ʟɪʟ' ᴏʟᴇ ᴍᴇ
There was only one thing more exhausting than politics. The people who played it.
She glanced at Colette, who was wisely removing herself from the moment. But felt the pain of losing a friend amongst the wolves.
Ala's eyes remained soft as they settled on Veruna. There was no anger in them, only a profound, crushing pity. "You speak of a galaxy bleeding for our failures, King Aurelian," she said, her voice a quiet murmur that somehow filled the room. "Yet it is always the kings of single worlds who demand a thousand other worlds bleed for their ambitions."
She turned her gaze down as she considered the charter. She did not need to read it. She knew the words by heart.
"Section four of the Preamble dictates that we may be called upon but can conscientiously object while fulfilling medical, logistical, or civilian protection roles," Ala said. She looked directly at Damos Rennar, her expression entirely still. "It says we may be called upon, Director. It does not say we are a standing army to be deployed at a bureaucrat's whim. We know our duty to the citizens. We do not need a piece of paper to remind us how to bleed."
Slowly, Ala stood. She did not tower over them, the chunky ceremonial chairs were far too large for that.
"Do not mistake our patience for submission, my friends. We have served this Republic on many fronts. But if you twist this Charter to force our Knights into becoming your foot-soldiers...you may cease to have an Order to call upon." She leaned slightly forward, the weariness dropping away to reveal something ominous. "And the one's calling themselves Jedi who remain? The ones born of the fire you are actively stoking? They will not care about your laws, your senate, or your borders. Tread carefully, Republic. Lest you build your own prison."
Last edited: