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[Baastian Cain]

Baastian clapped a hand on Vissica's brawny arm as he passed her. "The aloof look suits you better," he said. "Come on. Let's not keep our public waiting."

The Stormtroopers had lined up in two rows on either side of the dock, and Lieutenant Heward was quick to shuffle the two Knights into their positions, Baastian in the center and Vissica at his right shoulder, while she herself stood on his left. "Right, all together, and think happy thoughts!"

They descended amidst a jet of steam from the repulsors, squinting in the sun as they stepped out across the parade ground. To their left a children's choir sang along to the recording of Gloria Imperium belting over the loudspeakers, while all the rest of the students stood more or less at attention, spellbound by the spectacle of glinting armor and lightsabers and trying to crane for a better view without being noticed.

A tall man with poorly dyed blonde hair and an aristocratic mustache came toward them on long strides and bowed. "Sir Baastian Cain, and Sir Matatek Vissica! Allow me to welcome you to Tarkin. It is an honor, really an absolute thrill to have you both here. Lord Aldrick Cawthorne, headmaster." Cawthorne offered Baastian what he thought was a firm handshake, then turned to offer his hand to Vissica, only to reconsider in transit.

Lieutenant Heward stepped forward to spare him. "Lord Cawthorne, thank you for your hospitality. Lieutenant Bridgett Heward of COMPNOR. Sir Cain and Lady Vissica have been so looking forward to meeting the children."

Cawthorne turned and reconsidered Vissica with fresh horror. "Oh. I do beg pardon, milady. We don't get many of, aha, your kind here, I'm afraid."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The only visible tell of Lady Vissica's displeasure manifested itself in her small ears folding slightly flush against her broad head. Fortunately for Lord Cawthorne, Selonian temper took a back seat to Selonian discipline today. The need to maintain appearances had been well and truly hammered in by Lieutenant Heward and her irritatingly relentless cheer. She would have made an efficient torturer, given the opportunity. Even the chalky, astringent aftertaste on Vissica's tongue - residue from so many hygienic biscuits - served to reinforce the point.

At least Comrade Baastian had liberated her from the pointless pantomiming of human smiles.

"My pardon is given, Lord Cawthorne." The Selonian's wet nose crinkled slightly as her whiskers rose and fell. "I look forward to evaluating your students."