@weaponsdirector : ( continued from [x] )
“So come out of uniform,” he suggested, in an easy tone. “People are a lot more open if they’re not worried about spilling something on your tunic.” He knew that wasn’t the implication of the white ISB uniforms– and that is precisely why he was so fond of his. Yet he wouldn’t dream of wearing it to a mixer. A gala? Perhaps, if the guest list merited it. But this– this wasn’t nearly so formal. “You need to loosen up. Seeking glory for the Empire is all very well, but even you have to know that there are different tacts.” He reached out, bumping her elbow with his knuckles. “I had better see you there. I’ll be the one in a suit with two glasses of wine.”
Despite being sure that she was immune to his display of social acumen, Iden knew when she was beaten; — Orson Krennic had risen through the ranks nearly as fast as Admiral Thrawn, and she was beginning to see why. He was persuasive, not in the strapped-to-a-chair-and-made-to-talk way she and her ISB colleagues were, but another deeper, cerebral way she couldn’t place.
“Okay, you’ve won me over.” Iden said after a brief pause, following the fiasco that had surrounded her ‘traitorous’ turn, despite being subsequently acquitted and exonerated, her image was in dire need reparation. Director Krennic was certainly seemed like a man who could help with that. “I’ll see you there, then.”
Apparently, the sort of mixers the Empire’s elite attended were more on par with a full-blown function. Fortunately, Krennic was hardly difficult to spot in a crowd, his suit emblazoned in a startlingly bright pink certainly made quite the statement. Iden deliberately made an understated entrance as she approached, plucking an errant glass of Rhuvian Fizz from a lonely server-droid. “Director, you’re lucky I made it, the speeder-lanes this evening have been working harder to kill me than the Rebellion.”