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Thrawn would never call his own personal conveyance a flagship, not least because it allows him to keep it sparsely decorated and very clean -- the better to set off the few objet d'art he permits himself to keep.

It's an indulgence, and it will certainly get him in trouble someday, but what's life without a bit of risk? Particularly these days, as an alien amidst the Terran Empire. And this day may be more difficult than most.

It's one reason he's set out the older, homelier set of tea things, and arranged for savory biscuits and a bitter soup to accompany them.

"Syndulla," he says over the comm, in Sy Bisti, of course, as there's no point in speaking a Terran language when there are no Terrans around to need it. "I'll be in my office."

Now there is little left to do but wait for her to arrive. It's a debriefing, certainly, but not one limited to this latest mission.

More's the pity.

Among all the rest that she is, Hera Syndulla is also an able negotiator. And while the specifics of the agreement between the Chiss and the Republic (or more properly, the Resistance) are handled by those whose job it is to put these things in writing, the broad strokes and goodwill was engendered by none other than the woman herself.

Thrawn did nothing save serve as an object lesson in shunning to his former people, and do his best to stay out of the way.

He also spent a good deal of that time thinking, but perhaps it is . . . not politic, but maybe kind? -- to wait to address Hera again until her work is long done, and they are headed back to Resistance space.

Going to her ready room seems like an imposition, but approaching on her rounds of the lower decks might be less unwelcome.

For a given value of unwelcome, being that Thrawn is presenting her with himself.

Even so, he makes his way along the corridors of the ship, hands clasped behind his back, looking for his commanding officer. He'll attempt to find her in-between interactions with her junior officers and enlisted personnel. No sense interrupting actual work.

The calculated insult of this location is actually funny, truth be told.

Here is the planet where Thrawn met the Empire for the first time, arranging to be so interesting that they would take him back to their Emperor, so he could drop the name of Anakin Skywalker and find a place there, so that he could maintain the Imperial strength long enough for . . .

Well.

So goes history.

And now it is home to a research institute and a nature preserve, one of the pavilions of which the Resistance delegation has been given to inhabit while the talks go on. Thrawn, himself, does not receive even the merest glance.

As a failure to his people, that is all that may be expected. And so he waits, sipping a chilled beverage and watching the comings and goings of the Resistance personnel on this mission.

Including General Syndulla, of course.

As first engagements go, Thrawn has definitely experienced worse. Enemy routed, casualties comparatively minimal, and the damaged ships, at least, should be easily repairable.

The lost soldiers, however . . . that is a different story.

He strides along the slightly scorched corridor of the flagship, keeping a weather eye on the morale of the troops -- as well as their stress response and repair efficiency.

Many things will depend on it.

There's never enough time to prepare for a war you didn't (quite) know was coming. But given Milliways tends to stop time while a person is in it, Thrawn has taken his datapad full of files, after action reports, and star maps, and made his way into the bar proper.

And given that it is unwise to appear as if one is hiding, he chooses to occupy a table right at the heart of this multiversal cantina.

Caf is welcome, but food is most definitely secondary to absorbing as much information as he can.

Thrawn is Captain of the USS Cerberus, the first of the Chiss to join the Federation, directly from the Chiss military. The Chiss were a species with a neutral zone similar to the Romulans, but unlike the Romulans they have consented to become part of the Federation. Thrawn rose through the ranks due to a field promotion, and the overall atmosphere and bridge staff cooperation on the Cerberus is still going through some growing pains.

Being a prisoner who has not tried to escape in at least a decade does give one several . . . . privileges. At least they are sold as privileges, and Thrawn supposes he will take that.

They've opened up access to additional files on his datapad, which gives him things to think about.

He is allowed to put holos of art on his walls, which also gives him things to ponder.

It's something. He does not, however, receive many visitors.

And Thrawn does not have it in himself to mourn that. So.

So far as brigs go, this is not the most uncomfortable one that Thrawn has ever seen. It is the most uncomfortable one he has, personally, been detained in, but that isn't saying much.

They've taken his uniform, of course. He's dressed in a faded gray shirt and pants, hands shackled behind himself.

The chair, at least, has a cushion on it. The rest of the room is barren. It's not his cell, that at least has a bunk and a washbasin, but it is where he is waiting to be questioned.

Perhaps another man might wonder who will come to interrogate him.

Thrawn is fairly sure he knows.

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Mitth'raw'nuruodo

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