Wes Thul Drast
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Dec 19, 2018
- Messages
- 63
- Reaction score
- 36
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2147 local time
A light rain had picked up in the 5 or so minutes since Wes had sat down on the bench, but he was not fazed by it, a hood pulled over his face. The precipitation was not the only reason for this choice of dress; he was lurking among the lower levels of Coruscant, its streets rivaling Nar Shaddaa's in crime, and certainly not a safe place for a Drast to be walking around.
He was sitting on perhaps the dirtiest bench he has ever had the misfortune of seeing, its wood blackened and missing the majority of its planks. Wes did not enjoy it, but it had been the agreed meeting spot precisely for its uniqueness.
He'd arrived rather early for the meeting, but only because he preferred to arrive in time to scout the grounds and ensure no foul business, something he'd grown used to seeing in the increasingly dog-eat-dog world of the Sith. Acolyte or not, he was a Drast, a possible heir to the throne, and billions of people would like to see his entire bloodline wiped out. A bit of precaution certainly did not hurt.
Wes didn't know what the woman he was meeting looked like—all he knew was what she was carrying with her. Hopefully, he would have it in his possession by the end of their meeting, one way or another.
@Kayenta Moenkopi