Click. Click. Fingers impatiently rapping down upon a table. A signal recognizable anywhere. Impatience, of sorts. The noghri before you was sitting at a table in a wardroom of some type, not the usual setting he broadcast from, but maybe this was a special circumstance. Being a regular peruser of the news, you recognize the alien as Mister Solo. His allegiances are not important, but you know them. Waiting for what he has to say, you begin to grow impatient, as he keeps up his incessant rattling. Lying on the table under his right hand is a lightsaber, which is as motionless as the rest of the noghri, save for the clacking of his fingers on the table.

Finally, his head turned and he looked as though into your eye, though you realize he is only looking into the camera. With a sheepish smile, he chuckled softly, "Is that thing on? Apologies, I hadn't realized." He retained his position at the table, lest the motion distract you from his look. Thankfully, you notice, the fingers had stopped their rickety sonance upon the silver surface.

Not referring to notes or bringing a bountiful beauty onto the screen, as you have been deluged with lately on the news, he merely spoke unaided, character lending precedence to his words. "Though not first in occurrence, I would like first to relieve myself of the obligation the Empire has made unto me to poke fun at its invariable predictability. Mister Esling has made it clear that the Emperor of the day has stepped up his war on the malefaction rampant in the galaxy. Several more imaginary people were devised and executed recently, with more promised down the road. I would like to congratulate the Emperor on his transformation of the imperial ranks to what can now be considered lesser counterparts of Eidola." Thraken smiled, the words had played mirthfully across his lips as he spoke, his pleasure unabatable. "I would, of course, like to congratulate Miss Djo on her latest conquests. One can only admire such a grand play on the stupidity of the galaxy.

As for the self-proclaimed Duke of something or others thinly-veiled threat to enecate the noble benefactor of our era, I can only say that your beneficence to our nobiliary society are subjacent. No one cares about you, you're affianced or betrothed, unknown or otherwise. You hadn't the foresight to prevent your faction from becoming the latest patsy of Eidola, coming out after the fact with frail denunciations and promises of revenge by the shadows and nuances hinting at your advancing age. Do what everyone else aught to do, cut your losses and stop making yourself look like more of an idiot than you already profess to be by falling prey to your associates gullability."

Humor abounded in the look the noghri wore while saying that last piece. You can recognize a certain disdain the alien has for those of whom he speaks, save the veritable leader of Eidola. "Sleep well, fair citizens of our realm. Know that the Empire still serves to amuse, leaders still serve to be preyed upon, and a few of us can still find humor in what we see."