Private Jailbird

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: UNKNOWN PRISON COMPLEX | Direct Tags: Aria Talorien​

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The Tapani campaign had been a brutal affair as many toppling of regimes were throughout history.

The Sith Covenant had swept into the ancient cluster, ripping down noble houses that had been part of the social fabric for generations. They had massacred the nobles, the rich, those with vested interest in the status quo, and then they left anarchy in their wake. In that tide new forces rose up. But not all of the old had been killed. There were those that had managed to flee the sector and then some... who had been captured.

Mercy was receiving a guided tour through the prison complex embedded in the Tapani Cluster. A processing facility that assisted with the reintegration of the old guard into new society. The last thing they wanted to do was put the Old Nobles on the street, so they'd start fomenting ideas of sedition.

Truthfully Mercy didn't know why they didn't just kill them all. But Arris Windrun had made the point that some of them could be useful, one way or the other. So why not. Why not make use of the tools they had? And the Lord of the Covenant couldn't find fault with that sort of logic, so she hadn't put up much of a fight. Just enough to remind Arris that if she really felt strongly about something, she'd have to fight for it.

Then Mercy passed a cell and paused.

"Who is in that one?"

The jailor looked at the slab and checked the datapad.

"Ah, Prisoner #38299. She was an actress, minor nobility. She will be ready for processing soon, but she requires a few more lessons, before we can put her back on the streets." Mercy hummed there and then smiled.

"Open it? I want to talk to her."

The jailor hesitated there, glancing up at Mercy. "My Lord, this is a very sensitive process, any disturbances can cause her psyche to-" He immediately shut up when Mercy's attention shifted to him with a look that brokered little argument. "I... yes, my Lord. Right away." A few moments later Mercy walked into the cell with a comedically small stool, putting it in the middle of the room before sitting down.

Luckily it was made from steel, or she would have landed straight on her face, that would have been less comedic for everyone involved.

"What is your name, darling?"

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ERASE THE PAST

 

[Aria Talorien]

A SCENE

INT. PRISON CELL

TIME • DAY

♫ OPENING — PHILIP GLASS

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For days, Aria Talorien couldn't remember if it was a nightmare or a film set. Maybe it was both. She weaved out of one and into another. The burning rafters of Talorien Hall gave way to the brutalist structure of the FIV Concordia and then she was being dragged through the dewy, smoking gardens that had populated her childhood, then the polished corridor of the a Virellian palace, all cold marble.

Other times a small, cold cell, a hard cot.

Then time passed and reality resolved, more confusing and worse than the nightmares. Her injuries subsided, leaving a dull ache that might have been fear or tension or hatred or sadness or hunger or nothing at all. The only thing that mattered was what was: a prison facility, the tender mercies of Sith functionaries, bad food, cold showers, and the processing. A prison economy built on undermining and betrayal. Sometimes the Sith came and took prisoners away. Mostly they didn't return. They were processed -- whatever that meant. It was what the prisoners whispered to each other, what the guards threatened them with, the explanation for every empty cell or chair at mealtime.

Aria kept to herself, ate little, said less. She slept badly and followed instructions without commentary, without delay, without giving them a reason to take her, too, even as she watched while, one by one, the prisoners on the block simply disappeared. She didn't please her captors, though, not quite. She had a stubborn attachment to reality, something that didn't allow her to substitute their fiction even to save her skin. But she was not obstinate, not willful, not rude.

When her day came, there was no warning, no sense of foreboding. It was an odd day, to be sure; some big-wig or another was there on an inspection tour. The prisoners were warned. Aria kept her head down, smoothed her red-brown hair over the scar that now raked the side of her face. She was aware, vaguely, of a conversation taking place in the corridor, but she couldn't hear it. She didn't want to hear it. Nothing good came from hearing things, knowing things. But ignorance and good behavior wouldn't save her this time.

