Down on the West Coast, They Got Their Ticons

[Geneviève Lasedri]

She had caved in. Call it something grand like intuition or merely desperation in the cause to reverse the inevitable, the Prime Minister had approved a contract for approximately two hundred cloned men of the build of a Mandalorian by the name of Mantis. A clone army lived once more. What had she done?

Justification had always been a mode by which Geneviève operated. Everything she did went through her mind like a plaintiff and defendant before a judge, but she always came out right either way. She had murdered no one. She was just an instrument to their unholy demise. She had not lied. She had only protected the innocent. She had not signed away her soul. She had sacrificed her standing for the greater good of her Republic and this galaxy. She was righteous.

Being the righteous head of this clamoring nation afforded her a few seconds here or there to visit her home and attempt to relax, though there was far too much on her mind to ever truly relax. Not without a bottle of wine in hand, anyway. Dammit, what have you become this time, Gen? Externally, she never seemed to change; seemed incapable of change. Few knew any Lasedri apart from the crass, dominating warhawk who had so gracelessly graced the Senate with her imposing presence. But Gen knew a different Gen on he inside--one who had hated her father only several weeks ago and now was drinking away some raw emotion she nearly had difficulty recognizing. It was a pure sorrow. Deep down, she knew she had always wanted Daddy. Had he wanted her?

Simply dressed in a gray tanktop and white linen pants, the Prime Minister gazed across the farmlands of Chandrila from the balcony of her suite. She was not tipsy yet, and for good reason. She was to meet with this commander of the presented clone legions whenever she arrived. From what Geneviève understood, there was no reason to dress up for this occasion. And she was completely game for that.

 

[Keira Priest]

There was a first time for everything, as the saying commonly went. In her life Keira felt as if she had diminished the frequency of new experiences to encounter. After all, she had already been on her fair share of battlefields, received more scars than she could count (both mental and physical), had been tortured three times, went on a date purely for the benefit of the mission when she had been in the Ravens, and was now the commander of a new clone army. Next on that list was meeting with the Prime Minister of the very same Galactic Republic she had sworn her services to rather unintentionally at first. Never had she been a fan of politics, and this meeting likely wouldn't do any good to change that opinion.

But sometimes things had to be done even if she would have much rather served indiscriminately and led the army into battle where it was needed without all of this official business getting in the way. It was better not to raise a fuss about her new position, as publicity often led to worse rather than better things when it came to any place of power, no matter how miniscule it might have been. It was something she had learned from her time spent first in the Republic and then in the Ravens. It was better to lie low and let someone else take care of the larger issue. Now, however, there was no higher-up other than the woman she had been arranged to meet. To be in control of at least one aspect of her life was a strange luxury.

Of course, that also meant she had more or less free reign as to when exactly she would arrive. Being professional was a good virtue to have most times, even if it wasn't one she commonly exercised. There again was another change, though not one she would ever openly admit to. To be rough around the edges was a personality that had been praised on her homeworld of Corellia, at the very least within her family. And she would be damned if she altered any aspect of it for someone else, no matter how supposedly righteous the cause was. Mottled eyes cut to the chrono within the ship, a quiet sigh passing her lips. Well, she wouldn't be late at the rate they were going. That was enough.

Chandrila was a planet she had only heard vague mention of before, not that the meeting place particularly concerned her. As long as it wasn't a warzone it was fractionally better than any other venue in which she had found herself previously in her life. The fact that the location wasn't urban only helped, given that it meant less of a probability for outsiders looking in. Not that she necessarily cared what others thought of her, but even someone like her wasn't above being self-conscious. Of course, it was more for the sake of her not lashing out at any unwanted spectators than anything. Self-control wasn't her best skill, and she had her less than pleasant life experiences to thank for that.

When they landed she passed across a handful of credits to the pilot as an extra tip along with instructions on where to meet her when this was all taken care of. With that she exited the ship, being granted her first real view of the planet. It was nothing spectacular, and she was okay with that. After facing so much grandeur in her life, it was nice to return to simplicity every now and again to remind her of who she was. Eventually she navigated to the meeting place, finding the woman of the hour sitting out on the balcony, dressed casually by the looks of things. That was no issue, she had come clad in worn jeans, a dark t-shirt and a Corellian leather jacket one of her brothers had given her, lightsaber at her hip as always. Slowly she seated herself next to the Minister. "Hello."

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

The glint of the swinging lightsaber at her visitor's hip was naturally the first thing to catch her eye. While generally more exposed to the likes of the Jedi than ninety-nine percent of the galaxy (She was the intermediary between the Order and the Senate, after all.), Geneviève still found the presence of that peculiar weapon to be highly unusual and almost reached for her comm to curse at whoever had allowed the saber to be brought on in. But she withheld from that action, annoyed at such an oversight but not desiring to ruin her more-or-less relaxed composition right now.

The PM was not entirely sure if initial impressions were positive or neutral. This Ticon woman just invited herself to a seat beside her, no questions asked and no formal address offered. Just a hello--which Gen perceived to be half-hearted. What the heck, she could approve of that. It got irritating being so proper and unnaturally polite. Here was a woman honest to character. An hour or two with her would prove if she was honest in mind. "Hello." A sip of wine later; then she gestured towards the half-empty bottle and clean wine glass on the short table before them. "Chandrilan red."

