Drinks with an Heiress: Hyperlane Herald

[Jorhan Caelli Merced]

"It was not everyday a man like me was asked to interview an hieress, and make no mistake she was every bit of one. From the moment I set eyes on here, she appeared so ill-at-ease in the stage I had set for our meeting, I almost felt bad for chosing it. Almost. Elegantly, she sat there still as a sculpture cast in ice, and evidently used to be compared to such. Every inch a socialite, the subject of my interview made little attempt to project anything other than an image of wealth, with such ease was the picture held that it appeared natural, no doubt the by-product of much practice.

My heart was beating two-to-the-dozen when I approached her, pretty girls have that effect on any man, especially ones with status that seemed to drip from their every pore. Even her name left little to the imagination- DeLacroix, it screamed wealth, no matter how subtly it was uttered. Bracing myself, I think I may have even done by top button up, I took my seat, and started the interview."

_________________​

Jorhan had picked the venue after no small amount of deliberation, some middle-of-the-road cantina on Empress Teta, the sort that looked reasonably high-class, but tended to net a bill that was more palatable to those on a modest budget. Despite this however, it still boasted the staples of Cantinas’ across the so-called ‘civilised galaxy’ - cheap drinks to those who knew where to look, fast food and, upon the clock striking the appropriate hour, faster women.

As such, Jorhan had picked up the commlink to the venues manager, placing a quick request in for one of the upper rooms, the private dining area, to be made available for his use. The man had brooked no issues with such a request, after all it was the middle of the week, hardly peak party season.

Walking into the Cantina however, it would have been easy for Jorhan to have forgotten his other commitments, assaulted as he was by the waft of stims, drink and other enticements. Waving them away as he walked inside, he kept as close to the far wall as he could without appearing to shifty, steering clear of the main floor as he made clear his path to the staircase which would lead to the venue of his interview - his subject hopefully ensconced within.

The venue was an overstated affair, a heady mix of aromas assaulting the senses as one managed to peel themselves out of the ground floors mix of dancing bodies and up into the more secluded second level. Off to one side the smokers could be seen, all having paid a pretty penny for the debauchery in which they engaged, thick clouds of purple smoke surrounding the figures within - leaving scant to the imagination as Jorhan pressed passed to his own destination,. Already regretting his choice of venue, and dearly hoping the deposit was refundable in case his subject was a no show, he quickly checked his bag for his preliminary reading, just to be sure.

Hanging at his hip, his bag was a worn leather affair, crafted from cheap bantha hide - Jorhan having picked it up one drunken evening on Tatooine. Despite appearances, it served its purpose and attracted little by way of attention in doing so. He picked out his dataslate and brought up what information he had on the interviewee. Some sort of heiress, female, hailing from Teta, the world on which they now found themselves. From what research he had already carried out, it was clear she was an ambition person - and it was his intention to find the deeper traits of her character in tonight's interview.

Pulling back the curtain on their booth, he stepped inside, and smiled at the young heiress contained within. The booth was small enough to be intimate, but not inappropriately so, ideal for the evenings questions. Sitting down, he placed his bag next to him and subconsciously, having looked at her own posture and appearance, did up his top button. ”Jorhan, a pleasure to meet you.” he opened, unsure as to how one addressed an heiress of her stature.

”Thank you for meeting me,” he was eager to get the formality of introduction out of the way so the work could begin ”Can I get you anything to drink before we crack on?” he asked, dropping a Corellian colloquialism as he did so, and cursing himself in the saying of it. Biting back the urge to explain himself, he merely held back, and waited for her to answer.

@Gamov

 

[Larkin DeLacroix]

Despite her distinguished upbringing and noble bearing, venues such as these were not unfamiliar to Larkin. Many days had she accompanied her father to places like this, a wide-eyed, eager little girl so easily entranced by the pulsating synthetic rhythms and flashy neon lights. Yet her attention was never allowed to dwell on such things for long, always tugged away by her father's insistent hand, brought to heel on less exciting things such as business and negotiation. She never had much to do with either, truth be told, they were merely teachable moments he used to groom her for her eventual place as inheritor to his busines - and indeed, the family name.

