The first thing Falco noticed about the office was the wet paint on the door.
SANYA TAGGE
Baron Administrator
The paint was wet on the name and dry on the title. He couldn't help but smirk at that. The position was permanent, and whoever filled that was temporary enough. That's the way the cookie crumbled more often than not.
Stepping inside the office, he could see the disarray of transition continued. Boxes were piled up on top of each other in the periphery of the room. The only real fixtures present at the moment were a decent desk, an office chair, and two other smaller ones. There wasn't even really any of the expected bric-a-brac on the desk to imply the style or personality of the person sitting at it. Captain Falco wasn't going to wait to find out. The moment he figured out whose ass he'd have to kiss during his tenure on this shithole floating mining town, he did the appropriate leg-work on the terminal. Sanya Tagge was as smooth as Ithorian silk, and the kind of person who cared about image more than anything else. In the galactic scheme of things, those people were probably necessary. Falco didn't care for their type or their wishy-washy objectives. He didn't have time for people who were that wrapped up in wringing their hands, and didn't carry a lot of respect for that sort of thinking. He had, for all intents and purposes, made up his mind about Sanya Tagge before he even stepped into her barely unpacked office.
It was up to her to convince him otherwise.
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