childofrebellion | Mission with Yamato

"Cassian," Yamato says, by way of greeting, as he approaches. He's got a coffee milkshake (the finest of the flavours) in his hand, although he seems to be well-rested enough that he probably doesn't really need caffeine right now.

"Yamato, I've got a briefing put together for you. I want you to look it over and decide what you want to do."

The briefing details a ship convention and a chance to meet with a possible informant as well as intel gathering at the convention. Yamato would be in the role of the rich young son of a well to do family with Cassian in his Willix cover acting as his guide.

Straight down to business, then. That's Yamato's preference anyway, he doesn't object to that at all.

"Let's take a look, then," he says, taking the briefing. There's a few minutes while he intently reads it through a few times over. Eventually: "All right, I'm game."

"Good, you'll need to get clothing from Bar and I have a second blaster that you can use. It looks like the kind that you'd wear. Then we'll head out to catch a shuttle from where I currently am."

That way they can enter in their covers.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready."

Bar offers a set of clothes, and he heads off with them, ducking upstairs and towards his room. True to his word, he's absent for some ten minutes, before he comes back down again, dressed in what would adequately be described as finery.

There are a lot of bright colours, and a lot of silk and velvet. It's very ... fine.

Dryly: "Let's hope those old shizoku genes haven't faded away entirely yet."

'Being a total asshole rich person' is definitely in his blood somewhere, this will be fine.

When he comes down, Cassian nods, this was the right choice, not everyone can easily pull off this sort of cover.

Its one that Cassian tends to avoid since he's always aware of being from the Outer Rim, its easier for him to hide in a uniform, "Shizoku?"

"Ah -- samurai. The old warrior noble caste of where I'm from. The Ishida clan used to be very low-ranking members of it. The cadet branch of a disgraced cadet branch of a cadet branch of a great house," he says, shaking his head. "They don't exist anymore, my grandfather was the last in the family to be one."

And even then, it was in name only. The Izumo Ishidas hadn't even owned a single sword for almost a hundred years before that.

"Let's see this blaster, then," he adds, holding out a hand.

From his pack, Cassian pulls out a sporting blaster,

"That sounds almost Mandolorian. Here you go and a holster."

"Probably not as cool as Mandalorians." Although Yamato knows nothing about the Mandalorians, so who knows.

He turns the blaster over in his hands, arching an eyebrow. It looks like someone designed it with aesthetics in mind instead of functionality, but that fits his cover.

"All right," he says, attaching the holster to his hip and holstering the blaster, before moving the hem of his ridiculous blue velvet jacket to cover it.

"Its a blaster I use so its more effective than it looks," Cassian heads through the Front Door to enter a cramped hotel room where the lights of a docking area can be seen.

There's a jacket laid out on the bed, the colors are similar to the one Yamato's wearing but far simpler. "We have tickets on a departing shuttle that leaves soon."

Yamato takes quick stock of all the exits and sight lines, then gives Cassian a nod, folding his arms.

"Sounds good. How far away is this convention?"

He pulls up a star map and selects two planets,

"Not far, just here in the city of Valentia."

Yamato gives a short chuckle, shaking his head. "That'd be really far away in my world, but I'll take your word for it."

"Hyperspace travel is very useful. I have a datapad for you which has a program for the convention in it and are itinerary."

He has two small bags on the bed and from one of them takes out a newer and slicker looking datapad than the one he normally uses.

Yamato takes the datapad, settling back a little to read it.

"Looks packed," he says, mildly. "Tech demos, speeches, presentations, auctions, a starfighter race."

He chuckles a bit at that last. Maybe, if he has time, he'll keep an eye on the monitors when that's happening, just to watch and see if it looks as exciting as it sounds.

"This convention's a pretty big deal, huh?"

"Fairly big but not the biggest, that's in the Core. This one wants to be like that but also wants the money from the cartels. So the gloss doesn't go as that far down."

"Seems fair. Even criminals need to travel," Yamato murmurs, sliding the datapad back into the bag.

"They do and they have the credits to spend. Feel ready to go? We'll be on a civilian transport."

"I'm ready," Yamato says, reaching over to pick up his bag and sling it over his shoulder.

Once they get closer to the convention, he figures he'll have to hand that bag over to Cassian -- if there's one thing a pampered rich kid definitely wouldn't do, it's carry his own bags -- but for now, he may as well take it.

Before they board, Cassian takes his bag and shows their tickets. The attendant shows them to a nice compartment in the back, thin walls but a measure of privacy.

Along the way, Yamato's followed by many eyes. Cassian's shifted his body language to make himself seem shorter and smaller as he gets everything sorted.

As Cassian shifts his body language, so does Yamato shift his. The air of authority he carries with him never really goes away, even when he's not trying -- but when he does try, altering his body language just a little, that authoritative aura becomes almost suffocating, outright demanding deference.

It's been a useful tool, over the years. Corralling large groups of Digimon into obeying your commands is fifty percent convincing them that you're the strongest person in the room, after all.

Once they have some privacy, he relaxes it a little, and sets about putting his bag down.

Its impressive to watch Yamato change and Cassian's grateful for the small amount of privacy they have.

"I ordered dinner, they have good service on this route. I booked that hotel you liked before with the good view."

The sighing noise Yamato makes has an abundance of disdain behind it.

"I suppose we'll see how good their service really is," he says, managing to sound both disinterested and unconvinced.

"I told them all your requests and you know I know them."

There's a knock with the call of dinner and a basic protocol droid enters asking,

"Is all up to your specifications?"

Yamato skims his eyes over the compartment, and then over the droid, with the minimum of movement.

"It will suffice," he allows.

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