Thicker than Water

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Geonosis - Golbah - Port Galaar
1709 Local Time

The Matron's striking yellow-red eyes swept over the port with a razor's keenness. Everywhere one's gaze traveled, the lifeblood of The Confederacy flowed. People, but so much more than meer individuals. Traders, and merchants. Smiths, scientists, and craftsmen of every description moved through Geonosis' primary spaceport, Port Galaar. With them came revenue, and spectacular opportunity. The crimson skinned woman's coal black lips curled in a wicked smile, pearl white serrated teeth gleaming in the evening sun.

"This will be good for the Clan, Kil'kea. I can feel it in my bones." The Matron turned her sharp smile on the armored soldier beside her. "This partnership with the CIS will bring wealth to our family to dwarf what we have accomplished ourselves. Can't you taste it? This will bring such glory to our Clan, little cousin." Zenva draped an arm around the soldier's shoulders, giving the other woman a mischievous shake.

The soldier shrugged out from under Zenva's arm, stepping away from the Blood Matron. When the soldier spoke, a woman's sweet, musical voice bloomed from beneath her helmet. A voice easily a match for the honeyed voice of the Matron herself, a sure sign of pure Vrotoa lineage. "I understand that, Matron, but it does not change my opinion. The CIS are without honor. Their armies are toy soldiers. Their pilots have no souls. They fight with mechaines, afraid to see the blood of their own men feeding the soil. It's offensive to the Gods, this fear and weakness."

The Matron waved a hand dismissively. "You worry about nothing, Priestess. You see me dressed for war, do you not?" Zenva gestured to herself, dressed in her traditional combat load. Brown knee high riding boots over black leggings. A miniscule black and red pleated skirt at her hips, pistols in their leather holsters on her muscular thighs. Her torso wrapped tight in her armored corset of black and brown leather. The blood red trench coat she wore hide the remainder of her arsenal from casual sight. "I am with an armed escort, you. All is well. We will see the battlefield still, Priestess, worry not. In the meanwhile, we should capitalize on this beautiful opportunity Kil'kea. The Confederacy is full to bursting with credits. Credits I mean to stockpile in our accounts. There is business to be found here, and advancements to be made. You will see, little cousin, we will prosper here." The Zabrak Matron turned her back on her dour Elite, her gaze sweeping over the flowing crowd, her lips curled in another fierce smile. "You will see."

[member="Alair"]

 

[Malok]

Alair was lost in thought.

Within her hands was clutched a piece of paper: her ticket to a fresh start. Her amber gaze was fixated upon it, slowly gliding over the Aurebesh letters again and again and again. If the young Zabrak was being honest with herself, she was terrified. Her days and nights, for so long, had been a blur of quiet suffering. She could not rest, because the dreams kept her awake. Now...Now she had finally escaped from it all. But to what? Mama was a foreign idea at this point: a hushed memory long blurred by time and distance. Alair could hardly remember the chime of her voice, let alone what she looked like.

And yet, here she was, only minutes away from seeing her again.

One would think that Alar would be overjoyed at the idea. She was finally free of working one chitty job after another. She was finally going back to someone who actually cared about her. She was free. But...Alair was cautiously optimistic. While a part of her was hopeful, the majority of her yet remembered the Hell that she lived. GOLBAH CITY: Now Departing! came over the PA system, joustling the young Zabrak out of her thoughts. She moved the ticket into her pocket, keeping her fingers upon it at all times, whilst rising from the public transit.

The trip was the furthest thing from luxurious, but it was enough to bring her here. Golbah City. Rising, the young woman immediately became lost in a sea of bodies attempting to step into Port Galaar. She was shoved a few times here and there, but that didn't bother her much. Instead, her gaze was focused ahead, trying to find her

You will see.

Her ears strained to hear the words...but the voice...it was her! It had to be her! Alair scrambled, this time shoving back against the herd. Her heart began to pound within her chest - her cautious optimism breaking at the sound of her mother's voice. There was a need within her: a need to run as quickly as she could. A need to feel safe. Almost frantically, the young woman moved through the crowd, standing on her tiptoes at regular intervals in the hopes of seeing that face. Where was sh-

"MAMA!"

