#mosk

Imagining the look on Syril’s face when he's finally - finally - allowed into the hallowed chambers of the ISB to meet with his deity Dedra, dressed to perfection in his brown suit, and sees Mosk strolling past him in the corridor whistling, happy, hands in his pockets, decked out in the uniform of an Imperial Attendant. Mosk is genuinely delighted to see his friend and old boss. Syril feels cold and hollow and swallows back that familiar nauseous feeling of things not being fair, of not being right.