SithLore

The Dark Lord reclined upon his pilot seat, its inlays and taut leather replaced and custom tailored by his own hand. His console was alight with varied streams of jade and ruby haze contouring either side of his face.

The Plutus, a black on black Action V freighter seemed to absorb all light and fade into the cosmic abyss from the vantage point of any outsider, but from his chair an entire spectrum left the interior warmly aglow.

He thumbed his com switch with a steady, confident gloved hand.

"All system diagnostics read within normal ranges," the bass of his voice possessed a characteristic thick molasses drawl, "repeat diagnostics onboard vessel delta, and confirm all cargo remains secure."

The droid seated on the corresponding chair aboard the Midas, a twin of the vessel it was trailing, tapped a series of five keys and proceeded to jostle a small lever.

"Diagnostics runn-nn-nning now," its vocal modulation hummed.

The Dark Lord's pupils dilated as he scanned the starways ahead.

"Locking into waypoint destination 358-Phi."

OOC:
Action V "The Plutus": 320 RU
Action V "The Midas": 320 RU

"We're a-go at your word," the droid's line finally fizzled again to life.

The Dark Lord switched comms back to Reana on planet.

"Make sure to trim the plants and water," his tone shifted with the euphemism, "our visitors, while I'm away."

"Already on it," the steady voice slinked back.

"Or, wait, was it the other way around?"

"I'll attend to all permutations."

"See that you do."

His smirk was insufferable, even while not visible to her.

"Oh, and give our little TeeCee some love."

She groaned before abruptly ending the transmission. It was intentional.

The leather of his glove flexed and slinked along the lever as he rested his palm, glanced once more out at the stillness of the star ways, took a long hard sip of air, and pulled back. The galaxy turned into a familiar brilliant blur of turbulent blue tunnel around him.

The Dark Lord had spent more of his life in hyperspace than he cared to estimate.

Cold repose in a liminal space washed over him, just as the cold hue bathed him physically through the viewports.

He rubbed the base of the back of his neck and didn't wince as the nerve endings erupted with sweet agony. He pressed into it deeper. The skin under his glove flaked to the touch. He peeled th layers of burnt skin, a parting gift courtesy of the blonde assassin. A wry remembrance danced and tugged at the corner of his lips.

Turning back to his controls, he scrolled through his ship's manifest with his left hand while gently yanking the strip of bubbled neck skin and draping it along the console.

Both the Plutus and the Midas pulled out of hyperspace in near synchronicity.

They had arrived at their destination without incident, thus far. Rhen Var was in some ways more frigid and desolate than the space that cradled it.

"Locking into the specified d-d-d-dock," the droid aboard the sister ship rattled the silence with a digital whirring.

The sublight engine purred.

"Don't suppose we should trade up for a new flagship if no one is home," he spoke to himself with the comm open.

The pilot droid was torn between how and if it should answer. It ran a probability check of the danger of denying its master's whims had it been sincere, versus the probability of being destroyed by either side of a conflict or heist should it inadvertently encourage either.

Dead air.

Fett still somehow found it amusing when lower social functioning droids couldn't pick up on his delivery.