Private Arrested on Brosi

[Arris Windrun]

BROSI
Madrona A’Mia
​

Click.

They locked the cuffs tight around her wrists. An inspector just shook his head at crate after crate of contraband found inside the light freighter.

"It's not mine!" Arris protested.

Weapons, drugs, counterfeit goods. A smuggler's big payday. Or it would've been had the cyborg not 'commandeered' their starship. See, she never had a ship of her own; at least one that wasn't 5 kilometers long, tip to burning engine.

The customs officer didn't believe her. "Yeah, we hear that one all the time. It's a friend's ship, right?" He was real smug about it.

Another tapped his baton against her metal form. Her synthflesh didn't exist below where her neck met her jaw. "Are you some kind of HRD?" He pondered.

She glared at him.

Arris could have fought back. A few weeks ago, she probably would have. But something changed on Corellia... That fire? It just wasn't there. Not in the same way. So she went along, got locked up for all her trouble, and the starship was impounded; that last part didn't really matter, though. Zzap. The ray shield door activated, 'trapping' her inside the tiny cell.

"I'm here to see the Governor!" She just kept shouting.

Some time went by, and she figured they either didn't hear her or simply didn't believe her. Either way, she was tired of biding her time. The technopath walked forward, and the ray shield deactivated just like that. Sensors, cameras, security galore - all would shift allegiance as her will emanated outward, approaching the end of the cellblock with every step.

Prisoners shouted and jeered. Some begged for their own freedom or tried to sweet-talk her. Others threatened, babbled, or just plain ignored her.

Arris decided she'd try her chances at sneaking out. As if someone wasn't bound to see what all the fuss was about.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

It was apparent that her reputation had surpassed the point of basic notoriety, and tipped well into the realm one might expect of a powerful Sith governor. A'Mia still found it unusual though and was so much more accustomed to operating from the shadows, of being the one to seek out the power of others rather than to be the one sought out.

This was the second such audience sought by a woman not previously known to the Lord Seer and at first she thought this particular request was from some smuggler or addict who was trying to smooth talk their way past customs. Due to her skepticism, A'Mia took her time reaching the detention center. It had been a nagging suspicion, that there was more to the story than the simple report provided to her, which encouraged her out the confines of her busy laboratory sooner than she would've liked.

As fate, serendipity, or whatever might have it, the neti drifted through the secure blast doors onto the “main line“ of the prison facility where Arris Windrun now strode down the central corridor. A'Mia, wearing simple flowing robes and no official sign of her station, flowed to a stop and her strange vine-like hair billowed around her as if she were underwater.

Idiots, didn't rule out Force use with our detectors — probably assumed she wasn't simply because she let them lock her up, the arboreal woman rolled her strange blue-green eyes as she put two and two together.

All sense of eerie, mysterious decorum left her with the eye roll and as she scrunched her nose whilst tipping her head to look at Arris from a different angle.

"What are you?" she asked in a slightly disgusted but altogether curious tone.

She completely ignored the hoots, hollers and screams of the other prisoners. Most of them died down anyway as dawning realization of who she was quickly spread through their ranks.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Madrona A’Mia
​

Arris flipped the bird at a prisoner for his particularly derogatory use of expletives. She was about to be home free.

The neti drifted through the secure blast doors onto the “main line“ of the prison facility.

Well, shit. The technopath sensed the doors a split second before they opened. Her attention snapped towards the willowy plantoid.

'What are you?' Well, if that wasn't a charged question. Tsch. "What does it look like?" She shot back.

To anyone with a penchant for reading beings in the Force, Arris Windrun was an unusual cyborg indeed. Her entire form was imbued with the Dark Side, stretching from head to finger to toe, filling every inch of metal and wire with the spirit of life, to the point that it was nearly indistinguishable from the organic bits hidden within the cybernetic shell.

She looked the Neti up and down. Wait... "You ain't the Governor, are ya?" She drawled, slipping for a moment into her Talusian accent; the Neti certainly fit Mercy's description.

Hopefully, that's why the prisoners finally shut the hell up. Otherwise, Arris was about to have profiled someone.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

"What does it look like?" She shot back.

"Wouldn't be so quick to ask if I had any idea, would I…" she murmured more under her breath than anything.

A'Mia reached out telepathically but stopped just as suddenly when her metaphysical approach was met by an altogether alien feeling. The sharp metallic scent of rust and a sickening oil-slick sensation washed over her briefly. Nausea wasn't something the neti could feel but had just come as close to such as she ever had in her life.

The woman swayed, thinking quickly, when the defunct prisoner's question snapped her from her reverie. A'Mia blinked and came to, suddenly aware that this was not the place for idle discussion.

"Yes, I am. Come with me."

Soon enough she'd led them to what appeared to be a break room for the guards, replete with caf and various snacks. There was even a half carved up cake which was frosted with the now carved up "Happy Name Day." The handful of staff currently there snapped to attention and the neti shooed them out like one might dismiss children.

A'Mia turned on the cyborg and got right back to her questioning.

"Who are you and why did customs inform me that you're likely a drugged up smuggler or poorly equipped drug dealer?"

 

[Arris Windrun]

Madrona A’Mia
​

Without a word, Arris followed her into the break room, which the Neti quickly emptied of staff.

"Who are you and why did customs inform me that you're likely a drugged up smuggler or poorly equipped drug dealer?"

"Arris Windrun - and that ship isn't mine."

Her eyes drifted to the name day cake. "Aww, you shouldn't have... Though it's about a month late." It was a sardonic delivery; the light in her eyes hadn't gotten any brighter.

Arris wished she had brought pants right about now. Pockets were a good place to keep her idle handles, rather than letting metal fingers fidget at her side, as they did now.

"Is this interrogation over?" She asked, looking eye to eye. "I came all this way just to talk to you."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

No mirth found the woman's bearing as she bore holes into Arris with those strange, too piercing eyes. It was as if A'Mia could read something inside her, though what exactly was a mystery to all but the neti.

Recognition soon dawned on her face though and A'Mia recalled mention of this woman in passing. Had it been Mercy? Yes, likely. A'Mia's eyebrows rose and her bearing became more open, palms spread wide to invite questions.

"No need to get snippy," she chided mildly.

"Why is it that you sought me out?"

Her unease at the strangeness she saw in the woman was overshadowed by curiosity. As so often was the case for the neti, a gluttony for knowledge won out against almost any other impulse.