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Javid Alfarsi

Oversees Hataf's Directorate of Science and Technology and sits on Hataf's Senior Council.

0 · 741 views · located in Terra

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Ylanne

Groups

Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

Javid Alfarsi is a tall, thin man with dark hair and a severely receding hairline. He sports a neatly trimmed mustache and beard most of the time, although sometimes he is clean shaven. Javid's hair is actually almost entirely white; the dark color is dye. Those who meet him generally note his soft, erudite voice and the slight accent that tints his words whenever he speaks any language other than his native Farsi. His light brown eyes rarely reveal the depths of his emotions and often flit from one object to another, this movement punctuated by periods of prolonged focus. His smile is knowing, sometimes mocking. Javid sometimes dresses in expensive Western style suits and ties. At other times, he dons more traditional Islamic garb. Javid's bearing is quiet, yet his presence commands attention.

So begins...

Javid Alfarsi's Story

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi blinked in surprise on the other end of the line, where he was sitting in a Vietnamese restaurant eating pho. The caller ID had told him it was Adnan's number, but that was most certainly not Adnan's voice. Surprise gave way to confusion and confusion to fear. Fear, he learned to mold into a tool. "I believe you have a wrong number," he said in flawless English, but he did not hang up. "Besides, I don't think Hataf would keep a phone line." He spoke in calm, even tones, his slightly clipped voice lending itself to an erudite impression.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid's question was perfunctory. "Where did you get this number?" he asked, figuring that someone from the Democratic Coalition had taken Adnan's phone before killing him. It never occurred to him that Adnan would allow his handler to be contacted through his phone should he be captured or killed. Javid made a mental note to himself to alter the rules by which his underlings operated. "You'd best answer quickly."

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#, as written by Ylanne
"I assume you want something." Javid's voice was frosty. He glanced at the waiter, motioned for him to bring his check. His watch told him it was close to nine. "I also deduce that you presume to have information of interest to me. I, my friend, haven't the faintest idea who you are. I don't often do business with strangers. Trust is hard to come by in your business; you ought to know that." The waiter came with the black leather check. Javid nodded a thank you.

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#, as written by Ylanne
There was a brief moment of silence and the rustle of paper as Javid left cash and a tip for the waiter. "So you do have reliable information," said Javid. "How much do you want?" He cut to the chase; in many cases this was the best way to elicit the most information necessary. It was, of course, entirely counter-intuitive to the time-honored system of Middle Eastern bargaining, but when it came to information dealing, bargaining could prove more hassle than value.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"No more than 100,000 Terran Credits," Javid responded. Old habits die hard. "I don't know what information you have and you've given me no hints." It turned out he was unable to resist dropping back into childhood-induced habits of bargaining. He would go low, the other party would go high, he would go low again. Eventually a price somewhere in the middle would be reached. That's how it always went. He rose from his seat and headed toward the door. "We can meet in Wing City. I presume you have a means of traveling."

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#, as written by Ylanne
"175,000 Credits," Javid responded. He stepped into the street outside the restaurant, background noise dimming to almost silence. He couldn't resist giving a counteroffer. It had, apparently, been drilled into him from a young age. "If the information is good, another thirty thousand Credits later." He headed toward his car, taking the keys out with his other hand.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"180,000, with another thirty-five thousand afterward," Javid said, climbing into his car and igniting the engine. He locked the doors and headed toward Main Street.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid parked less than two blocks away from the new Government Center, waiting in his car to see who would come. He fiddled with his phone. He would have to destroy the unit and obtain a new, clean number. Inconveniences, inconveniences. A scowl darkened the man's face. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror. He needed to shave, Javid decided. The photo on his wanted poster was bearded. Or was it the other way around? He frowned.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Walid Latif had been assigned receptionist duty for the day. How lovely, he thought, as he answered the occasional phone call. Sometimes, a screaming nutjob threatening Mudahedin al-Qiyamah. Sometimes, a reporter from a mainstream news agency asking for a lead. Occasionally, a law enforcement officer asking for someone upstairs. Nothing particularly interesting or new. When he saw the older, non-Arab man approaching the building, he watched through the glass windows with great interest. The man didn't seem to be a tourist. Hm. This would be interesting.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Walid Latif straightened his posture, recognizing the man's Aschen apparel and appearance, making brief eye contact and listening closely. When the man mentioned orphans for adoption, Walid struggled to keep his jaw attached to his face. It was one of the code phrases he had been taught, told to memorize in the event anyone used it, but he hadn't expected ever to hear it, especially not manning MAQ's front desk, and especially not from an Aschen. "Yes, sir, let me phone upstairs." Walid grabbed the phone and dialed extension 41, speaking rapidly in hushed Arabic. When he was done, he looked at Mollem again with renewed solemnity. "Someone will see you upstairs on the fourth floor. The guard will escort you up." Walid motioned to the security guard by the elevator. "Please leave any weapons here."

