| abstract | - [OOC TIME]: Thu Feb 05 08:49:25 2009 -- [IC TIME]: 21,373:2:21 Coruscant: The Bank of the Republic Filled to overcrowding at all hours of night and day with an endless assortment of well-dressed sentients from across the galaxy, this facility is a sight to behold. Constructed almost entirely out of polished silver durasteel, the immaculate chamber comes to a pointed dome nearly one hundred meters overhead. There are long lines for row upon row of friendly-sounding Banking Terminals, but the longest lines terminate at a cluster of desks where pale-faced bureaucrats in the long dark robes of the Court of the Republic handle account transfers and unusually large deposits. Behind them all, hanging from floor to ceiling is a grey-blue banner bearing a modified Seal of Republic Law. Her hair is a myriad of darkness, at one angle brown, another blue, another black, even purple, the dull, matte version of a raven's feather; the strands fall straight and loose around her ending around mid-back. The features of her face seemed soft; the smooth forehead, the gentle arch of eyebrows, the soft curve of cheeks and slightly rounded chin, the full lips, replete with the slight pout to the lower lip, the slender sweep of the crooked bridge of her nose to the quiet flare of nostrils and the slightly rounded tip, the gentle hollow beneath... And yet, there was something sharp about the overall combination. Perhaps it was the fact that the line of jaw, cheek and brow, were clearly visible in the slender face, or perhaps it is the deep set eyes of steel blue, too cold, too old for her face, shadowed in dark black and silver shadow above, a thin line of kohl beneath, the lashes lengthened, accentuated with mascara. The girl is about 5'8", her build long, slender, a hint of lean muscle to her frame, but still almost too slender, yet the hourglass curve of her body is undeniable. She is dressed in worn black canvas pants almost of a military style with angled hem lines and a multitude of pockets, a black ribbed a-line tank top, and a short black leather jacket that ends mid-rib cage, and a comfortable pair of charcoal grey combat style boots that come to mid-calf. Fingerless gloves of leather and mesh, a single silver necklace that disappears beneath her tank top, and a silver stud on the left side of her nose, a silver ring on the right side of her bottom lip; these complete her attire. STATUS: Ginovae is a female Human in excellent condition. She is unarmed and wears a Jerba Leather Wrap. This is a pretty average looking human male. He appears to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He stands 1.75 meters high with an average build. He has blue eyes and brown curly hair pulled back into a pony-tail that falls to the base of his neck. His face is wide and friendly with a small mouth and a lump of a nose. He is lightly tanned and fairly weathered looking. STATUS: Mon Moab is a male Human in excellent condition. He is unarmed and wears Fine Leather Boots and a Corusca-Silk Formal Suit. Mon Moab enters the bank through one of the silver doorways. Mon Moab enters the Bank of the Republic. The place is busy, as always, with a multitude of beings from just about everywhere that Galactic civilization has reached. The young man finds a line for a terminal and waits his turn. Cuzao just leaves an office after discussing something with one of the bank representatives. Ginovae waits in line as well, a terminal or two to the right, though she does not seem to be as patient in her wait as others. An unlit cig is tucked behind an ear, which one hand rises now and again to brush against, perhaps the cause of her impatience, her other hand resting by her thigh, fingers tapping in random rhythm against the canvas material of her pants as she peers around the person in front of her at the terminal. A soft sigh escapes from her, as she glances around the bank, a half smile offered to any that glance her way as she waits to gain access. Mon Moab does glance around at the bank and its patrons. Coruscant and its denizens still amaze him. His eyes fall on Ginovae and he smiles and nods at the female. The cig attracts his attention and he frowns. Across the space between, he tries to speak without shouting. "I hope you get regular medical check ups. Its amazing what technology can do to heal. But sometimes, total bacta immersion is necessary if problems have progressed far enough." Ginovae's steel blue eyes had flickered past the fairly nondescript figure of Mon Moab initially, though at the words that cross the distance between them, her attention turns back to him, a moment's pause as she determines whether he is actually speaking to her, or someone else, even accompanied with the half glance behind her. When it seems clear that she is indeed the target, she glances to the hand