Her brown eyes scanned the form of Miss Keira Ticon, appraising the slender-but-healthy figure; her featured nose; the sullen, uniquely flecked irises; dark hair and the works. She did not have the build of a warrior, but Gen could see a mirror of sorts, both in physical conditioning and in her fighting spirit. Here was someone she was sure could hold her own--and look comfortable in her skin doing it. Gen certainly had no complaints about that. "How was the trip?"

That was perhaps the lamest way to start this off. But this was effectively the highlight of her day. She could use a tall glass. Or a tall glass.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Just as Gen gauged her Keira returned the favor, silently looking over the other woman, putting her ethereal talents to work as well. For a politician she certainly didn't look the traditional part, but then, she was far from a typical Jedi. The way she held herself even while relaxing spoke of a hard-won strength and capabilities that had the potential to be just as deadly as they were practical. It was that she could appreciate above all else, that willingness to survive and want to prove others wrong that she could sense lingering beneath the surface. Already the two shared similarities, though she was far from one to jump the metaphorical gun when it came to accepting and trusting another. Not after all she had been through.

The casual attitude offered was returned just as readily. Never had she been one for any sort of formality, and she wasn't about to start now, even if the one she was conversing with was deserving of just that. Without comment or fanfare she poured herself a glass of the proffered wine. Sure, typically she preferred something like whiskey above all else, but this was another sort of nicety being offered. It was one not commonly seen at political events but more so demonstrated among the sort of company she chose to keep. Sharing a drink was some example of solidarity or at the very least mutual respect. By that count the two had gotten off on the right foot. Now it was time to see if they could keep it that way.

Raising the glass to her lips she took a sip as she considered very briefly the opening question. If it hadn't been before then it was blatantly obvious now just how foreign regular conversation was to both women. Giving speeches to senators and making sarcastic quips on the battlefield was one thing, but this was another that was terribly different. Maybe the discussion by itself was that first experience she would be having today. One never knew, after all. But her answer would be blunt and to the point as her method of speaking typically was, not leaving much of anything up to the imagination. "It wasn't bad, but I'd much rather have both feet on the ground rather than be in a ship."

Nothing horrible so far, but nothing had really been said or exchanged to begin with. These were just the opening formalities to what would amount to nothing more than a talk over the newest military that had sprung up within the Republic and just how she had gone about obtaining the position of leadership that she hadn't asked for or wanted in the first place. A funny story, that, and mostly the fault of an old acquaintance from her days as a Raven and member of the galactic criminal underworld. Now things had changed, but not really. Now she was better - kind of. "Forgive me for being so forward," Really, though, she didn't see the need for that implicit apology, "But I can't assume you wanted me here to discuss nothing more than the weather."

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

She could run with that. In fact, Gen was usually the one ushering things along and denying the small talk, but something itched insider her these days. She wanted to be a person and not simply a title, no matter how grand it was. Ticon so far was the type of girl who did not even blink at the Prime Minister name and just treated her like she would treat anyone. It was bold and would not sit well with the majority of people of higher station or class--and it would not sit well with Lasedri on bad days--but it was normal; real. Gen felt like someone was talking to her in a way few, if any, had. They were peers. They could be themselves with each other.

The awkwardness of small talk was apparently not foreign to the clone army's commander either, for her first reply was neither imaginative nor enthusiastic in delivery. She afforded little more than a nod and continued listening to the sounds of the breeze and the birds. Or the bird. "No, I didn't." But she took her time, sipping a little wine in between comments. "I just wanted to see if we were on the same page. Because I guarantee you, we better be by evening." This clone army served the Republic now. And it never hurt to reassert who was in charge when it came to super serious things like armies made of clones.

Her eyes flitted to the side a couple times, though she mostly kept her gaze straight, courtesy not being a bad thing despite their blatant disregard for manners. (Most people confused the two as interchangeable.) "Congratulations on your job at Contruum. I'd like to know your plans for when you have to divide and disperse forces over multiple territories, though." The words felt really cold and nothing but the usual. War, war, war. Teach me something I don't know. And make her look good to the people. They needed confidence to breed confidence. Not only on a national level, but maybe on a personal level in this instance.

Here they were, just two girls on a balcony, drinking red wine. Sounded like a winning combination, all things considered. Perhaps it was possible to have company and enjoy it. Nigh impossible, but there were always exceptions to the rule. Keira was at least tolerable for now. And there was much to tolerate.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Despite what Gen seemed to think, Keira wasn't treating her as she would any other individual. That wasn't to say she was treating her worse, because that was far from the truth. Lately she had truly been at the very least attempting to remedy her generally callous attitude, though no one could say for sure how much she was succeeding. Nothing out of line had been said by either party, at least, and that was a start from how conversations like this typically began and ended. But her conversational skills within the realm of small talk still required a fair bit of shaping up, not that she would be devoting her time to coming up with icebreakers anytime soon. It was better to get right to the point, just as the Prime Minister had.

No matter her willingness to be better she couldn't help but crack a small smile at the assertion that the two were required to be on the same page by the end of these discussions. As far as she had been aware no one had been on any different train of thought since this entire operation began, least of all her. All she had been asked to do was command the legions of clones that had been brought into existence. Funny, how that seemed like an average job at this point. She couldn't imagine leading an entire Republic. "We will be, I'm certain. As long as we agree that the Sith need to be brought down by any means possible, forgoing morals in certain instances where they might get in the way, I think we're on the same page already." That was a shot in the dark that didn't seem quite so blind.

Military strategy certainly wasn't her strongest point, but she wouldn't go so far as to admit such a thing aloud. After all, she was doing her best to learn, and that was all that really mattered. When it came to the literal battlefield she was ready and willing to lead and fight wherever her presence was required. In her mind, that was what made a soldier. Which could also perhaps explain her myriad of scars that always seemed to be growing at a rather steady rate. "No congratulations is necessary. We only moved where we were needed." And that was how she would always look at it, or maybe her viewpoint would evolve over time. But for now it was her duty, and she would treat it as that and nothing more.

While the question posed likely would have prompted more serious consideration from those that weren't, well, her, she took it in stride as she did most everything else. "There are other commanders that know the ways of war better than myself, and long-range communications do a good enough job of closing the gap. Some of the same strategy was used on Contruum." But she knew that was a much smaller stage compared to what war could truly amount to. She had been around long enough to witness far more terrible battles. "Ultimately we'll do what we will when that scenario arises. None of us can speak for our future actions until it comes to pass." A bit more poetic than she would have liked, but it was the truth.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

No, morals had long been thrown out the window when it came to the subject of the Sith. Geneviève had but one option at this late point in her term, and that was to take direct charge of direction. Maybe her acquiring of an entire clone army had been less than legal and yet more unethical, but what quarter did her enemy give? What had the Senate done? Were the three Supreme Commanders who had come and gone within her service in this office any more competent? The Republic needed a firm hand. And the Sith needed a firm fist around their throats.

"We're off to a great start, then," she agreed, raising her glass slightly before taking a small sip. The Prime Minister took in a deep breath and dissected the smells of outside; smells of the sea only a pair of kilometers to the west. Gulls flapped over the green hills before them, and Gen set down her wine glass and watched the salty breeze brush over her drink and incite crimson ripples. She stared at the glass for a moment and the reflection of the woman occupying the seat beside her. It was not often she shared personal space with anyone--much less enjoyed it.

Why? How could someone speak her language so fluently yet seem so foreign and exotic? There was not much different between them so far as Gen had observed. But they were not kindred. Hurry on. Was it the wine? But it was the same she had always been drinking...

The future was indeed impossible to predict. 'Minister Lasedri' had once had a very unusual ring to it. This girl--a virtual unknown in former times, as her provided record had shown--was undoubtedly finding her new job description to be a surprise. But, if she was enough like her superior, it would be a welcome one. They were gamechangers, the two of them. Rebellious in one way or another. "What would you choose for the future, though? For you and for the Republic? What do you want badly enough that you would kill for?" That was a loaded question. But Gen had always liked to play with guns.

Sing...

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

That was indeed a loaded question, though Keira had never found herself preoccupied with firearms. It was much better to strike directly for the heart, and a blade had always been better at accomplishing such a task. So that was what she would do. Metaphorically, of course. But the question posed wasn't an easy one to answer, no matter what presumptions one might have in regards to someone like her. That was, admittedly, most likely due to the fact that she had no qualms with taking life, and had never really seen much of an issue with it in the past. To ask her what she would kill for wasn't an inquiry that had a one-word or even one-sentence response that would concisely sum up her general nonchalance towards death.

Perhaps in some effort to avoid answering the question right away she sipped at her wine, careful not to imbibe in too much, not quite meeting Gen's gaze. There was a similarity between them she didn't seem to completely acknowledge, though she was on the cusp of accepting things as they were. It was rare for her to remain capable of holding civil conversation with another without thinly veiled quips and jibes being thrown into the mix at odd intervals. The two were more or less being entirely honest with each other, something that had been lacking in her life for years. Maybe, through this, she could learn to relax a bit more. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking at work.

At first, her brow furrowed slightly as if in thought, but that expression quickly smoothed over just long enough for a wry smile to shine through. Whichever way you looked at things, there was no right and proper response. Not one any other politician wouldn't frown upon. But this was a private audience with the Minister who seemed to be just as uncomfortable as she was when it came to these scenarios. Things were different, or different enough. "I've killed for a lot of things, and almost been killed more times than I can count. Death doesn't hold the same meaning for me as it does for everyone else." That counted as a half-answer, right? She hoped it sufficed to some degree.

It didn't take long for the wine to be all but forgotten as she set the glass down on the table between them. "I'm not entirely immoral. Not anymore. But I'm going to follow my instinct as I always have, and take life when and where it's necessary. We don't have time to squabble over trials and proper procedures with the way this war is going." Nor had they ever, in her mind. It was the Senate that always seemed to hold things up, politicians talking of battles they never saw the ugly side of signing off billions of men and women to suffer and die in manners they couldn't imagine. But that was always the problem, and it didn't show any signs of stopping anytime soon, or at all.

