Dull, dull and dull.
"Sire Jesh, please, if you don't hold still the servitor will end up sticking pins in you and not the gown." Inquisitor Ulmahek Jesh snapped out of his boredom-induced torpor and gave the tailor a withering stare. The small man bowed his head sheepishly and hurried away to tend to a pile of fabric which, as far as Jesh could make out, required no such attention.
The mourning robes that were, at that moment, being pinned around him were made of heavy, iridescent cloth and cost a pretty penny- but one had to look good, especially in his profession.
“Hurry up…” he muttered to the servitor, who met his gaze with a vacant look, and continued to slowly pin the cloth in place. It wasn’t that Jesh minded being fitted for robes- in fact he liked it very much- he usually found it interesting, watching the tailor at work, and waiting with excitement and trepidation for the inevitable puncture wounds he would suffer at the Manip’s of a badly coded tailor-servitor.
But today his mind was on something- or rather someone- quite different. A woman.
He had seen her stride past the large window of the tailor’s workshop: all legs and cheekbones. Very refined. Jesh had immediately wanted her, and had made to walk out after her, but had been stabbed repeatedly by the confused servitor. He had made a mental note to track her down: a woman that fine, in a dirty, unpleasant spaceport like this one shouldn’t be hard to find.
Finally, the servitor finished it’s work. Paying quickly with his credit slate and ignoring the many apologies from the tailor for the puncture wounds now adorning his torso, Jesh left. He walked over to a nearby food vendor, and asked after the woman.
“Ahem… I say my good…” Ulmahek paused; the person he was addressing had a light, wiry beard- but also had fairly large breasts… “Man…?” He hadn’t been bale to help the upwards inflection at the end of that statement. It really had been a tough call. He ignored the disgruntled look of the unattractive man. Jesh described the woman, laying heavy emphasis on her legs. They had been distinctive legs.
“Sounds like Inquisitor Hallona, sir”. The man/woman replied. Jesh started.
“How do you know she’s an Inquisitor?”
“Wore a rosette on her lapel, stopped at my stand for a bite to eat”, the vendor smiled proudly. Jesh found this hard to believe- a woman of her stature could hardly eat this re-fried street food and maintain that figure, unless she followed a VERY strenuous cardio-vascular routine.
“Thank you very much old... boy”. Another glare from the vendor. Jesh strode off down the road- now he had a name, and perhaps, if he was lucky, a date for this funeral. Funerals are awfully dull affairs without a date.
