06-27-2014, 11:51 AM
Marcus walked into St. Andrew’s Hall and was bathed in reflected light from the chandeliers, from the gold that covered nearly everything- moldings and columns, arches and recesses, carvings and chairs- the floors that had been polished to mirrors, from the lamps mounted on walls. The room projected riches beyond imagination. And yet, it was not the opulence that impressed Marcus.
Here he was, at the very center of power at only 23 years of age. He had worked hard to get here, had earned his way to this pinnacle. Just a month ago he was still living in a small studio apartment provided with his scholarship. The school he went to, the University of Chicago, was a good school, as far as it went. Still far too ivory tower for his tastes. He would have congratulated the Communication/Propaganda Consulates on their success in US colleges if not for the fact that he knew that disease had been harbored at schools long before Ascendancy ever set foot in Russia. But in this grand hall, that disease dared not manifest itself. The people here were fully cognizant of how the real world worked. These people were the power brokers of the world- the members of the Sphere, the Consulate heads, the Marshall of the Army, the General of the Army, military attaches and aides, legislators, billionaire titans of banking and industry. It was a vast collection of men and women who wielded power and influence. And Marcus DuBois stood among them, a Sigma.
The background music floated over the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses and silver as Marcus made his way into the Hall, stopping here and there to greet people and converse. He snagged a glass of water with lemon from one of the servers- he hardly drank and, of all places, here was where he needed to have his wits about the most. He was going to be sitting at the table with Ascendancy himself. Deep down, he was willing to admit to himself, he was nervous. He thought about quashing the feeling, wondering what Malik would do. For the first time in a long while, he was unsure. He would have seized the Force to center and clear himself, but the danger was too much. Perhaps he could find a place to be alone and then do it.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd as the bronze doors opened and Ascendency walked in flanked by guards on either side. Malik’s eyes were glued to the man, feeling great relief for some reason. At last, he thought. At last. This was why he’d come here, this man. But there was a tight smile on his face now, because now….now he knew. And he realized why he felt relief. Deep down, he’d wondered if Ascendancy was manufactured, a puppet, a poseur presented to the world as a symbol. He’d refused to believe it, couldn’t believe it, having read his words….And yet, he knew history, knew that sometimes the truth you believed had been given to you by others. But now he knew. His instinct had been right. Looking at the man, the way he commanded the room, this was no figure head.
But his smile was for far more than just that confirmation. Then it broke into a full on grin, marveling at how things worked out. Not an accident at all. He, Darth Malik, Sith apprentice seeking a master, had been guided by the force. For what he felt, even at this distance, was the tell-tale indication that someone was using a large amount of Force. It had coincided with Ascendancy’s entrance and Malik had dismissed the guards almost immediately. It was Ascendancy. The man radiated power and Malik wanted to go up to him and bask in it, to claim his right as apprentice. Surely, this was willed by the Force. It had been determined from the beginning. All of Marcus’ experiences and sufferings had been merely shaping and honing Malik, building to this very moment, to this meeting.
Malik no longer needed to find somewhere to go and center. Even without feeling the pleasure that came from dominating the Force, he felt calm and at peace. It was simple. This moment had been foreordained. It was destiny.
Malik walked toward the table he would be sharing with Ascendancy.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jun 27 2014, 12:00 PM.
Here he was, at the very center of power at only 23 years of age. He had worked hard to get here, had earned his way to this pinnacle. Just a month ago he was still living in a small studio apartment provided with his scholarship. The school he went to, the University of Chicago, was a good school, as far as it went. Still far too ivory tower for his tastes. He would have congratulated the Communication/Propaganda Consulates on their success in US colleges if not for the fact that he knew that disease had been harbored at schools long before Ascendancy ever set foot in Russia. But in this grand hall, that disease dared not manifest itself. The people here were fully cognizant of how the real world worked. These people were the power brokers of the world- the members of the Sphere, the Consulate heads, the Marshall of the Army, the General of the Army, military attaches and aides, legislators, billionaire titans of banking and industry. It was a vast collection of men and women who wielded power and influence. And Marcus DuBois stood among them, a Sigma.
The background music floated over the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses and silver as Marcus made his way into the Hall, stopping here and there to greet people and converse. He snagged a glass of water with lemon from one of the servers- he hardly drank and, of all places, here was where he needed to have his wits about the most. He was going to be sitting at the table with Ascendancy himself. Deep down, he was willing to admit to himself, he was nervous. He thought about quashing the feeling, wondering what Malik would do. For the first time in a long while, he was unsure. He would have seized the Force to center and clear himself, but the danger was too much. Perhaps he could find a place to be alone and then do it.
Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd as the bronze doors opened and Ascendency walked in flanked by guards on either side. Malik’s eyes were glued to the man, feeling great relief for some reason. At last, he thought. At last. This was why he’d come here, this man. But there was a tight smile on his face now, because now….now he knew. And he realized why he felt relief. Deep down, he’d wondered if Ascendancy was manufactured, a puppet, a poseur presented to the world as a symbol. He’d refused to believe it, couldn’t believe it, having read his words….And yet, he knew history, knew that sometimes the truth you believed had been given to you by others. But now he knew. His instinct had been right. Looking at the man, the way he commanded the room, this was no figure head.
But his smile was for far more than just that confirmation. Then it broke into a full on grin, marveling at how things worked out. Not an accident at all. He, Darth Malik, Sith apprentice seeking a master, had been guided by the force. For what he felt, even at this distance, was the tell-tale indication that someone was using a large amount of Force. It had coincided with Ascendancy’s entrance and Malik had dismissed the guards almost immediately. It was Ascendancy. The man radiated power and Malik wanted to go up to him and bask in it, to claim his right as apprentice. Surely, this was willed by the Force. It had been determined from the beginning. All of Marcus’ experiences and sufferings had been merely shaping and honing Malik, building to this very moment, to this meeting.
Malik no longer needed to find somewhere to go and center. Even without feeling the pleasure that came from dominating the Force, he felt calm and at peace. It was simple. This moment had been foreordained. It was destiny.
Malik walked toward the table he would be sharing with Ascendancy.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jun 27 2014, 12:00 PM.