The second part of the question was arguably the more difficult one, if just because she didn't truly see herself as a member or true supporter of the Republic. No, she was just another soldier that had signed on to at the very least attempt to do some good for the galaxy after having witnessed the other side of things firsthand. The Republic could do what it wished, and she would follow that same code of ethics. "I don't know if I would choose anything." Not outright. "At the end of the day people are going to do what they want, no matter what some government says. I won't say the Republic is doing anything wrong, because it isn't. But it's not doing everything right with the galaxy, either. Nobody is." There was a pause, and she posed a question of her own. "What do you think of the Jedi?" She was separate from them, and would always remain so.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

"That makes two of us..." the Republic's leader mumbled, unsure of whether or not that was something one of her status should take pride in. She had fought wars no one else dared to fight; killed people who had deserved it, and maybe killed others who did not. That was her past. However, she was not above making it her future should events come to that. Some people needed to die. And she would execute them all herself if given the opportunity.

Everyone had the responsibility. But sometimes a job was better off done by oneself. "If you don't believe in death, then you can't believe in anything." Not exactly profound, but it was fact, and hopefully consoling enough to any hesitance in Ticon's revelations. She was a big girl, though. Gen doubted she was getting the fake Keira--but there was far more that would be hidden. The wise and cunning knew that was the only way to prevail. And there were various other problems to conquer as it were.

More wine could mean more problems, but problems had hardly deterred Lasedri. Still, she had company to impress--for what that was worth--and a job to do, even while she was on what amounted to nothing more than a weekend off for her. These occasions were rare, so at least the weather had made sure to behave while she was back home.

Now, here came the question. What did she think of the Jedi? That was the question many had asked even since before her election. No one could deny that she was unusually cryptic about the matter, but she also had close ties with Grandmaster Raaf which would have seemed to indicate a more positive rather than apathetic outlook on that ancient organization. But this was Geneviève, and no one really knew Geneviève. "The Republic could do better. But who am I to complain?" She was a woman of action. Things would be carried out in due time. The Jedi may be overrated, but they were not entirely useless.

She turned her head to look her associate in the eyes, deep brown irises drinking in that speckling of the other woman's eyes. Was there trust in there? Gen valued honesty, but trust was not necessarily attached to honesty. And sometimes she needed someone who could lie. And maybe lie. "You're no Jedi." Yes, it was that obvious. "I think you understand."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

No, Keira most certainly wasn't a Jedi. But for some reason everyone seemed fond of applying that label to her, even if it was blatantly obvious that such a thing was far from the truth. It was about time someone else noticed her disconnect from any proper Order for themselves and resolved to point it out as well. It was only fitting that the first individual to do so was the same Prime Minister she saw fragments of herself in. "I'm not a Jedi, no." Her voice was almost uncharacteristically soft, but her gaze was just as determined and focused as it had been previously. "That means more than a lot of people seem to think." It was why she had raised that inquiry in the first place, out of personal curiosity and to compare their viewpoints.

Her brow furrowed slightly, the muscles of her jaw working slowly as she considered how best to put her thoughts on that particular sect into words that weren't entirely too biting and harsh. Then again, Gen hadn't asked her to sugarcoat things. In some manner she had suggested the opposite. "I find them to be almost entirely useless." The comment was made offhandedly, as if she wasn't quite aware of the weight those few words carried and all they implied. "They aren't doing any sort of greater good for the galaxy when they sit in their Temple meditating on serenity and galactic tranquility. Wars are meant to be fought. It's this they need to understand. Peace is a lie." Perhaps that last line was too close to another Order they both despised.

The wine was sought after as some kind of solace as she took a long swallow, seeming to forget where she was for a few moments. Just as quickly her awareness returned, she disregarding that moment of forgetfulness as if it hadn't transpired in the first place. Even when turning over a new leaf such an action was viewed as a demonstration of weakness, and she refused to allow herself to be perceived as anything but a resolved and determined warrior. Nothing else would serve, no matter how relaxed and informal this occasion was meant to be. Always she would retain that stubbornness which marked her as Corellian through and through. Nothing would change that, not even the Prime Minister herself.

A smile that fell just short of being entirely self-deprecating found her lips. "I've learned not to believe in a lot of things. Death is the only constant that's remained throughout my life. I suppose in some way I'm grateful for that, even if I shouldn't be. It makes life worth living, at least." And far more interesting, when you were always one wrong move away from having your life unceremoniously cut short on this or that battlefield. But that was the thrill of things. In some instances it was all that she lived for. "All I can assure you is that you likely don't want to know a lot of what I've done. There are some things that don't show up on public records that shouldn't be there in the first place."

"What would you change about the Republic, then? Since we both seem to agree that it isn't doing all that could be done, there has to be something." Sure, that might have been too forward for a lot of people's liking, but she had never concerned herself with public opinion. No matter what anyone thought she would go about things her own way, even if that oftentimes constituted being overly reckless a time or two. There was input she could most certainly add to the discussion, but she wouldn't do so until she had listened to and carefully considered the other woman's opinion. Gen was the Prime Minister, after all. Ironically enough, this would be the only time she would acknowledge her standing, when asking her to criticize the very government she led.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

"Don't eliminate all of them in your carpet sweep," the Prime Minister murmured, considering the similar thoughts of her current company but seeing a little further than most would--though it was helpful to understand the actual constructs when one had literally years of time to observe the Order. Some put in more work than others. And some had garnered more results than others. Both classes--however minor they were--would be optimal to preserve. "Separate the wheat from the chaff, first."

