Chapter Text
“Is everyone present?” The Geonosian’s translator mask crackled slightly, betraying years of exposure to the dust storms of its owner’s homeworld.
The room’s occupants shifted, but nobody answered: a clear sign of resentment at being forced from their usual routines into this repurposed storage room deep in the bowels of the Invisible Hand. As wealthy heads of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, they were unused to such…dusty…accomodations, and desired to make their discontent apparent to those responsible for it.
“...Grievous has not yet arrived,” Nute Gunray finally pointed out, his expression suggesting he did not find the general’s absence particularly disagreeable.
“Hmm.” The Geonosian adjusted its bow tie. “We can wait a few more minutes, but that is all we have. There is a lot of material for us to cover today.”
“Material,” scoffed Shu Mai, fidgeting with a gold necklace. “As if this ridiculous meeting even constitutes material.”
“Let’s stay respectful,” chided the Geonosian’s assistant, a Twi’Lek with a rainbow pronoun pin on the lapel of her jacket. She added something else, but was drowned out by the whoosh of the automatic door and the clanking steps of a very grumpy cyborg.
“I will kill whichever heap of slime decided to host this meeting at such an ungodly hour,” the aforementioned cyborg announced.
The Geonosian instructor’s wings twitched alarmedly, but its voice projected evenly through the speaker grilles decorating its mask.
“Ah. General Grievous, I presume? Welcome.”
Grievous paused and surveyed the makeshift classroom, eyes darting skeptically over rows of cargo-crate desks and power-core stools. His vocabulator hummed, as if preparing to speak, but a sharp look from Count Dooku—who was currently perched on the edge of a generator, hands folded neatly on on the crate in front of him—shut him up.
The Twi’lek coughed. “How about you find a seat, and then we can get started?”
Grievous turned and gave her a once-over through narrowed eyes. “How about you—”
“General,” interrupted the Count pointedly.
With a low growl, Grievous subsided, settling himself on the nearest crate with the slight scrape of metal on metal. Curling up to balance his large frame on the wobbling seat, he wrapped his cape around himself like a blanket and buried his face in it, shoving his head between his torso and knees.
Dooku massaged his temples.
“Amazing,” said the Twi’lek with a clap, already regretting the decision to agree to this job. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
San Hill raised a bony hand.
“Yes, Mr. Hill?” The Geonosian dipped its head, granting him permission to speak.
“The assassin—what was her name?”
“Ventress?” offered Rune Haako.
San snapped his fingers. “That’s the one. Right, she’s not here either.”
“Now you say that,” grumbled Po Nudo, tusks clicking irritably.
The Banking Clan chairman stiffened, giving Nudo a haughty glare. “I was simply awaiting my turn to speak.”
Shu Mai sniffed. “Teacher’s pet.”
“If everybody could please remain civil?” interjected Dooku with a thin-lipped smile. “We do have a lesson to get through.”
“Not if Ventress doesn’t show up,” Grievous rumbled.
“Yes, General, I am aware. I will comm her right now.” Dooku’s smile was edging closer and closer to a grimace as he slid a hand into the pocket of his cloak and extracted his personalized comlink. (Gunray eyed its gilded edges with interest as they shimmered under the overhead lights, already planning to commission one for himself.)
The council members waited awkwardly as the Count tapped in the code that contacted his apprentice. The comlink trilled quietly, indicating it had successfully reached Ventress and was awaiting her input.
It rang once…
Again…
Thrice, now…
Rune Haako started tracing smiley faces into the layer of dust that coated the top of his crate.
Finally, after a long moment, Ventress picked up.
“What is it, Master?” asked the miniature blue projection of the assassin.
The assassin that appeared to be in…pajamas? Swaddled by sheets?
“Ventress.” Dooku abandoned all pretense of diplomacy. “Are you in bed?”
“...No….”
“You realize we have a meeting right now, and a very important one, at that. I informed you of this three cycles ago! Are you incompetent, disrespectful, or just not very bright? I expect more from you. Consider me very disappointed.” One of Dooku’s well-buffed shoes tapped an impatient staccato on the floor.
“I apologize, Master. I—” the apparition yawned— “will not fail you again.”
Dooku did not deign to respond, but simply hung up. He cast a rigid nod to his colleagues, as if his personally trained assassin had not just forgotten about their high-priority gathering and overslept. The room returned the gesture, albeit uncomfortably.
“Well,” said the Geonosian abruptly, breaking the silence. “We must, unfortunately, start without this… Ventress, as we are operating on a limited time frame and, as I have said, there is much to discuss. Cha-Aya?” It indicated the Twi’lek, who trotted to the corner and wheeled out a large whiteboard. Producing a pink dry-erase marker from her breast pocket, Cha-Aya began to write in large print at the top of the board.
Grievous, lifting his head and craning his long neck to make out the letters, spelled aloud with audible confusion, “D…E…I?”