05-28-2014, 12:59 PM
<small>((continued from Biography))</small>
Darth Malik looked around the cabin at his fellow passengers, knowing that they had no idea the significance of this trip. They had all ascended into the heavens during this flight, it was true. But only Malik could view it as a rebirth in those very heavens. With their passage through and above the clouds, he felt the last vestige of his old life fall away. He was Marcus DuBois no longer, not really. At those heights, Malik seized the force, mastered it, let it fill him. The stench of all the people in the cabin- a sealed container of dead skin, breath and other odors- suddenly filled his nostrils while the sounds of talking or moving about or children whimpering and laughing pushed past the hiss of the air pressurization. And yet he did not despise the experience. Instead, he luxuriated in it, in being immersed in humanity and yet knowing that he was transcending them, ascending to new heights, both literally and figuratively. He sent out threads of the force to caress the plane, air and fire mingled together, penetrating the metal and plastic, wires and circuitry. He could feel the speeding flow of the wind outside, the pulsing of the electrical currents through the threads of fire, the skin of the fuselage becoming his skin. He imagined the plane becaming his very own self, an extension of his body, bearing aloft this group of people with him, their one day master. And this trip was the beginning of his new life, his apprenticeship as a Sith Lord.
Marcus disembarked and was able to immediately find his way to the car waiting for him using the Wallet he had been sent. He was wearing one of the few suits he owned, an off-the-rack charcoal black, matching vest, cream colored shirt and black and white striped tie. However, it fit his physique well. More importantly, he walked with the confidence of who and what he really was; not with arrogance, but not with fear or hesitation. In his stomach, he burned with anticipation at how far he had come. But also with how much there was to do. Any sense of trepidation or anxiety that wormed its way into that maelstrom was ruthlessly strangled in his mind. The act of calling on and dominating the force made sure of that.
The car was top of the line, black with orange-fringed CCD flags. A driver transferred his things to the car and then opened the door for him to get in the back seat. There sat a woman, lighter skinned than he was, striking golden brown eyes. From the way she held herself, she was obviously the person he was supposed to meet. Older than him by a good ten years, her bearing brooked no nonsense. She knew who and what she represented, both in her herself and more importantly, in the CCD colossus that bestrode the world. She was polite though, in those duties, conveying professional courtesy and pleasure at Marcus’ accession to such a prestige program. "My name is Krasivolkya Constantine, Chief Liaison in the Executive office of the Ascendancy, Custody of State. You are Marcus DuBois, on behalf of the EoA and the Ascendancy, I welcome and congratulate you.”
Marcus inclined his head as he shook her hand, a pleasant smile on his face. He waited for her to finish her congratulations before offering. “Thank you so very much, Madame Liaison. I am truly honored to be here.”
Tapping on her Wallet, she transferred a document to the one he’d held in his left hand. Immediately, he was able to follow along as she explained his itinerary for the day and his accommodations for the duration of the program.
He listened intently, both with his ears as well as with his other heightened senses. The woman was fierce, loyal to the CCD and what it stood for-no doubt ready to defend it. He appreciated that quality, that loyalty. Once again, it was a sign that Brandon was the real deal and he felt his admiration for th man. The words of Darth Plagueis came to mind. “You must begin by gaining power over yourself first; then another; then a group, an order, a world, a species, a group of species….finally the galaxy itself.” Brandon commanded fierce loyalty in his people. Marcus had played his game successfully at the University. But here was an entire new environment where manipulation and power games were not just common, they were the lifeblood; weakness and failure meant death, figurative and perhaps more. In this new home, he would be able to study it up close, watch the masters and the manipulated, feel the dynamics flow, hone his craft.
His thoughts went on. If Constantine was fiercely protective of the CCD, than it became imperative that Marcus give her no cause to view him with suspicion or question. His stay here was not going to be temporary. He had to lay the groundwork now for his future there. He looked her in the eye. “I really appreciate the opportunity before me, Madame. It is a great honor to have been chosen to be part of what I honestly believe is the pinnacle of human governance.”
Perhaps a bit excessive, but earnestness tinged his voice. And more than that, he meant it. Conveying an impression did not mean one had to be dishonest. Indeed, truth, true deep seated feelings could be a powerful tool, calculated though the time of their revealing might be. So when he said the words, he said them whole-heartedly, meaning them to his core. He let all his admiration come through- for Brandon, for the way he used Sith principles in government, for the opportunity he had as a result of this program. If she thought him a sycophant, a naïve foreigner enamored of the CCD and the Ascendancy’s cult of personality, all the better. She’d view him as a tool to use, a connection to be cultivated, a threat to be ignored. But connections and use went both ways.