Gen stalled as she realized how frank and quick she had been to state something like that; something so bold and controversial. It might even border on incriminating. There was something about this woman that made her feel comfortable about things. They were sharing. It was some mutual bond that accessorized an exchange of such blasphemous gestures. They were forged from similar molds, and they knew it already. Though Geneviève wondered how much further they could get along. Her eyes lingered longer with each glance to her side. "There's always going to be something more you want to know..." She trailed off, bringing her glass back to her lips once more.

"Experience is key. You can't be sure of something until you've felt it yourself." Come on. The mind was her arena, and she was prodding at its malleable shell with practiced subtlety. But the probing was there. Her mind could win, but her body had always been something else. Though her body screamed in agony. She was getting older each day; hour; second. How long to wait? Too long already.

She was different, but she was still human. Her hand twitched at her side.

What did she want to change in the Republic? "We need to butch up and put our big girl panties on. No more mercy." Do it, Gen. But this was serious, was it not? Do it. She always got what she wanted. Otherwise she would not be right here in this moment. She always got everything--except that one thing. Gen. "I'm getting worn out from all this running to survive. I think we all are. We have to thrive instead. Risk has never been out of the picture for me. It would be better than being locked up... wherever they lock people like me up."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Had her saber hand - and the entirety of her left arm - still been flesh and blood, there would have been a visible flexing of tendons beneath the skin. As it was her fingers only twitched minutely, recalling the weapon held there that had once been utilized to cut down members of the very Jedi Order she was in some manner affiliated with, however indirectly. "There isn't much of a point in separating the two when both don't seem to serve any active purpose." Not one that she could glean, at any rate. Preaching peace was a following that would never entirely die out, but it always found its deepest roots in times of war. Perhaps it was time to demonstrate more actively what fighting could accomplish.

There was no critique to be afforded to the second, trailing statement made by the Prime Minister, though she didn't nod adamantly in agreement either. As always, she had her discrepancies, however minute they appeared to some. Because oftentimes, that one small line was all that separated chaos from order. Thankfully she found a home easily enough in both. "What more can you want to know about an Order that seems to have failed in its one purpose? They want peace for all but refuse to fight actively for it. They want to extinguish the dark but they won't learn of it first. You can't have one thing without the other. Sometimes you have to embrace the evil in order to eliminate it." She would know.

The glass was mere inches from her lips before she laughed quietly, taking another sip as if to reassure herself of what she was going to say. This was as blunt and honest as she had been with anyone in regards to what the issues of the greater galaxy were, and she enjoyed this opportunity to voice her opinion without any immediate repercussions. There was no telling what Gen would do with this newfound information, but she had a feeling that a bond had been formed here rather than lost for all of time. "Then I can only be truly certain of very few things in my life. That seems rather fitting." War, death, chaos and betrayal were first and foremost on the list. Some experiences she had had in twenty-six years.

Mercy was as strange a thing to her as any, in regards to experiences. It was something she had been granted very few times and handed out even fewer, a concept that was beyond her for a few years. Now she had only just recently recaptured the meaning of such a simple word, and she was struggling to grasp the practicality inherent in it that many seemed to cling to. What was mercy in a wholly apathetic galaxy? What's a god to a nonbeliever? "There was never a time for mercy. That word is meaningless to me when you apply it to most things, most of all this war. It should have never been considered in the first place." Especially not given the enemy they were facing, had faced for millennia.

It was the final statements made that caused her eyes to fall shut for a few long moments, those mottled irises seeming to look everywhere other than at the woman seated next to her. "Sometimes survival looks a lot like murder, and that can look a lot like thriving if viewed in a certain light." In some way she was referring to the Black Flag order along with an offensive being taken by the Republic as a whole. Of course, it was up to Gen just how she would choose to interpret her words. That was something even she couldn't dictate. "I've been running to survive for my entire life." That miasma of blue and amber met with those stormclouds of brown in the next second. "I'm not running anymore."

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

Her response was simple, if possibly unwanted. They both had reason to doubt the Jedi in one facet or another, but the older of the two women saw not all to be unsalvageable. It took a keen eye, but impetuousness never got anyone anywhere fast, except dead. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you, and never step behind a workhorse," Gen advised, still convinced there were a select few cells within the greater Order that were worth their salt. There was always an exception to each rule.

"Mercy is to be given in order to prevent retaliation of the same kind. The rules of war are more often in spirit than in letter." Some people needed to study their craft a little more. But--to be fair--Gen had only ever been at war. While it was not completely her business about what Keira's past life had been, she had a good idea that it was not centered around leading armies or military units of any sort. Nor was she even close to a political type, as could be discerned within five seconds of her arrival. Not that Geneviève was much of a politician herself--but politics was a science and an art as opposed to a veritable trainwreck of opinions and corporate gambling. "But the Sith have set the bar. And it gives us a lot of room to work with. But the only thing that matters is death." Mercy was not a tool she liked to utilize with worthless slavers, but it was indeed a tool.

Gen pulled back at her hair with her free hand for a moment, then slowly brought it back down, eyes now very focused on task. She was brave--or perhaps foolishly risky--in many aspects of her life. That was how she had attained this office, after all. She could proceed, could she not? If she had the willpower...