that had risen to run along the edge of the cig, and then back to him, with a somewhat sheepish smile. "I don't know if I'd say regular, but so far they haven't killed me." She says, a hint of dry amusement in her tone. "I say it's better to deal with these, and kill myself a little bit at a time, then lose patience and go homicidal." She adds, with a light chuckle. Mon Moab chuckles. Only now does he really look at the female he speaking with. His eyes return to hers and he speak again, almost seriously. "They need not. If you make sure you're healthy, it can be a harmless habit. I've seen what can happen and its always a shame. Medical science can do so much ..." The young man trails off and then continues. "My name is Mon Moab of Chandrila. What are you called?" Ginovae offers another quick smile at Mon Moab's first words, a slight bow of her head given in acknowledgement. "Medical science can perform miracles for those that can afford it, yes." She says amicably, a sideways glance to the tall lanky yellow skinned and horned figure that still fidgets with the bank terminal, before looking back to Mon. "Ginovae Rucine-Dyzavo." She offers in way of introduction. "Though, Vae, Gino, Ginovae, hey-you... I've been known to answer to those and worse." She says, with a sparkling smile. Mon Moab nods as he silently tries out Ginovae's full name. He smiles. "Its an honor to meet you, Ginovae. And I am sad to say you are correct. On many worlds, quality medical care is available only to those who can afford it. On my homeworld, healthcare is available to all citizens. It was quite a shock when I learned that is not the case everywhere." The young man glances at those ahead of him in line and then turns back. "What brings you to Coruscant, Ginovae?" "It is a pleasure." Ginovae echoes, with a another smile. "Which world would that be, if you don't mind me putting my nose in where it doesn't quite belong?" She asks, turning away for a moment, a half step taken forward as the terminal finally becomes free. It takes her only a moment or two, a couple of credsticks slipped into the machine, a few scans, a sequence of alphanumerics entered... and finally the quiet chink-chink of a few hard credits issued, with the dull sigh from the machine in quiet complaint. Cuzao heads through one of the silver doorways, which part for him as he approaches. Mon Moab watches Ginovae transact with the terminal and explains. "Chandrila is my homeworld. It is rimward of Alderaan. Not as wealthy as Alderaan or Corellia, but I consider its standard of living second to none." The young man places his hand over his heart and bows slightly. "Ginovae, it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for tolerating a healer who should probably do better to mind his own business. But, if you do need a check up, I'd be happy to give you one free of charge. Farewell." COMSYS: (all channels) A gentle female voice says, "Mr. Tuil Lindo. This is the Viceroy of the Trade Federation. I just saw you board the TF Principal without invitation. What is the meaning of this?" Ginovae collects the credits with ease, a small pouch retrieved from within her jacket and pulled open, the new credits mingling with the old without prejudice, before the bag is tied and again disappears into the leather. A few steps draw her from the terminal, and closer to where Mon Moab stands, a small bow of her head given in return to his bow. "It's quite all right, I've learned that's how both friends and business deals are most often made." She says, with a half smile, as she pauses in his general vicinity. "Your offer is quite generous, I appreciate it. I will be certain to keep it in mind, but in return, I feel the least I could offer is a drink, tea or caf if you're not quite the whiskey type?" She offers, glancing again to the line in front of him, and then back to him. Mon Moab is surprised at Ginovae's words and he grins. "I appreciate your offer, but it must be for another time. As soon as I finish here, I am due back at the medical center and then I am off to the Rim. I'll look forward to joining you for a drink, Ginovae, as soon as possible." Just then, the terminal ahead of Mon Moab opens up. Turning, he enters his codes and starts to do his business. Ginovae stands outside of any particular line, having been in quiet if slightly animated conversation with Mon Moab, a smile again offered to him. "It is the least that I could do, for both your concern and offering pleasant company as distraction to the impatient waiting." She counters, with a warm smile lingering on her lips. "I will hold you to it, Mon Moab of Chandrilla." She says, with a quiet chuckle. "Catch you around." She says, turning on a heel and moving to wind her way through the crowded bank and to the exit.
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