As the car took them away from Moscow, Marcus took in the buildings and landscapes. This was no city ready to collapse in on itself as Chicago had. No broken display lights and signs, no dilapidated buildings and pot-holed roads. The paths they took broadcast a city at its peak, pristine, hopeful, and proud. It was the city of the future. But he also knew that there would always be room for more order. He was not ignorant of history. He knew there would be a seedier side, a place where Darth Malik might begin to clean up. The thought gave him a tight smile. Order and justice were in his hands to dole out.
They crossed a river- the sign said the Moskva- and then he could see the red walls surrounding it, the Grand Kremlin Palace Constantine described. Once again, he let the truth be sensed. He felt the beauty and majesty of the place-the crenellated towers in the wall, the gleaming ivory white facades. Golden onion domes in grouping of 4 or 5 sprung up like flowers on stalks of white amid this garden of opulence and power. Though not a student of architecture, it had a distinctly Russian feel, but with elements of Byzantine structure. Which made sense, given the history.
The entire impression of Moscow reminded him of Albert Speer’s writings on architecture. It was that perfect medium that merged two powerful tools together, the emotional conveyance of art and the function and universality of the physical landscape. People were confronted with these structures they could not ignore. Structures that imprinted on and adjusted the way those people moved, lived and thought. It could serve to enforce views of government, order, and even culture- the cult of the superior, the inevitability of victory. He looked at Constantine and thought an observance in that vein might serve. “Just amazing,”
he said quietly, looking around, letting the admiration he had been showing come out more in his soft words. “As Speer might have said, ‘Moscow proclaims himself king.”
He then gave her a wide honest smile. He had a lot of reasons to be happy.
The car rolled to a stop and the driver opened Constantine’s door first, as no doubt was proper, followed by his own. Standing this close to the building was an experience, Marcus had to admit. It was a awe-inspiring. This was indeed the seat of the world. He felt the force, dominated it. And now Malik was going to be entering it.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 16 2014, 01:17 PM.
Darth Malik looked around the cabin at his fellow passengers, knowing that they had no idea the significance of this trip. They had all ascended into the heavens during this flight, it was true. But only Malik could view it as a rebirth in those very heavens. With their passage through and above the clouds, he felt the last vestige of his old life fall away. He was Marcus DuBois no longer, not really. At those heights, Malik seized the force, mastered it, let it fill him. The stench of all the people in the cabin- a sealed container of dead skin, breath and other odors- suddenly filled his nostrils while the sounds of talking or moving about or children whimpering and laughing pushed past the hiss of the air pressurization. And yet he did not despise the experience. Instead, he luxuriated in it, in being immersed in humanity and yet knowing that he was transcending them, ascending to new heights, both literally and figuratively. He sent out threads of the force to caress the plane, air and fire mingled together, penetrating the metal and plastic, wires and circuitry. He could feel the speeding flow of the wind outside, the pulsing of the electrical currents through the threads of fire, the skin of the fuselage becoming his skin. He imagined the plane becaming his very own self, an extension of his body, bearing aloft this group of people with him, their one day master. And this trip was the beginning of his new life, his apprenticeship as a Sith Lord.
Marcus disembarked and was able to immediately find his way to the car waiting for him using the Wallet he had been sent. He was wearing one of the few suits he owned, an off-the-rack charcoal black, matching vest, cream colored shirt and black and white striped tie. However, it fit his physique well. More importantly, he walked with the confidence of who and what he really was; not with arrogance, but not with fear or hesitation. In his stomach, he burned with anticipation at how far he had come. But also with how much there was to do. Any sense of trepidation or anxiety that wormed its way into that maelstrom was ruthlessly strangled in his mind. The act of calling on and dominating the force made sure of that.
The car was top of the line, black with orange-fringed CCD flags. A driver transferred his things to the car and then opened the door for him to get in the back seat. There sat a woman, lighter skinned than he was, striking golden brown eyes. From the way she held herself, she was obviously the person he was supposed to meet. Older than him by a good ten years, her bearing brooked no nonsense. She knew who and what she represented, both in her herself and more importantly, in the CCD colossus that bestrode the world. She was polite though, in those duties, conveying professional courtesy and pleasure at Marcus’ accession to such a prestige program. "My name is Krasivolkya Constantine, Chief Liaison in the Executive office of the Ascendancy, Custody of State. You are Marcus DuBois, on behalf of the EoA and the Ascendancy, I welcome and congratulate you.”
