Negotiation Tactics
Negotiation Tactics
Summary: Tyr and Zeb have a sparring of words.
Date: 14/03/2011
Related Logs: Arrays and Dates
Tyren Zebulon 
Current 21 ABY

With Ian piloting the shuttle out of orbit, and onto the hyperspace trajectory, his two subordinates are left to enjoy the silence. A silence which endures for several minutes, before Zebulon's level tone inquires, "Is that your standard negotiation tactic?"

Busying herself with the going over their speaker relay and trying to figure out what the Shistavanen used to scramble their mics exactly, Tyr'en finally looks up at him across the way. A brow raises, "I didn't see you making a concerted effort…." She lets her violet eyes slide down his form and back up. "I got the wager for a Date, not you. You can thank me later."

“It was a white noise generator. Probably a sub-sonic rather than a hypersonic, or else the Shistavenan himself would have been in agony," Zebulon states crisply upon turning his head to regard her efforts with the audio, before addressing the conversation he had initiated. "I strongly doubt he'd have been interested in a date with me," the stiff necked agent returns with a sniff.

She's stubborn like that and with a mere nod, Tyr'en doesn't cease her work. The veridian female coughs and then smirks just a bit, "Never know..I think you would look pretty nice in a dress.." She laughs a little bit and then quiets, falling back to her absorbed self. "Like I said, thank me later."

"A dress uniform, perhaps," Zebulon retorts, dryly. "I was simply seeking to ascertain whether this should be prepared for in advance of any meeting that may require either drinks, dinner, or negotiation."

"Its always negotiation for you, whether its through your dry wit or your lack of social prowess, it seems a standard to fall back on." She advises him with no lack of remorse for any sting she might leave. Tyr'en has not had too much time getting to know him, but ISB agents are a dime a dozen. But there is already a fond smirk that is becoming familiar to the comsys officer when he is around. Her gaze shifts to his arm before her violet eyes fall to the recording she is listening to. Some of their conversation captured. She pauses and lifts her head. "You would do better with more fresh air though." she says.

"I simply do not enjoy a situation with so many unknown variables," Zeb returns with a sniff to the first (entirely accurate) observation. "Nor, for that matter, do I particularly enjoy fresh air. It's not even filtered," he notes, as if that were a bad thing.

Her lips part and she seems to be at a loss of words. Tyr'en rests her chin upon her hand and shifts. She itches at the blouse and sighs faintly. "Zebulon." She addresses him with a pause. "There are going to always be unknown variables, especially now. You had it so well in your clean Imperial environment. That is no longer the case.." she stands, grasping for her datapad to unhook the head piece. Moving over to her satchel, she bends down and begins to stow it away. "Besides, unkown variables can produce such wagers..where one might get something they otherwise would not have gotten." This said while she's organizing her pack.

"Oh please," Zeb returns to the 'clean imperial' environment. "Surveillance is not such a difficult thing to establish. Had I been given more than Five Hours," he subtly raises his voice on those last two words so that Ian might perchance overhear them, "I might have found more on the record of this decorated Republic special forces operative we were doing business with. I know quite well there will always be unknown factors, but that is no excuse to stop looking, is it?"

Straightening from her work, Tyr'en can not help but laugh at him. Her white teeth are shown as her lips split back and the twi'elk crosses her arms before her. "No, its not. But you have to learn to accept when instances just do not allow you to have that time. I think its a good lesson, whether or not the General meant it to be that way." She eyes him, violet eyes scanning and then she states rather forward, "I still have not heard a thank you for my upcoming sacrifice to the Shistavanen." Her head tilts. "Or have you forgotten already while you wallow in your misfortune of circumstance?"

"I'm surrounded by amateurs," Zebulon complains flatly to the roof of the shuttle's cabin. Exhaling shortly, he returns his eye to the purple regard of the twi'lek, he begins, a bit tersely, "You seemed pleased enough to make this 'sacrifice'," before exhaling again and adding, "Alright. It was a valid negotiating tactic."

"I will remember that statement.." She say blithely and then lifts her chin till he relents. Tyr'en gets a faint smile despite it all and unfolds her arms. "It was..its always good to have me around. I am smart and endearing." She grins a bit more and then tosses a headset at him. "Here a new one..I think the other was blown during the scrambler…and you need to loosen up, Zeb." She says, shortening his name.

Zebulon raises a hand, with the muted whirring of a worn out servo, to catch the tossed headset. "It was," he notes to the fate of the fried earpiece. "For the record, I am of much more use to everyone if I remain un-'loosened', Eirion. Regardless of how 'smart', 'endearing', or 'attracted to hairy Shistavenans' you are alleged to be."

That stops her, ruffles her even as she has her back to him. Caught mid-stride, Tyr'en weighs what to say and then turns slightly. "Attracted?" She quips suddenly and refolds her arms to set her hands tightly into a frame. "Right. Attracted. And being in the ISB this long, you would think you had better eyesight or the like." The arm has her curious but right now, its his loose lips that seem rather more attention getting at the moment. "So what gave me away, was it my overly infatuated tries of flirting that gave me away?" Her lekku are twitching, small flicks here and there in that subtle sign language of theirs.

