“It's funny really, Janig”, Sa’ato mused quietly, his mug shifting about gently between firm tendrils, “I know I’m no linguist, but you’d think it wouldn’t be that hard- translating a dead language I mean”. The Neti sighed and leaned back some in his chair, “It’s like trigonometry, if you think about it”. Sa’ato paused and pursed his gnarled lips, “If you really stop and think about it. They both have rules. They both have symbols”. “And”, the Professor continued with an accented flick of the wrist, “They rely on one’s own merits to fill in the gaps”.
The Neti paused once more, and lifted the mug to his face, his rootlike antennae bristling some as the beverage seeped into his facsimile of a tongue. “I must be boring you- but here’s something you might not know”, Sa’ato continued, lifting an instructive finger, “My kind, you see, we don’t really experience taste. We understand it as a concept of course, but we just aren’t built with the receptors you see”. The Professor stopped short once more and glanced down into his mug as if he were pondering another sip.
As far as sipping chocolate went, this import from Corulag was bar none. “What we can experience though”, Sa’ato continued at last, “Is heat, and texture- the latter stemming from our more humanoid traits”. Sighing, the Neti ultimately returned the mug to its serving platter and frowned down at a handful of manuscripts scattered across the table, “Sith scripture- I try to pick up a hobby and this is where I land”. Sa’ato lifted his head once more, and cast a disinterested glance at the far end of the dining room, “Still, it seems like you’re quite done”.
And indeed, Janig was. The human housecarl, no older than fifty five cycles, had been dining comfortably across from his employer a little more than a half hour ago. Though there had been some convulsions as the first poison coursed through his body, the gentleman was probably weak in constitution to begin with, and likely lost consciousness within moments. His expression of petrified disbelief continued to stare back at Sa’ato, though having since finished his dessert, the victim’s eyeballs had clouded over into an opaque milk white.
The Neti slowly rose to his feet and withdrew a recorder from the sleeve of his tunic, “After some blanching, the subject has achieved full toxification-”. Sa’ato scowled and glanced down at his chrono, “Time of maturation shows no change compared to previous experiments. Coefficient of falvuvium to liquid dioxosis will need to be increased”. “Well- My Friend-”, the Neti growled as he dragged the chair and the corpse sprawled atop it into the far corner of the room, “I appreciate- the conversation”.
Exhaling brusquely as the Professor parked his deceased servant between two large potted plants, he stood still a moment and rolled his shoulders, before retrieving a small spray stick and dousing the arching flora with a heated cocktail, “I wish you were as good a listener prior to this evening. Still, I thank you for feeding the cephalotus twins, they really are quite starved”. Smirking as two of his newer acquisitions uncoiled their vines and began to rope the offered nourishment closer, Sa’ato turned about and snatched a jagged ornament from a side table.
Normally, Sith artifacts would be impossible to come by, even on black market sales. By happy coincidence, an antique chest the retired academic had bought on a while had borne unexpected fruit. Locked inside was a hand-painted dodecahedron, the likes of which Sa’ato had never encountered in his recreational readings. It took some time to uncover its likely origins, and now he had spent his every spare moment attempting to unlock its secrets. When he was not tending his garden, or testing out its new blooms on his hired help at the time.
Now however, as the sun began to arc down toward the horizon, his species’ semblance of fatigue began to set in. He would keep the strange object with him as he slept, and pondered rooting down next to the Corellian beechwood or the Coruscanti blacktree. Either way, with the failure of this latest tincture, he was at a loss for what task to pursue on the morrow. Shaking his head, the Neti resolved to decide later, and dimmed the house lights as he sauntered toward the indoor arboretum.
