Star Wars: Diplomat Of Madness

"If I hesitate, they might realize I have no clue what I'm doing."

"Can you keep quiet?" the Jedi asked me before I even said anything. The glare on her face had not faded in the time between first seeing her and me reaching her. Which, since it had not gotten more intense or angrier, was a good start. Maybe looking like she wanted to examine my liver to take the auspices was her default expression? "You make it hard to concentrate."

Or maybe she was just deeply unpleasant to be around.

I briefly wondered what could have annoyed the Jedi, before remembering who I was and what I represented. Draped as I was in imperial iconography, I could not blame her. Much. I could definitely blame her for being rude, though.

"Back home, we just say hello, but the galaxy is a big place," I said instead of commenting on her lapse of etiquette, a polite smile plastered on my face. An invisible smile, thanks to the mask, but it still colored my words. I extended my free hand before continuing. "Nestor, Sith Apprentice to Lord Egatio."

"Apprentice?" She asked, pale blue eyes boring into swampy green hidden behind a mask. That she could tell where they were behind the mask was almost impressive. No, wait, the mask had an implied eye location from the wrinkles. The Jedi simply had functional pattern recognition. My hand, meanwhile, went ignored. Wasn't this supposed to be a diplomatic event? None of this felt entirely right. "That would explain your lack of discipline."

I had always been a lucky sort, but finding the rudest Jedi in the galaxy at a diplomatic event was not how I expected it to manifest. Almost immediately after that sentiment popped into my mind, however, the Jedi's eyes narrowed.

"My point exactly," she said.

Meanwhile, I was still standing there. Hand extended, still waiting for a handshake that I was fairly certain was not going to come.

"I think I'm missing some context," I observed, finally letting my free hand return to my side. Considering that this was a two-person conversation, that was an impressive failure of communication.

"You are," she confirmed. No further words followed that statement, no hook to further pursue. In other words, a dismissal. Ordinarily, in polite society, there would be little recourse beyond leaving. And truth be told, it was an incredibly tempting course of action. Unfortunately, I was a spiteful sort.

So instead of leaving, I did what any sane and reasonable man would do: I gave the hors d'oeuvres a closer look. Really, the Jedi only had herself to blame for parking herself right by the table. No doubt that explained why none of these treats had been touched yet, but that was the loss of the other few hundred guests.

As one might expect, the table was lined with dozens of tiny delicacies. Cubes of suspiciously smooth meat topped with brightly colored fruit, small round pastries with a myriad of toppings, what I assumed to be skewers of cheese and grapes… really, quite the variety. Sweet and savory choices in small portions. Perfect for this kind of event.

… and I was wearing a mask that covered my entire head.

Beside me, a strangled snort of amusement punctuated my feelings quite aptly. A glance revealed the vertically challenged Jedi moving holding a fist in front of her face, as though to catch a cough. Or as if to wipe a smile from her face. Which begged a question all of its own: Why?

Why now?

I knew well enough that body language could easily convey basic emotions. Things like antagonism, disinterest, hostility, friendliness, those were things a well-socialized person could gleam from body language alone without a problem. But anything more subtle required either deliberate over-acting or facial expressions. Micro expressions, really.

Neither were being provided by me. My arms were relaxed, with one hand carrying a drink and the other by my side. My face was completely covered, with not an inch of skin visible above the neck. Which meant the vertically challenged Jedi was getting her read from somewhere else entirely.

Given her earlier annoyance at my making it hard for her to concentrate and being loud-

"Ah," I said intelligently, the pieces falling into place. "I thought I might at least have some privacy in my mind."

"Oh, would you look at that," the Jedi commented. The mockery, though hidden, was easy enough to find. "The little Sith can learn."

"And the little Jedi is willing to help the less fortunate," I said in response, keeping my voice friendly. Despite my light tone, however, she narrowed her eyes. Was her height a sore spot for her? Since I could not, and more importantly refused to consider reading minds, I could only guess.

"The preferred term is 'compact,'" she corrected, her tone unchanging, but the correction was telling. Yep, sore sport. Good to know.

"I said what I said," I said, maintaining my course. She decided to read my mind, so I was going to push her buttons. Seemed only fair. "Thought it, too."

Which she no doubt knew.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be a diplomat," she commented. All around us, still at a healthy distance, the crowds shifted a bit. A reminder that this conversation was not at all private. No more than my thoughts were, for that matter.

"I thought the same of you," I said. Truth be told, it would explain a lot if she were just another Jedi instead of one who was diplomatically inclined. Like how I was starting to enjoy this conversation. It was a refreshing change from the past months. "Clearly, at least one of us was wrong."

"How very perceptive," the Jedi deadpanned. "The Jedi standing off on her own, away from the crowds. Not prowling the floor. Clearly, she must be a diplomat."

"Those facts are hardly mutually exclusive," I pointed out. "It just requires you to not be a very good diplomat." Naturally, I was an expert in such matters, with my many (read: three) months of training.

"And for the Republic to be in so dire a need for diplomats."

"You would be the expert," I conceded. "Though I question the wisdom of prioritizing the training of diplomats over sound economic policy."

"Bold words from someone whose empire is built on conquest, treachery, and slavery," she shot back. Hm, going from attacks on my person to attacks on my employer. I wonder what could have caused that?

"Bold words from someone whose empire is falling apart around them," I countered. Technically, the Republic qualified as an empire. Central authority, composed of several cultures and ethnicities and species, with a politically dominant core. Yup, that's an empire.

"Words like that, and I'm starting to think it was mistake to ever consider you a diplomat in the first place." Harsh words, but delivered without heat.

"Oh, would you look at that, the little Jedi can learn." When I threw her own words back in her face with minimal change, I was expecting some sort of pushback. Maybe a brief moment of recognizing her own hypocrisy. A huff and a retreat if I had managed to actually get under her skin, and she had a modicum of restraint.

But all she did was give a competitive grin.

Slowly but surely, I was putting the pieces together. Granted, it should have been obvious, given how she had not left yet. Or punched me. Or drawn a weapon. Or thrown me across the room. And had yet to attempt to deescalate. Which meant either she was hypercompetitive with all the associated refusal to concede a 'loss' in something as simple as a conversation…

"Careful there, little Sith," the Jedi warned, her tone shifting once again. But not towards anger. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Or she was enjoying herself.

"Some might consider reading the thoughts of a Sith to be dangerous, too," I countered, not missing a beat. Yes, she was enjoying this.

"True," she conceded. "But this is more like listening. Reading takes effort."

No doubt the conversation would have continued along that way for a few minutes. Personally, I would have been happy it done so. Sure, the stakes were quite a bit higher than I was used to, what with the perpetual chance of a remark causing a diplomatic incident, but it was a welcome change of pace.

Unfortunately, the hundreds of people involved in the mechanisms of state had other ideas.

Something tapped me on the shoulder. Turning my head revealed one of the legions of servants and assorted staff that prowled the reception. I knew first-hand that a statistically relevant portion of the staff had been replaced by Imperial Intelligence. Or, failing that, was on their payroll. He leaned closer to whisper something in my ear.

"My lord, your presence is requested in the Pendel Wing."

...

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