They're multiplying... (for Natirru and Abric)

[kallig]

There had certainly been parts of that all that Altair wished he could erase from his mind. The horror of what had happened to the cyborgs, in particular. But also having to pull rank, with his father and his Master in the room. It wasn't something that Altair had wanted to do, but... It had been necessary, he supposed. Honorary though it may be, he had been named Imperius's heir- it granted him the ability to throw his weight around, more than a Sith apprentice, more than a Lord, or even a regular old Darth... Still. It had been rather tasteless, with his Master right there. He, who was above nearly everyone else...

He'd apologized, of course, but he still wished he could forget it.

Now though... Away from the action, and on Nar Shaddaa. Not Altair's favorite planet, admittedly, but its neutrality was good, in more ways than one. His Master had gone... Somewhere. To meet up with the Jedi, perhaps? He wasn't sure.

So he had decided to stick with Natirru, preferring that more often than not when he had a choice of where to go, what to do. As much as he... Well, his Master's crew was a strange bunch. He quite liked the peace he could sense from Jaesa and often found himself spending time in her company, in silence. Vette was always a riot and she'd taught him much. When it came to Broonmark, Altair was glad stealth was an option to get around him, the intent and desire to kill he could sense from him like inky black tendrils that sent shivers down his spine.

Pierce was dumb as a bag of bricks and Quinn seemed to have a vibroblade wedged up a place it ought not to go, at least in Altair's opinion. Humanity: zero, Imperial rules and regulations: one. Not that he ever spoke ill of his Master's companions.

Regardless that was neither here nor there- Altair had separated from Natirru briefly, to scope out Valentine's place to see if they could rest and recover there.

He found it full of people. One of the older Sith's raging parties. From his vantage point, he'd counted nearly a hundred people, but there could very well be even more guests.

So that wasn't an option.

Heading back to meet back up with Natirru, he came around the corner where he could sense him, "Dad! Darth Imperius is throwing one of his- Oh."

In his eagerness to rejoin Natirru so he wouldn't have to be alone on Nar Shaddaa longer than necessary, he'd completely failed to sense the smuggler who'd been with them- there hadn't been much time to talk on the mission and expressing curiosity as to who exactly he was in relation to everyone hadn't really been something he could do.

Now though, his first instinct was to move to half hide behind the man he'd come to consider his father, reaching to grab a hold of his sleeve- like a child seeking security by clinging to their parent. He said nothing else- butting into their conversation seemed rude, and he could wait.