Private Inevitable Dialogue

[Arris Windrun]

HAD ABADDON
Lysander von Ascania
​

In orbit of mythical Had Abbadon was an observatory overlooking a monumental warship cocooned in scaffolding.

"Tyranny..." Hell, who came up with that one? Mercy - probably.

Arris watched on as space-walking crews and droids finished the star dreadnought's assembly. It was impressive, really, just how quickly the Sith Covenant was able to transform their shipbuilding monopoly into a symbol of absolute power: the ability to subjugate whole sectors and challenge fleets within a single ship. It didn't take a naval expert to see it, though they likely could point out just why it was so impressive down to the minutia. In fact, some had tried, but the Triumvir just wasn't interested. All she needed to know was whether it would be another waste core world resources like that zeroed battle station littering Atrisia.

Thoughts for another time as she heard footsteps approaching her from behind. The cyborg needn't look over her shoulder or turn around, for she saw his reflection in the glass.

She would appear quite different since they last saw each other on Humbarine. The blonde ditched for black - or maybe very dark brown. And synthflesh that once extended most of her body (save her arms and legs) was reduced to only her face, ending right where the neck and jaw met. Presented before him was a cybernetic woman, of dark metal, wire, and flexible armor plates, wrapped in a spacer's jacket, matching slacks, and black metal feet mistakable for armored boots at a glance.

If there was any part of her that would stand out and scream Arris Windrun from his perspective? Look no further than the holsters with those heavy, songsteel guns.

"What do you think?"

She was talking as much about herself as the prodigious destroyer.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Arris Windrun​

Lysander did not stop until he reached the plane of the reinforced glass. His boots made no sound against the deck plating. He remained a few steps behind her, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. As always, the posture of a man inspecting an asset, or perhaps even a blueprint that ceased to be a theory. Who was to say these days.

He did not look at Arris directly, not at first. He studied her reflection against the yawning void of Had Abbadon; naturally, it was there he noticed the way starlight caught her darker, updated shell. Where others might have seen the erasure of a woman, Lysander saw a more.. ruthless optimization of form.

Finally, his gaze drifted past her shoulder. "A name derived from ego, I suspect," Lysander remarked. "The Triumvirate always had a penchant for theater, and the Covenant always found comfort in the absolute."

His eyes returned briefly to the pair of songsteel relics resting in their holsters. Then there was a quirk of the lips that wasn’t quite a smile. "You’ve scrubbed away the artifice, Arris.” He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Does it have anything to do with the failure of your last apprentice?" The older, more ambitious Covenant emissary might’ve admired the Tyranny longer. The current version, however, found himself disillusioned with endless escalation.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Lysander von Ascania
​

Her eyes remained on his image in the glass for a moment longer, before drifting back over the monstrosity.

There was a throaty hum, something between a chuckle and a scoff, which erupted from her vocal synthesizer. His assessment of the Tyranny's name was keen - but lacking any pretense, much like the Covenant itself, she supposed.

But then his assessment was for her, and his insightfulness wouldn't have been found lacking there, either, and the question that followed was as well placed as any probing blow in a duel, regardless if any venom dripped (or not) behind those words.

One metal hand twitched, knuckles clinking so slightly as to evoke the swinging of chains. There was no mistaking it. Inside the shell of a troubled woman, who could be soft at times, there was anger; the same Arris Windrun who massacred the house Calipsa, ordered the Imperial Purge, and delighted in the execution of Vestra Tane.

Her face, otherwise neutral in that cold fashion she idled by, turned to a scowl. A frustrated flame danced behind those lifeless, cybernetic eyes - you only had to see past and witness who is was standing there in the Force. A woman all but consumed by the Dark Side, whose vulnerability was more dangerous than those made-for-hand railguns glued at her hips.

She had kept Lysander waiting long enough in a silence some may have found uncomfortable, before finally, she answered.

"No." Flat and curt. But then... "And yes." More like - it's complicated.

But when wasn't it for Sith of the Covenant?

Finally, her head twisted along the plane of her shoulder so she might catch him in the periphery.

"Did you know?"

A vague question, if Lysander hadn't suspected or realized the true nature of Acier Moonbound and what drew him to the Sith in the first place.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Arris Windrun​

Lysander didn't move. He didn't even blink; for a time, his attention poured entirely into the majesty of Had Abaddon. Truthfully, he suspected the answer before he had even exhaled the question. And of course, he knew it was a clumsy opening, especially when it lay before someone as volatile as Arris. It was certainly not the move of a strategist; it was the move of one nursing his own festering ache.

"In the beginning.." came the reply, devoid of warmth, before falling silent. Back then, the concept of betrayal did not even register on the radar; the sludge of his own duties, his own ambitions required all cognitive occupancy. Perhaps, he was blinded by the very fire he was attempting to harness.

There was a pendulum-like sway in his stance. "In the beginning? No. I was busy looking through the lens of my own designs, and the Covenant's." He watched as a transport vessel streaked across in the distance. "But as months bled together, some pieces finally clicked," a softer tone continued, one shoulder hitching upward in a small shrug. "The Covenant is a hive of gluttony. Most are starving for an entire planet, desperate for influence, obsessively chasing credits, all while making a spectacular fucking mess of things as they always do. But Ace? The man never showed a shred of interest in leadership." At least, not within the Core or Tapani sector. There would be no profit in digging up shared history on Bonadan.

Muscles in his jaw tightened, a lapse of control before the next stone dropped. "So, what did you do to him?"

A note of bewilderment danced in his tone. "I have crossed paths with Sith out of every doctrine the Outer Rim has managed to vomit up. I have become intimate with the rot in this order. But in all my years courting the Dark, never once have I ever heard of a Sith turning himself into Republic officials like that." The absurdity of that act still lingered, the idea of someone willingly crawling into a kennel. It certainly defied the darkness that still resided in his own heart. Even worse, Fatine's last transmission left him as a prisoner to insomnia, hunting his consciousness.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Lysander von Ascania
​

Arris was correct to believe him insightful. Ace's disinterest in leadership - in initiative hadn't escaped her, either.

"He's also odd. Never takes his own initiative, I always gotta ask him to move."

She said as much to Mercy once.

For a while, though, the Triumvir had developed her suspicions. They had become solidified as soon as Vestra Tane opened her mouth within the same few minutes that led to her death.

"How much do you share with him, Arris? How much do you think he shares with his friends?"

And it was finally confirmed by the man himself on Corellia.

Eventually he exhaled. "You think I'm chasing control." His eyes remained fixed forward. "Maybe. But not for the reason you think. I came here to stop you. All of you."

When his thoughts came back around to a question, Arris once again felt the jab. Her lips had parted, ready to respond, when Lysander shared another thought. This one caught her off guard, unlike the question.

"He turned himself in? What do you mean?" She hadn't heard.

'Ace, you fucking idiot - what were you hoping for, an execution?' Knowing him? Probably.

She kept her emotions checked behind synthetic rigidity. But the Emissary had asked a question, after all, and she wasn't one to leave him hanging any longer.

"I kept him from walking off a cliff named Mercy."