The key rattled in the lock and the door opened. Aria looked up briefly, her pulse suddenly hammering in her jugular, painful and sharp. Her dark eyes went wide with fear and she stood, raising her arms as she had been conditioned to do since arriving, hands over her head, gaze lowering automatically. Touch nothing. Say nothing unless spoken to. Don't look them in the eyes.

Don't ever look them in the eyes.

The cadence had been taught to her by Lady Barkash, the aged grande dame she knew by sight and name but had never really met until then, the very first day she had been deposited into the cell. Lady Barkash had been taken three weeks later.

"Aria," she answered the query simply. The actress -- or whatever she was now -- was dying with curiosity to understand who was speaking to her then. A term of endearment was not uncommon, but it was usually accompanied by an obvious sneering disdain, or else some deep malevolence. This seemed -- different. Offensive in its way, to be identified as darling by someone who didn't know her. It felt threatening, yet not in the same way as when a sobriquet was bestowed by one of the anonymous guards who took care of that wing of the prison. "House Talorien."

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STARRING

Mercy • Aria Talorien

 

[Mercy]

Aria Talorien

She stood there and observed the woman as she answered her.

"Aria. House Talorien."

Mercy smiled, but the answer seemed to displease the jailor that had entered the room behind them both. "Why you little piece of shit. Your name is 38299. You don't have another name!" He stomped past Mercy, baton at a ready, to smash it over the prisoner's face and add another scar to the repertoire.

But before the baton could connect with the face of the prisoner, the movement was arrested mid-air.

The reason for it became clear soon enough. Mercy had grabbed the electrified baton, even as it shocked her, she was holding onto it to prevent it from breaking Aria's face in half.

"No, that's quite alright, she was simply answering my question."

The jailor knew better than to protest, lowering the baton, while sending a nasty glance at the prisoner. "Ma'am, she is clearly not ready yet. This one is stubborn. We get flashes from her, but we need to work her mind over much more before she is ready for public life again." Mercy hummed as she considered that, dusting her hands off, seemingly uncaring about the blackened flesh the baton had left her with.

"What do you think, Aria of House Talorien?"

That seemed to make the jailor cringe again, but Mercy was only amused by it.

"Are you in need of many more lessons?" A glance to the jailor again. "Painful, those lessons, I take it?"

The jailor shrugged.

"We use standard conditioning equipment, ma'am. When that doesn't work, we resort to the baton, to soften up their minds. We have a hundred percent success rate." He was clearly proud of that number. Mercy didn't point out that they had that sort of success rate, because whenever someone didn't break... they'd be killed.

A dead body couldn't be seen as a failure.

Her golden eyes went back to Aria, waiting expectingly for her response.

 

[Aria Talorien]

A SCENE

INT. PRISON CELL

TIME • DAY

♫ OPENING — PHILIP GLASS

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Aria Talorien didn't flinch. It wasn't anything so foolhardy and pointless as bravery. It was simply resignation. She understood her mistake the moment the forbidden words had tumbled from her lips, and could almost feel the baton before it landed. She sensed where the bruise would land, how it would layer with the others the overzealous guards had dished out over the last weeks or months.

There was no shortage of supply. They always found a way, a reason, an excuse. Her alabaster flesh was a kaleidoscope of hideous hues -- brown, the oldest, then yellow, grey-green, purple-blue. The newest marks were vivid red.

But it didn't land. It didn't come. Aria dared not raise her eyes to look, her eyes fixed so hard on the big woman's boots that they ached.

"I don't think," Aria answered, so quick it was almost panting. "I don't, I don't think. I -- I am 38299. Apologies."

She resisted the urge to throw herself to the floor. No, begging didn't work on this one. The overnight guard liked it, liked to see a noble on her knees begging for mercy. The daytime guard liked to make them scream. "I don't know what I need, my lord, it is not my place to have an opinion. Please." Please, what? Please, don't ask me anything. Please, don't make me give them a reason to hurt me.

Please, kill me before you leave this place, for this guard will never give me a moment's peace again.

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STARRING

Mercy • Aria Talorien