Work Text:
Watching over someone is usually impersonal. You cannot remember details and keep emotional attachment to them: and emotions is one thing ISB hates, as illogical as that sounds.
Kloris is unlucky: he knows of his target before he is put on the assignment.
Mon Mothma, Imperial Senator who isn’t afraid of speaking out.
He even watches a few of her speeches: the woman knows how to speak, but her ideas don’t resonate with him.
It doesn’t prepare him for the original: Senator Mothma almost doesn’t notice that she has a new driver, almost misses it because of yet another upcoming Senate hearing… and then she looks at him piercingly, appraisingly, and Kloris has to fight the instinct to straighten as if he met a superior.
She is dressed in a fetching white ensemble, corset-like dress and asymmetrical cape that leaves a triangle of skin open.
She has pale eyes that keep apprising Kloris all the way to their destination.
He listens, he remembers everything, he notices both her emotions – even though her face is very expressionless! – and thus the assignment seems easy.
***
The driver is probably another spy. Should be another spy: his eyes keep looking at Mon in the mirror, not to the road, and Mon has half the mind to fire him for the fact.
She doesn’t, even though now she cannot speak of anything serious even in her car.
Still, she has to think of something.
Her opening comes with an off-hand remark from the driver himself: he compliments one of her dresses, the white wrap that hinges on strategic pins and should be complete with a cape, but she didn’t want one today.
“You have such perfect taste, madam,” he intones with more feeling that Perrin managed in about a fortnight.
Mon smiles, thanks him and sees her opening. Feelings are easy to manipulate, and given the coldness of her marriage, no one would be surprised that she is smiling even to a driver, poor woman.
She doesn’t have to say the truth in her car, now does she?
***
Kloris always thought of white as the work colour. The colour of his superiors.
On his charge – he doesn’t like the word target, even if it’s strictly more true, – on his charge white is luminous. As bright as a star. Filled with inner light, unlike anyone in ISB.
She does wear other colours: yellow brings out her natural colour, blue or green helps her eyes.
But it is white he cannot keep his eyes off, and it is white that becomes her colour.
Mon Mothma might be a rebel in thought, or in deed, or just share their ideals.
This doesn’t matter; this is not for Kloris to decide. He is a messenger, a set of eyes and ears: he suspects that Mon Mothma suspects, that she is lying. He doesn’t tell it to his superiors – he doesn’t want to be removed from her presence.
Kloris just repeats everything she says in the car, and hopes that she would wear more white.