Gold-hewn orbs flickered from behind feathered eyelashes when she felt
Adelle Bastiel
raise mental wards in response to her statement. It made her curious, and her wintry expression cracked with something that might have been amusement. The Sith Empress hadn't made any movement that could be considered violent, not in the force, nor with the exchange of sweet goods.
"Unless…It is your wish that I abandon decorum."
Her head tilted, and lengths of silvery-white hair slipped down her shoulder, a splash of contrast against onyx armor.
"I can be very, very rude.", the conspiratorial words were issued without inflection. It made it so that it would be difficult to tell whether she was teasing or if she was actually considering bearing down on the Mandalorian warrior, mentally, to "fix" the self-deprecating nature. It was demeaning. The galaxy was led primarily by men who would seek to bring them low, diminish them, as often as possible.
They didn't need to make it any
easier for them.
The subject slipped as they left the shuttle. The diminutive woman had meant her words and was waiting to see how the war had gone from a firsthand account…And it was likely, for the best, that she not be tested. There were very few minds that she couldn't tear through as if they were little more than wet tissue paper. Which could leave this Mandalorian a babbling mess, which would be a shame. She was tolerable and had seemingly enjoyed the token Srina had offered…So she was not without taste. Much like
Quinn Varanin
, she remained silent while affairs were conducted, though she hadn't expected such casual dismissal. Both for those had crossed the stars…
And the memory of their own dead.
Oddly…There would be a wedding and a wake. Or, perhaps just a wedding. Now that they had lost a third of their territory, they didn't seem bothered by it. It was a strength not to blink…But it was folly not to mourn. People lived within the Diarchy space. Living, breathing people. They would not play nicely or well when their "
betters" gave them not burials or condolences but a very specific form of: Let them eat cake.
It was a curious leading style, but that was neither here nor there.
One did not need to be a King to consider human nature.
Her gaze, cold and imperious, slipped over the soldiers loyal to the Diarchy as they found an easy formation. They stopped moving on a boy (
Dante Phantomhive
), small in stature, before they moved back toward the assembled delegates. The men talked too much, admitting failure, while still having difficulty accepting the need to bend. It was interesting how peace and the threat of a capital under fire created new circumstances in which "
bending" was now acceptable. It was to be expected, Bend—Or break.
Why did
Laphisto
hide among his Iron Creed?
"Do they think that will be enough?"
It was an idle question to Mandalorian Bastiel, distant and without threat. It was an assessment of the fighting force that had been presented. Was this all they had left after the beating that had been delivered on Yaga Minor? Or did they really trust that
Aether Verd
wouldn't fight if provoked? If they planned to kowtow the whole time…This could have been resolved over dinner and a show. Speaking of, where was
tea the Diarchy had offered?
She frowned.
The boy-child seemed restless at hearing terms.
But the accord was struck.
She stepped away from
Adelle Bastiel
when
Aether Verd
gave his final words to
Diarch Reign
with the promise of intelligence on Ella Nova in exchange for the deal of "continued existence" sitting on the table. That was of vague interest to her, but unfortunately, she found these northern neighbors of the Mandalorian Empire lacking. They were defeated. There was no fight in them, no strength, and no reason to delay the inevitable.
Srina had heard the rumor of her name being invoked by the Diarchy during Yaga Minor, in which the details were unclear. She knew of the disrespect to her
CHILD during their time with the Black Sun. She had not forgotten, even if they tried to rewrite words spoken in anger with revisionist history. The Sith Empress was not unreasonable. She was pragmatic.
Logical.
The Diarchy had been so
close to the Imperial Confederation. Too close. Her head tilted while she stared openly at the much taller man before her body turned away. He had not acknowledged her despite his nation seeing fit to have her name and intent in their mouth. Twisted—For malcontent imbeciles to digest. Whispering, fleeting propaganda that would likely never see the light of day again. Words were…Words. By Echani standard, meaningless.
She looked for action.
If the Diarchy didn't mind their friendships, they would quickly discover the same thing that the Galactic Alliance, that, the Galatic Empire—That even the Imperial Confederation had learned twice. Srina Talon did not tolerate fools, grandstanding, or theatrics masquerading as strength. She did not give second chances, and she did not believe in small mercies.
If her ire was lit—There would be no end.
Srina looked away from the Diarch, dismissive, because he had been found wanting.
"This is the way."
She followed her nephew but not without smoothly taking the gloved hand of
Adelle Bastiel
to claim her company for the shuttle ride back. It seemed they had much to discuss.
Srina Talon
Persephone Halcyon
Iandre Athlea
Mia Monroe
Vytal Noctura
Siv Kryze
Ze'bast Verd
Diarch Rellik