Now, some twenty years on from those bygone days of her youth, Larkin found herself in much the same situation. She absently scanned the crowds only to occupy time whilst she waited for her company to arrive, thoughts fixed on matters of business. And there was plenty to consider these days.

The civil war had been a catastrophe, gutting the family business and sullying what little prestige the DeLacroix name could still lay claim to. And if those weren't bad enough, Larkin had suddenly found herself beholden to a spineless board of directors scheming to sell off the remains of the company. Her company. The company to which she was rightful heir. The sheer gall was enough to put her at odds with the board, which had incidentally led her here, to this out of the way venue.

How to gain the upper hand over the board and salvage her business. This was the question which had consumed so much of her attention as of late. A question to which the answer had become exceedingly clear. The idea came to her in solitude, as so many of them oft did, on a quiet night in her manor. Strangely enough, it had been a completely unrelated report which had flashed across the HoloNet feed that provided the spark of inspiration. In that fleeting moment, Larkin realized what her move was: publicity. While the board of directors contented themselves with squabbling over scraps, the heiress was keenly aware of the power a little good PR could wield.

It had taken her some weeks to find an outlet willing to publish an interview. After all, who cared to know what the heiress to a defunct shipping company had to say. Yet her tenacity won out in the end, and while the name Hyperlane Herald hardly leapt off the page, it was enough that her words were going to be read and heard millions. Millions who could become potential new consumers. Consumers who would drive the engine of revitalization, and give her the means to uplift the DeLacroix name to its rightful place as a name synonymous with power and prestige. The road would be long, of this she had no illusions, and this interview was but the first step.

Larkin's stare found its way to the curtain as it was pulled aside. Her interviewer had deigned to arrive after all, though if his uninspired choice in attire were any indication of his character, she rather doubted punctuality was a virtue he held near and dear.

Placing her misgivings aside, Larkin expressed an inviting smile, they very same insincere gesture she had practiced a thousand times over on nobles and aristocrats. "The pleasure is all mine, Mister Merced." She noted the distinct Corellian colloquialism, prompting her briefly to wonder if he was native born, or just another offworlder who found it trendy to adopt such things into their own speech. "A Matti Shiraz would be lovely." She admitted with a lighthearted chuckle, "though I doubt this place has a properly stocked wine cellar."

Her glib attempt at humor aside, Larkin was eager to dispense with pleasantries and get on with business. "So, Mister Merced, may I ask what it is you intend to glean from this interview?" His answer would help her to cater her own answers.

@Nor'baal

 

[Jorhan Caelli Merced]

Oddly, the heiress looked at ease in the chosen venue, and Jorhan metaphorically patted himself on the back, vindicated that his scouting of the bar had paid off, even if his extensive tab hadn't. The extensive tab to which she now, by his own invitation, now added. Assuring himself once again that he could blag his way out of paying it one last time, he smiled non-chalantly and waved over a serving droid.

Even the droid seemed to have neon lights on it. An adaptation of one of the mainstream protocol units, a single chromium lined wheel in place of two legs, a thin strip of blue neon cresting its domed head. Flashy. "A Matti Shiraz and a," he began, not waiting for the Droid to reply, but allowing just enough time for him to think up an equally exotic sounding drink "...Correllian Blue, on the rocks." he gave his made-up drink, after all, in this venue the Droids where to polite to say no, and just gave you the nearest thing.

It was like roulette, except with a less terminal hangover. Sometimes.

Jorhan was however, somewhat caught off guard when Larkins drinks order was followed with a question. That ain't how this is meant to work Miss! he thought to himself, hiding his expression behind a smile, as he placed his datapad on the table. "Well, my readers," he prayed to whatever God was listening that she had not seen his piss-poor viewing figures last month "...want to know you. What makes you tick, what keeps you going, and what ultimatly, makes you the businesswoman, and let's be honest, if they have it as well." he smiled, tapping on his dataslate, and getting into questioning mode.

"So." the drinks arrived, and he took a slightly brave sip of whatever it was he had ordered "Why did you agree to this interview?" he opened the interview, and waited for her, to open her mind.