Marcus inclined his head as he shook her hand, a pleasant smile on his face. He waited for her to finish her congratulations before offering. “Thank you so very much, Madame Liaison. I am truly honored to be here.”
Tapping on her Wallet, she transferred a document to the one he’d held in his left hand. Immediately, he was able to follow along as she explained his itinerary for the day and his accommodations for the duration of the program.
He listened intently, both with his ears as well as with his other heightened senses. The woman was fierce, loyal to the CCD and what it stood for-no doubt ready to defend it. He appreciated that quality, that loyalty. Once again, it was a sign that Brandon was the real deal and he felt his admiration for th man. The words of Darth Plagueis came to mind. “You must begin by gaining power over yourself first; then another; then a group, an order, a world, a species, a group of species….finally the galaxy itself.” Brandon commanded fierce loyalty in his people. Marcus had played his game successfully at the University. But here was an entire new environment where manipulation and power games were not just common, they were the lifeblood; weakness and failure meant death, figurative and perhaps more. In this new home, he would be able to study it up close, watch the masters and the manipulated, feel the dynamics flow, hone his craft.
His thoughts went on. If Constantine was fiercely protective of the CCD, than it became imperative that Marcus give her no cause to view him with suspicion or question. His stay here was not going to be temporary. He had to lay the groundwork now for his future there. He looked her in the eye. “I really appreciate the opportunity before me, Madame. It is a great honor to have been chosen to be part of what I honestly believe is the pinnacle of human governance.”
Perhaps a bit excessive, but earnestness tinged his voice. And more than that, he meant it. Conveying an impression did not mean one had to be dishonest. Indeed, truth, true deep seated feelings could be a powerful tool, calculated though the time of their revealing might be. So when he said the words, he said them whole-heartedly, meaning them to his core. He let all his admiration come through- for Brandon, for the way he used Sith principles in government, for the opportunity he had as a result of this program. If she thought him a sycophant, a naïve foreigner enamored of the CCD and the Ascendancy’s cult of personality, all the better. She’d view him as a tool to use, a connection to be cultivated, a threat to be ignored. But connections and use went both ways.
As the car took them away from Moscow, Marcus took in the buildings and landscapes. This was no city ready to collapse in on itself as Chicago had. No broken display lights and signs, no dilapidated buildings and pot-holed roads. The paths they took broadcast a city at its peak, pristine, hopeful, and proud. It was the city of the future. But he also knew that there would always be room for more order. He was not ignorant of history. He knew there would be a seedier side, a place where Darth Malik might begin to clean up. The thought gave him a tight smile. Order and justice were in his hands to dole out.
They crossed a river- the sign said the Moskva- and then he could see the red walls surrounding it, the Grand Kremlin Palace Constantine described. Once again, he let the truth be sensed. He felt the beauty and majesty of the place-the crenellated towers in the wall, the gleaming ivory white facades. Golden onion domes in grouping of 4 or 5 sprung up like flowers on stalks of white amid this garden of opulence and power. Though not a student of architecture, it had a distinctly Russian feel, but with elements of Byzantine structure. Which made sense, given the history.
The entire impression of Moscow reminded him of Albert Speer’s writings on architecture. It was that perfect medium that merged two powerful tools together, the emotional conveyance of art and the function and universality of the physical landscape. People were confronted with these structures they could not ignore. Structures that imprinted on and adjusted the way those people moved, lived and thought. It could serve to enforce views of government, order, and even culture- the cult of the superior, the inevitability of victory. He looked at Constantine and thought an observance in that vein might serve. “Just amazing,”
he said quietly, looking around, letting the admiration he had been showing come out more in his soft words. “As Speer might have said, ‘Moscow proclaims himself king.”
He then gave her a wide honest smile. He had a lot of reasons to be happy.
The car rolled to a stop and the driver opened Constantine’s door first, as no doubt was proper, followed by his own. Standing this close to the building was an experience, Marcus had to admit. It was a awe-inspiring. This was indeed the seat of the world. He felt the force, dominated it. And now Malik was going to be entering it.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 16 2014, 01:17 PM.