No. There was a moment. There had to be. She had never jumped into anything big without deliberation. But there was inspiration, and she hoped it was mutual. Test the waters, at least.

Her hand dropped to the other woman's thigh, though it was only brief and her carpals retracted as soon as contact was made. Was that out of line? Was it too much too soon? Or would the gesture even be recognized? Honestly, this was the first time any such maneuvers had been performed by this Prime Minister. The clock was simply ticking. "Apologies." She lied. That was just what she wanted.

"Don't run. That only extends a miserable existence." Like hers? Sometimes she wondered who she was to supply wisdom. "Experience is the only thing that will build us. How experienced are you?" And if one thought the conversation was shady already, that was by far the least innocent question of the hour.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

It was an incessant and seemingly never-ending argument, the one that determined the overall usefulness of the Jedi and what assistance they would provide when the Republic was inevitably caught between a rock and a hard place. Until that time came to pass all they could do was point fingers and grasp blindly at straws in the hopes that their opinion would prove true in the most dire of circumstances. It was a lot like gambling, this constant back-and-forth, and Keira had never considered herself much of a betting woman. After all, it was safer to work with odds that didn't have a glaringly high chance of blowing up in one's face. But then, there was no fun if danger wasn't inherent in the action. "Their time will come." What that entailed remained to be seen.

There were no rules to war, or arguably to much of anything in life, if one was willing to dig deep enough past the surface in order to make such a determination. For her own part she had never been interested in philosophy of any sort, especially that which only wasted time when action could be taken instead. Such disregard had extended to any professional knowledge of the subjects she counted herself knowledgeable on, which included the more deadly arts without a doubt. Battlefields were chaos and would always remain so. They were meant to be. "Mercy can be used as a tool to manipulate others, this is true. But manipulation is useless when those you are fighting against have no concept of even the barest idea of leniency or compassion."

The nigh featherlight brush of fingers against her upper thigh almost went unnoticed as she once more found herself stranded in a sea of her own thoughts. That brief second of physical contact was enough to break that carefully practiced trance, though it didn't seem as if she entirely registered the implications of such an action for a few long moments. It wasn't that she had never been physically intimate with another in her life, but it had never included anything of even the remotely sexual nature. No, her intimacy had almost always been of the combative sort, captured in those face-to-face confrontations where each opponent was a hair's breadth away from falling, blood tainting reputations and hands both. This, however...this was new.

Instead of responding to or acknowledging the apology she passed over it, still inwardly determining just what that gesture meant to her, though outwardly she was the picture of impassive nonchalance. Any interaction of this sort had been severely lacking in her life, unless one counted the few that had deigned to attempt to instigate some sort of romance with her, only to be instantly denied through either verbal or physical methods. Each and every time she had negated any attempts at others growing close to her in such a manner. The question now was why she didn't feel compelled to shoot down Gen's less than subtle offer in the same breath. Maybe some part of her was faltering, or maybe she was just tired of not having anyone.

"My life before what occurred on Ziost was miserable at best. Slavery doesn't leave room for much else." Just as quickly as it had disappeared her unerring bluntness returned, and she was nearly back to normal. That seed of self-doubt still lingered on the fringes of her subconscious, but she had always been good at quelling her insecurities. It was one talent that had never failed her in any circumstance. The final question posed had the potential to break even that streak, though once more she countered smoothly with a half-smile and a spur of the moment quip of the like that had been commonplace during her childhood on Corellia. "That depends on what you're referring to."

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

The Jedi's time would come. Yes, the day of reckoning, when they would wake up and be separated--chaff and wheat. Some would answer for their crimes; others for their slothfulness. The minority would be rewarded and a stronger Order and Republic would be instated. It all just required the proper time, which Lasedri was not sure would ever be present at this rate. She needed a stronger infrastructure before initiating something that would so correctly and absolutely be seen as drastic remodeling. But there was a greater plan. The military was in her pocket as it were.

"We utilize mercy in certain circumstances. I'd kill for secret information. But I'd also offer a little forgiveness as well. The method is justified by the character." Not too much forgiveness, however. Sins were not so easily rinsed, and some might require the highest of penalties. Slavery was the utmost abomination, but slavery to one's sins was only just, after all. Geneviève would see to it that justice was carried out if she had to execute the brutes herself. But it was much easier to keep one's hands clean and let others sully theirs. "You talk about manipulation. Be careful. You may wind up being used, yourself."

Speaking of manipulation...

Her perhaps ill-chosen maneuver for physical touch seemingly had no effect but to elicit further consistent apathy she had already pegged as the general personality of her company. She may have just wasted her shot. Damn. It paid to have experience, as she herself had just implied. Unfortunately, Gen had none, and protocol was lost on her. It was one area of psychology that she had failed to study or express on her own. She had for so long been married to her job or her ideals. The cravings had waxed and waned in the past, she supposed, but timebombs could not so easily be ignored in the long run. This was one part of life she was missing. And maybe she had missed her shot.