"My eyesight has deteriorated over the years due to shipboard confinement and not focusing on mountain lakes often enough," Zebulon returns, bone-dry. "It seems a strange first choice of negotiating, is all I meant to say. And yes, I know you enjoy uncertainty and gambling, and all such chances, but the stakes being what they are-"

She finishes for him quite readily, "They are what they are..that is that. One evening or encryption depending on the outcome. I think I have the edge so I took it." Tyr'en continues to watch him. "You don't like uncertainty, but its what makes life, life, Zebulon." She intones to him rather matter-of-fact like. "The stakes are not yours to worry over. I will win anyways. I have to get you your software..afterall." She says and then adds faintly, "I am not a negotiator by nature. I work with machines and hardware…sooo, I will leave that to you. I will just take the odd chances that I get to help out."

"Uncertainty is what makes life messy, Eirion," Zeb returns, adding a touch of emphasis to the word he added to her sentiment. "I will disagree further, as well: the stakes are fully mine to worry over. Considering the consequences of a bad choice, a bad day, a bad encryption is my job. Lives depend on how I and those like me do this job. So I must ask your pardon, it seems, if I annoy you by growing impatient with hasty choices and absent precautions that put this great project at risk."

"So a contact who knows what we want is a risk…I would say we have more to worry over than a 'date'." She says. A bit more ruffled, she bites her tongue and unfolds her arms. "The General did not disagree to it, he must trust this contact. So if you trust in him, then you have to trust in this no matter the outcome." Though she's certain she won't be getting dressed up." Lekku twine together tightly as she clears her throat and observes a moment of silent repose so as not to say something she may regret.

"Close. I am saying not knowing more of the individual we are dealing with is a risk. Who his backers are, what his politics are. He would not be the first decorated veteran to have ..divergent loyalties," Zebulon states, irony growing in his words. Good old fashioned ISB suspicion, from a genuine ISB traitor. "And once again, I must respectfully disagree. It would be a disservice to the General if I did NOT disagree with him, if the situation warranted it."

Her moment of triumph stolen, of getting a deal for them and Tyr'en does her best to stow her huffiness. "Thanks for stealing my thunder, ice." She intones to him. Her violet eyes give him another look and she moves to take a seat on the opposite bench. Her foot lifts, hooking on the edge of it as she looks out the small back viewport of the shuttle to space beyond. "Seriously, you really know how to kill a mood."

"Well. At least disappointment is a certainty," Zebulon returns, a bit tersely before exhaling, and crossing his arm, with the low hum of machinery. Staring at the bulkhead immediately in front of him, he comments after another moment, "No wonder the ISB doesn't get invited to the good parties, hmm?"

Despite herself once more, there is a slow grin trying to force its way past her attempt at a cool mask. Tyr'en tries to swallow it and force it down but she can not. A short huff of a laugh follows as she looks back to him. Silence, but her violet eyes study the former agent a long moment, "Yeah, exactly. That and they like to make the rules…no fun." She hesitates and then adds after. "Its a good thing you are not ISB anymore."

"Exactly. Now, when I make the rules no fun, I am not doing it in a dress," he states, pausing a deliberate half-beat before concluding, "Uniform." His tone is kept mostly level, colored only by a wry note throughout the words.

Another laugh and this one longer lived as the shift to atmo can be felt. They rock a bit and she watches him for a long moment. "I am sure we could make it a pink…that would be fun." She muses and then relaxes some more. "You're okay. You can stay." says the twi'lek with a nod of her head, "Insofar as you remember what is up and what is down, and quite possibly try to enjoy some fresh air occasionally. I know its not filtered but there is always the rebreather option." She offers.

"'Up' is relative to one's surroundings," Zebulon returns, a note of deliberate contrariness detectable in his voice. "I'll be sure to add your approval to my security dossier, Corporal," he notes, regarding Tyr sidelong, with a bemused sniff.

"One day, Agent, one day…" She warns him, "I will find a way to get through that hard ISB exterior of yours. Even you have kinks.." That said, Tyr'en gives a look to that hidden arm that is given off some sound. "I look forward to the challenge. And I will make sure to be wearing a dress for that moment." She smirks a little bit and then lifts her hands to strap herself in as the light blinks for landing.

"Exterior?" Zebulon echoes, dry as a parched Jawa. Her further claim draws the bemused comment, "Pink, no doubt," as he follows suit and straps himself in for landing, the rustle of cloth and the clatter of buckles muffling the mechanisms of his right arm.

"Oh no no, purple, pink's your color, Zebulon." She says with a smirk as she secures the last buckle. "Pink is definitely NOT on my choice list.You however, could pull off the rose tones quiet well. Must be all that filtered air and simulated light onboard the ships." Tyr'en eyes him from her position. "Welcome to Iron Aegis, Agent..I have no doubt that your interior