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Disillusionment
The figure of the man enters the frame of the holorecording. His hair is cut shoulder-length, and he is wearing a delicately embroidered sleeping robe. On the backround, antique furniture are lit by the reflection of neon lights outside. His right arm, made out of metal and bolts rises a slender gilded cigarette holder to his lips. The pale man takes a drag, exhaling smoke that shimmers as it catches the light.
"I need to update these more than twice a year. Look what they did to me, turned me into a cyborg."
The man's lips curl in an expression of disgust
"I used to consider cyborgs abominations. Perversions of the perfection of biological creation. What man can create is only a pale imitation of it. I looked down upon the cybernetic creatures I modified as unfortunate, but necessary, monstrosities and yet here I am, now one of them, my beautiful arm replaced with rusting steel, my flesh with petrochemicals and my blood with oil. It cannot feel like it used to, and when I hold the cheek of my lover all they feel is the touch of cold metal, the smell of oil. I hate it. I hate them."
He hisses, briefly walking out of frame. The Echani returns, having dressed himself in a white silk shirt with tailored black pants, speaking to the recording as he is fastening the buttons of his blouse.
"But it was my own fault, wasn't it? I grew too bold and in my hubris I did not consider the possibility of punishment. I suppose I am lucky she did not do worse. She could have, and I saw it in her eyes, like she wanted to tear me apart until I was no longer recognizeable."
He shakes his head, reaching for a hairbrush from outside the frame.
"I keep thinking about the Darth...what he said to me. It has been festering inside my mind for weeks now, and I am beginning to think his offer might be a good idea. Especially after losing her...But that is...that is a last resort. For now I am back where I belong, I suppose. I still have -some- things left here. I should not have left the Sphere in the first place for one-- one can easier trust a wingmaw not to bite than a Vipion. I had to...crawl back, like a wimpering dog, my tail between my legs."
The Echani grimaces in disgust.
"I'll be more useful here, at least. I know when I am unwanted. Perhaps the Nam'ta situation can be a good opportunity for profit. That is unless Madros gets to it first, the greedy bastard. I am not looking forward "collaborating" with him, that's for sure." he chuckles, as he starts applying an almost chalk white shade of concealer to the dark circles beneath his eyes. "I like Sith Leive, although I am fully aware of what she is capable of. Perhaps more than most in the Powerbase. Unlike others, she never fully shows her hand. Never makes grand displays of power. And that is in her advantage. It's a powerful weapon, to be underestimated. And I think I feel a kinship with her that I had not felt with Lord Iezkon, even though she is family. I really hope this works."
The man would finish applying his cosmetics, turning off the recording as he leaves the room.
The figure of the man enters the frame of the holorecording. His hair is cut shoulder-length, and he is wearing a delicately embroidered sleeping robe. On the backround, antique furniture are lit by the reflection of neon lights outside. His right arm, made out of metal and bolts rises a slender gilded cigarette holder to his lips. The pale man takes a drag, exhaling smoke that shimmers as it catches the light.
"I need to update these more than twice a year. Look what they did to me, turned me into a cyborg."
The man's lips curl in an expression of disgust
"I used to consider cyborgs abominations. Perversions of the perfection of biological creation. What man can create is only a pale imitation of it. I looked down upon the cybernetic creatures I modified as unfortunate, but necessary, monstrosities and yet here I am, now one of them, my beautiful arm replaced with rusting steel, my flesh with petrochemicals and my blood with oil. It cannot feel like it used to, and when I hold the cheek of my lover all they feel is the touch of cold metal, the smell of oil. I hate it. I hate them."
He hisses, briefly walking out of frame. The Echani returns, having dressed himself in a white silk shirt with tailored black pants, speaking to the recording as he is fastening the buttons of his blouse.
"But it was my own fault, wasn't it? I grew too bold and in my hubris I did not consider the possibility of punishment. I suppose I am lucky she did not do worse. She could have, and I saw it in her eyes, like she wanted to tear me apart until I was no longer recognizeable."
He shakes his head, reaching for a hairbrush from outside the frame.
"I keep thinking about the Darth...what he said to me. It has been festering inside my mind for weeks now, and I am beginning to think his offer might be a good idea. Especially after losing her...But that is...that is a last resort. For now I am back where I belong, I suppose. I still have -some- things left here. I should not have left the Sphere in the first place for one-- one can easier trust a wingmaw not to bite than a Vipion. I had to...crawl back, like a wimpering dog, my tail between my legs."
The Echani grimaces in disgust.
"I'll be more useful here, at least. I know when I am unwanted. Perhaps the Nam'ta situation can be a good opportunity for profit. That is unless Madros gets to it first, the greedy bastard. I am not looking forward "collaborating" with him, that's for sure." he chuckles, as he starts applying an almost chalk white shade of concealer to the dark circles beneath his eyes. "I like Sith Leive, although I am fully aware of what she is capable of. Perhaps more than most in the Powerbase. Unlike others, she never fully shows her hand. Never makes grand displays of power. And that is in her advantage. It's a powerful weapon, to be underestimated. And I think I feel a kinship with her that I had not felt with Lord Iezkon, even though she is family. I really hope this works."
The man would finish applying his cosmetics, turning off the recording as he leaves the room.