But maybe not, all the same. There was a detectable shift in Ticon's tone, and while Gen was not one to get her hopes up for anything, she actually did feel a little... lucky right now. Something had happened, and it was not negative judging by behavior. Most would likely be indignant about unwanted contact or suggestion. "Why? What were you expecting it to mean?" she shot back, the tiniest of smirks creeping up the corner of her mouth, which she hid with another sip from her glass. Yes, maybe there was a chance.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Forgiveness was not something Keira sought after, viewing any kind of offered salvation as a useless medium to gain favor in the eyes of the few while still more than likely being despised by the many. A fair share of atrocities had been committed or orchestrated by her own hand, and Keira didn't desire to cleanse herself of the blood that stained her reputation crimson. Sins were relative when one didn't truly believe in the supposed weight they carried, and she was one of those that disregarded the relative implications of the crimes she had carried out. Manipulation was a facet of that she was intimately familiar with. Torture had a way of hurrying such a thing along. "I'm loath to allow it to happen again." Force help the person who so much as dared.

But a different sort of daring was present in the confrontational inquiry and the quirk at the corner of the Prime Minister's mouth, and despite herself she was intrigued by the simple idea of it. The smirk was returned with a defiant crooked smile and a breaching of privacy through first the bridging of the ethereal gap between them and then the physical sort, when she allowed her hand to brush gently across that of the other woman, their fingers coming dangerously close to intertwining in an embrace that exuded intimacy of a different sort. As much as she wanted to shy away she was drawn forth like a moth to a flame, wings one wrong turn away from igniting a more potent conflagration.

This was as close as she had ever dared get to anyone, at least in the superficial sort. Never had she been privy to such blatant suggestiveness by another party being directed at her, or at least not the sort that was, for once, welcome. This was a unique situation she had found herself in rather accidentally, and thanks to its simple newness she had not a clue as to what the proper response was. Sure, her brothers hadn't spared any detail when it came to their private lives, but that didn't mean she had exactly listened or cared to know more. After all, there were more important things to worry about, beginning with survival. But now she was beginning to think that wasn't the case all the time.

Thousands of possible scenarios formed in her mind in less than a second, each of them taking a slightly different turn than the last. The saying 'Never tell a Corellian the odds' existed for a reason, and this was a prime example of why that piece of advice was better accepted rather than ignored completely. Because she would always try to beat them, no matter the cost, one of many reasons why her life had led her here in the state she was currently in. Of course, that didn't seem like such a bad thing, now. The only question was how best to respond. She had witnessed plenty of these transpirings during her tenure with the Ravens to know how things were supposed to go, but that didn't mean much when you were a stranger to playing this kind of game.

A knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach, and she swallowed - once, twice, three times - in order to quell that rising tension. Why had she picked this exact moment to be so hesitant? Nothing had stopped her before, not even the threat of death. But now she was shying away just because her advances, however innocent they were this time, were being reciprocated. There was an irony there for one willing to perceive it, but all it brought upon her was frustration. For all of those pent up feelings her touch was gentle, nearly hesitant, as she gently guided the other woman's face towards her own, pressing their lips together in a soft kiss. She had nothing to lose, after all, and everything to gain.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

For such a bold woman, it was inconceivable--the rate at which she was transformed into a timid little girl, afraid of everything but too curious to run, was unprecedented. Her youth returned in that moment, and the entire Republic could have died as soon as that hand touched to her back. Geneviève uncharacteristically gave no resistance, though her lungs expelled all oxygen abruptly and her eyes widened. The stem of the glass situated between her fingers tipped with her easing grasp, and eventually the vessel fell to the floor, not breaking but of course spilling its contents across the decking. Their lips met, and a light red river funneled in between the cracks of the planking.

Be careful what you wish for. You might not know what to do with it when you get it. She let their lips linger warmly together for the short duration they were humbly connected, unsure how to proceed from here but sensually delighted underneath the surprised stare. She was dumbfounded and held her gaze when it was far too quickly completed. "Really?" she whispered. Her tone was contradictory, as if she were undignified that this woman would go so far as to presume she could make such a physical invasion. But she knew she wanted it. Otherwise she would not have asked.

Her hardened brown eyes suddenly grew softer; glossy, as if they had been asleep for so long and someone had finally turned the switch. "queen." Slowly and gently--hardly words often associated with this Prime Minister--Geneviève reached her arm around the commander and eased her body against hers, drawing her nose against the other's nose in almost perpendicular fashion, then found her mouth again, long and labored breaths escaping her nostrils as she took in the faintest traces of smoke from Keira's own breathing. It did not matter to her. Someone at least wanted her, if only for a moment. Geneviève would take as much advantage of the occasion as she could. Her lungs ached and her craving only increased with each passing second, but now she was in a position to actively seek satisfaction.

Her free hand extended back to Keira's thigh, brushing up then back down in placid motion. It was only lust. They could not have known each other long enough to love. Yet Geneviève felt that she had known Keira for a long time despite only truly knowing her for the half hour it had been. "Stay," she murmured, collapsing lips and attempting the third kiss--her third kiss ever. Was she doing it right? It was right if it was right now. "Please stay with me."