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#, as written by Ylanne
The guard gave a small bow and escorted Mollem into the elevator. After the doors dinged open on the fourth floor, the guard led Mollem down the hall and toward a small room furnished with two low-lying, leather couches, and a long coffeetable. The blinds were drawn, and the walls thicker than in most industrial or residential buildings. Inside, an older man with a neatly trimmed beard sat on one of the couches, sinking into it almost. He wore a Western style business suit, and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. When Mollem appeared, this man looked up, stood, and offered a bow with his hand over his heart. "You wish to speak to me about orphans?" He asked, his English marked with an erudite accent. The guard withdrew.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi inspected the image carefully, recalling the tactical specs of the weapon. "And your asking price?" he said, folding his hands neatly on his lap. So the Aschen were coming to them. The Council would be surprised. Perhaps it would be for the best. Nothing happened, after all, outside God's will. "Also, your other stipulations." Like any good negotiator, Javid knew that Mollem probably had additional "strings" to attach to the offer he wanted to make. And like most Middle Easterners, Javid would bargain down the price as much as he could. Bartering, it seemed, was an art around here.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi settled back onto the couch. "Eighty thousand a piece for the disruptors is the highest I'll go, and five hundred of them should suffice for now," he said, mentally tabulating the math. "Sixteen million for the bombs, and ten of them should suffice." Hataf had deep, deep pockets lined by money from extremely wealthy donors and many, many criminal enterprises. Money was no object. But Javid could not resist bargaining. It was in his nature. "And how can you guarantee amnesty, Sire McGregor? Your government has been very hostile to our cause."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi nodded shortly. "Done. Where do you want the cash delivered?"

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi grabbed a sheet of paper from the table and a pen and jotted down a set of latitudes and longitudes for a complex hidden in the Chilean Atacama, away from the vast majority of curious onlookers or prying eyes. No one dared set foot in the world's driest desert. "Here," he said, handing the paper to McGregor.

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi sat back again, eying Mollem with a hint of wariness. "Orbital insertion is preferred," he replied. "Less chance of mistakes, and less unnecessary use of personnel." He paused, considering. "Yes, within the week is good. I will arrange for the payments to be made to the bistro."

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#, as written by Ylanne
Javid Alfarsi stood and took Mollem's hand, shaking it with his own, smooth palm, fingers closing over the other man's hand. "Excellent," he said. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

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#, as written by Ylanne
The slim, bearded man opened the door to the cafe, stepping inside. Dressed in a light blue collared shirt and jeans, he could have been an employee in any of the nearby business offices. Javid looked about and headed toward the counter, coming to stand behind Ezrael. He waited for the waitress to fill Ezrael's order, folding his hands patiently in front of him. All a very ordinary scene.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"I am, actually," replied Javid, his English spoken with something of an erudite accent. He nodded. "Celebrations are never quite as fun in the absence of companions." When the waitress asked for his order, Javid asked for a hot-brewed Arabian coffee. "Your name, then, sir?" asked he.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"A pleasure to meet you, Ezrael," said Javid. He nodded again. "Yes, an empty table would be most excellent." He turned back toward the counter, where the waitress was waiting for the brewer to dispense the coffee into a ceramic mug with a series of gurgles and burps.

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#, as written by Ylanne
The waitress handed the mug of steaming coffee to Javid with a caution as he left the appropriate change on the counter for her, heading for the table where Ezrael was seated. Javid set his mug on the table and slipped into the seat across from the other man.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Sorry," said Javid with a dip of the head. "My name is Rehan." His most recent alias, that is. He blew gently over the surface of his coffee before taking a small sip with a contented look.

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#, as written by Ylanne
"Oh?" said Javid, raising his own eyebrow in a mirror image of the other man. He leaned back into his seat. "And why is that, Ezrael?"

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Javid took another sip of his coffee, savoring its rich, blended flavor. "I had been under the impression that redemption usually entailed causing good to happen as opposed to stirring up trouble. I suppose I could be wrong."

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Javid nodded, setting his cup down on the table. "Heaven is my goal," he said. "The purging of evil is the cause of any righteous man, is it not?"