"Getting a little friendly, huh? There's only one way that ends, far as I've seen." The pirate bared his teeth in a predatory smile.

"It was just talk. Tiresome talk at that." Mellivora pinched the bridge of her nose, attempting to ward off an oncoming headache. She wasn't sure whether the trigger was the flowery incense piped in by nebulizers over every doorway in the palace complex or the effort to maintain a diplomatic, sociable demeanor and airtight psychic shields in a house full of born politicians and Force-sensitive staff.

His eyes narrowed and jaw set. "Don't need Force powers to know that's a lie." Mellivora had become accustomed to Andronikos's surly attitude, but he was behaving strangely. The needle-like spikes of defensive anger that surrounded him in addition to the usual low-simmering aggression constituted another unwelcome distraction. "Alright, I'm cultivating other options in case Lady Thul's lead doesn't pan out. Doesn't mean I have to be excited about it. He shook his head. "I can't figure you, Sith."

"Andronikos! Surely it's obvious. When Urtel pressed the matter of Skotia's demise, that wasn't flattery, it was spying. The only concievable angle is that he works for someone who has a grievance with Zash."
"You don't think he may just fancy you?"

"Not bloody likely. I'm no beauty. I've got no influential family to court for favor. I've accomplished some extraordinary things, but all as an anonymous servant. If he just wanted a bit of fun, he could have it with any of the half-legion of servants we passed on the way in the door. As far as Urtel is concerned, I'm useful alive in terms of priveleged information, or dead as a poke in Zash's eye. You've probably heard interesting stories, but unless they're either outrageously powerful or outrageously stupid, Sith are not given to whimsy." "You lie."

"What?"

He paused for effect, long enough to make her glance back at him. "You are beautiful."

She studied him hard for a moment, trying to divine his motive for saying a thing like that. Her classmates and colleagues used flirting as psychological warfare. Before the academy, her masters had used amorous attention as a mark of status, something that proclaimed them as dominant compared to the passive objects of their attention. Other than mild amusement at catching her off-guard, she could sense nothing of the kind from him. It was her turn to be utterly non-plussed.

"The binary suns apparently spared neither your eyes nor your brain. Now, come on, we've got a holocron to find."