Yes, now she could have everything. If Keira would just stay.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

This was a strange sort of stalemate that hovered between total freedom and complete restriction of her actions. A dam had been breached, one that was previously holding back a tidal wave of unexplored feelings and desires, ones that had been only dabbled in or shunned completely until this moment. Now every single repressed thought and emotion was being experienced at once and in varying intensity. It was a sensation Keira had only encountered once before, when she had been released from the self-made prison of her own apathy, finally being granted a glimpse of the light that had been hidden so artfully behind the cloying darkness in which she had enshrouded herself.

Now that new light had taken on a different edge, once again revealing to her all that had once been entirely alien for all of her life previously. Certainly she had experienced attraction like this previously in her life, but the Jedi had a way of driving it out of an individual, and she hadn't had time to reclaim it even when those ties were finally severed once and for all. Instantly she had been swept up in a whirlwind of more important things, but all of a sudden nothing seemed a more pertinent and pressing matter than the one currently at hand. Because right then and there, nothing else mattered. Not the Republic, not the army she had led, not the original purpose of this meeting, nothing.

Nothing perhaps save for all that was happening nearly too fast to follow. All her life she had been trying in vain to find something that would numb her out from the consequences of all she had suffered, something that would take away the pain just for a second. No vice had seemed to offer quite the right combination for her to do so, unpleasant memories always bleeding through the cracks no matter her attempts. Eventually she had found her release in combat, but after enough battles even life-or-death scenarios had the capacity to become boring to one that had gone through them enough. This, however, was something brand new, and it seemed to serve better than anything else had. Because now, for a little while, she was happy.

That was, of course, only relative to how long this encounter would last, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that things would be different between them the moment both were thinking clearly again. Unlike before, however, that second-guessing was extinguished the moment it entered her mind, and she forgot about all that plagued her. In that sense her mind resembled that of a child's, free from any momentary worry and hurt and focused only on a singular goal in life. It was the latter that she had never sought out before and so was uncertain how to go about. But her feelings had been returned, and it seemed to her that that was all that mattered in order to make this work.

The word that would have been taken as an insult any other time was returned in a breathy tone as their faces hovered centimeters from each other, there being almost no gap to speak of. "Chiesulino." Something of a daring smile found her lips, softening just slightly around the edges at the softly spoken request that followed. It was something she had willed others to do time and time before, and now perhaps she had a chance to offer a sentiment she would have willingly received before, though it took on a different meaning now. A better one. "I'm not going anywhere."

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

She did not know the word her Corellian counterpart spoke, but she certainly understood the equality in them to her own playfulness. It was a behavior Gen had not realized since childhood--teasing and affection. Her cheeks rose in a previously undiscovered smile, lips impressed into the other woman's, sharing air; sharing space; sharing flesh and tasting the moisture of the wine still present. It was not even to an 'intimate' point as most might consider it, but it was beyond any personal exchanges the Prime Minister had ever had. It was deeply trusting and rash of her. But she wanted it.

She released again and hovered her mouth over her associate's for moments, eyes completely shut and simply breathing; inhaling and exhaling the warmth from Keira while maintaining her rhythmic stroking of the woman's upper leg. If she did not believe in some supernatural power before, perhaps now was the time she might question her fundamentals. She had already trespassed beyond any line set before. "How much experience?" she asked softly, nose-to-nose before moving in for the kill yet again, this time letting her body make complete contact as she pressed herself gently against the torso of her guest.

"Would you like to go to our room and learn a little more about us?" Gen spoke before laying her lips on the target for the fourth time. Her free hand trekked up from the lower body and sneaked underneath Keira's coat, allowing for a full embrace but also for the uncoupling of the lightsaber from her belt. I will love you. Whatever that means to you. Whatever Keira wanted, she could have--only if it meant love in return. That was the one thing she was missing. She welcomed the lust and the hopeful promise of deeper physical interaction soon. As long as this acquaintance she had so swiftly jumped to kiss felt the same towards her.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

"I grew up on Corellia. Enough." Her voice was low, what crooked smile would have found her lips being cut short as that gap was closed once again by the woman that had seemed so shy about instigating this encounter only minutes before. What she had failed to mention was that 'enough' often constituted tumultuous and short-lived relationships in which genuine attachment was a rarity. But this was beginning much the same as those bonds had, so things couldn't be too terribly different to start. As one hand reached up to gently tease a few dark locks of hair and the other traced Gen's hip in an action that was at once gentle and just as confident as her typical demeanor.

The relief of her only weapon by the other went unnoticed, unable to pierce the heady fog that had taken root in her mind. It was the final inquiry that really mattered, and she laughed quietly, breaking their embrace by mere centimeters as she interjected her own commentary, "So soon? I thought there was business you wanted to discuss. Clone armies are a big deal, you know." They were also the farthest thing from her concern at the moment. This was simply her usual sarcastic attitude taking on a different edge with this new interjection. Slowly she reached down to intertwine their fingers, running her thumb across the other woman's hand before giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You'll have to lead the way." As easy as the aforementioned locale would have been to find, in her current state she wasn't the most bothered by such a thing. But she eased herself out of the chair regardless, not relinquishing any space between their bodies as she did so. If anything her movement had only increased the tension there, but she wouldn't complain. Formalities had been thrown to the side and promptly disintegrated. This was about nothing more than desire and need. And as she felt teeth scrape across her lower lip she decided that maybe that politics weren't such a boring and stuffy occupation after all.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]