's one singular thing, event, move that could be done to bring an end to this war what would it be?" The small refreshments in front of Vivian suddenly became unappetizing. Not because of the quality or lack thereof, but because the gravity of the subject matter at hand coupled with the background noise left her felling disgusted and less concerned about her personal wants.

 

[Saul]

Apollo was surprised when Vivian did not pry further. In a moment he gleaned some respect she had for his cause, though he almost instantly returned to his native state of paranoia. One did not live life under an oppressive sky without learning to treat everyone as a threat. He noted that Vivian seemed uninterested in the refreshments - no doubt the poor quality of the meal and drink had put her off, but he'd have to insist that she eat it at some point. There was always the chance that they'd have to shelter in place for hours, if not days, and rations were not so wistfully disregarded.

The next question Vivian posed him was difficult to answer. "The worst thing we've had to endure," he repeated the question to himself, droning on as he fell into thought. "Probably the lack of clean clothes," he said after a long moment, half joking and half serious, "the smells can get pretty bad, and when you're stuck in a foxhole with a guy who smells like rotting onions, it's difficult to see the enemy through the tears in your eyes." He cracked a grin at the woman before continuing, "in all seriousness, ma'am, we've all been through a lot. The ferocity of war has become our normality, so if you ask us what we find traumatizing, you're probably going to get some pretty interesting answers. A few days ago I led a number of kids to scout out Imp positions, a number of them were ambushed. I lost a lot of good men. Two weeks ago we lost an outpost when hostile ordnance hit a magazine and caused a massive cook-off of blaster gas, twenty kids - just like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasize the ephemerality of life. "There's kids here who've been tortured by Imps. Others who've watched the collaborators kill off an entire residential compound on faulty information. And worse."

"As for what can win us this war," he ran his fingers across the hairs on his chin, his light-colored eyes bearing down with an iron resolve on the woman in front of him, "there's no one thing. At this point, we're fighting to fight, to remind people that the Sith don't bring peace and security. Instead, they bring us. The people want the fighting to stop, they'll have to make the Imps go, because we're not leaving. This is home."

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, raising his eyebrows at Vivian. "Indulge me one question, ma'am. Why this story?"

 

[Padmé]

Short post to get the thread moving. Sorry!

"Probably the lack of clean clothes" a jovial answer, but one which speaks to the human nature of the inhumane war. The very land on which the pair, and Apollo's comrades stood now belonged to the very group which they aim to obliterate. At the very minimum stop from further creating a diaspora. "Corellia hasn't always been a Sith occupied land. I can only imagine the blow you and your men faced when the tides changed." Vivian interjected hoping to establish that she was on their side.

When the true answer to her questions came, Vivian was glad the conversation was being recorded for she knew doing justice to this interview would require her to report the exact words of Apollo, not a sanitized version!

"As for why this story? The answer is simple." Her tone firm, but yet sweet. "You." Ophilia continued. "Your comrades, just as you've espoused. If the Imperials must go your story needs to be told- not just the propaganda on the HoloNet." Rising, Vivian finally took a sip of the now cold tea. The taste of the drink was equally unpleasing to the eyes; nonetheless she swallowed the beverage knowing that it was most likely the best Apollo had to offer.

"Speaking of comrades, do you mind if I walk around a bit? Fear not. I shan't be asking any questions- merely observing and listening." The woman added whilst placing the now empty tea cup on the tray.

 

[Saul]

Apollo was surprised when the woman did not continue her line of questioning into a subject that was bound to divest gritty, human answers and passions. Everyone had lost something, Apollo was sure that this woman was aware of that, and Apollo was no stranger to such loss. Still, maybe she hoped to broach the topic later, after she had earned his trust. He rose with her and gestured at the door. "Go right on ahead," his words were slow to slip from his lips. In truth, he was nervous about having a potential Imperial agent conducting reconnaissance on this base, but at the same point he felt that this woman was not his enemy.

The two exited the room and entered a drab hallway, electric sconces festooned in chaotic intervals throughout the passage illuminating the exposed industrial innards of the complex. Their boots slammed against poorly fastened grates as they walked, the clanging reverberating in the darker reaches of this place. "This is what home looks like," he said, gesturing into the ad hoc mess room the men had set up in the bunker. There were two couches crammed tightly together in the corner, a holodisplay flickering in front of them. Several man leaned against each other, fast asleep, while another snacked quietly on a meal, making due with the free time he was afforded. He continued on from there, making his way to an observation post so the woman would have a chance to get her bearings, see the sights, and ask him any questions she had.

"This is Corellia," he said as he reached the top of the third set of stairs. A cramped room awaited the pair, blasted holes in the walls covered with bags of sand and flour, or hidden behind cloth sheets that provided visual protection. He gestured to a series of shoot-holes broken into the wall with a sledgehammer, through which one could see a devastated city. Much of the city was in this abysmal state - Imperial and resistance positions alike. These were the front lines - and though Apollo and his men strove to bring the fighting to the more secure regions of the planet, a decision had been made years ago that places like these could not be given up. Too much had been lost, but not one more inch. Not without a fight. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"

@Padmé