She shoved past a portly man, not caring that he swore in response.

She ran as fast as she could, her eyes blurring as the tears began to form.

She didn't stop until her arms were thrown around [member="Zenva Vrotoa"]'s waist.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The Matron's fierce smile had not yet wavered when she began moving into the newest crowd of migrants arriving on Geonosis, fresh off the transports, and stinking with it. The churning crowd all but roared with their own voices, raised in unchecked excitement most often. Despite the press of bodies Zenva and her bodyguard moved fairly easily through the port. Those not willing to stand aside for the grinning Zabrak and her heavily armed escort were few and far between.

Something stirred awake within the Matron. A ripple of memories, long since buried beneath the dark steel walls of her mental discipline, flowed through the Zabrak's conscious mind. Mama! Zenva's head shook, dispelling the swelling tides desperation and pain that moved through the Force. Someone crashed against her chest, arms snaking around the Matron's body in an instant. Fear, quickly replaced by aggression destroyed any remnants of the confusing emotions that had assailed her mind.

Quick as a striking serpent, Zenva's arm shot up between her and the stranger, sweeping aside the smaller female's arm with startling strength. Her other hand snapped out at the girl's raven black locks, twisting and tangling together a handful of hair. With a vicious tug, Zenva wrenched on the poor girl's hair, pulling the pair apart. "What the feth is the matter with you, girl! Get off me!" With another hateful twist, and a shove, Zenva pushed the small halfbreed away.

[member="Alair"]

 

[Malok]

Pain.

The young Zabrak was no stranger to the agony of having her hair viciously pulled. She could not count how many times the dull pain had characterized her head...nor how many times the dizziness came right after. In mere seconds, Alair went from hugging her mother to being flung onto her posterior. And now, with the crimson-skinned Matron appearing as a blurry pair in her eyes, Alair made no attempt to bite them back.

The sting in her eyes welled over, spilling out and down her cheeks.

Her head ached. Her heart ached.

"M-Mama it's me...Don't you remember?"

Her voice was meek. Quiet and broken.

"It's Alair...Don't say you've forgotten me...Please remember."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Music- Eyes on Fire

Anger rolled off the Blood Matron like heat from a raw volcano. Her barely contained rage, vicious from being grabbed, was plainly visible in her trembling, clenched fist. Her baleful yellow-red gaze swept over the teary eyed half-breed sitting before her. In an instant the hate fueled Zabrak was pushed back from the girl, her heavily armored guard surging between the two. The soldier's hand resting firmly on the blaster pistol holstered on it's armored hip.

The Matron's face drained of color as the girl spoke. Her blazing, impassioned hearts turned to cold lead weights in her breast. "Kil'kea, hold!" The crimson skinned woman's hand clamped down on the soldier's shoulder before any weapons could be drawn. "Call for extraction. Immediately."

The Crimson Lady swept passed her guard to stand over the weeping child. "I'll only say this once, so you'll do well to listen, and obey." The Matron's hand came down as though to help the youth to her feet. "You are to get up, and walk to the nearest alleyway. Now. You will not speak, and you will not make a scene."

Zenva's body all but trembled, with what emotion was unclear. Her sharp, crimson features gave nothing away. It was as though she wore a porcelain mask for all the emotion she showed. She could feel the Force radiating off the child, and already she was building her mental fortress against any infulance the Youngling might wield on her. She could feel too the darkness burning like a flame in her young cousin Kil'kea, a weathered soldier, and long time practitioner of the Force.

[member="Alair"]

 

[Malok]

Blasters.

She could hardly make them out now, but she knew what they meant. Power. A threat. With one pull of the trigger, they could splatter her across the pavement. In that second...seeing the utter disgust and rage upon her mother's face...Alair honestly didn't care if they did. She began to lower her head. Her body convulsed as a fresh sob shook her. Yet, a hand was extended and firm words were given.

Alair looked up.

And for just a second, she had hope.

She took her mother's hand and rose to her feet, doing as she was bid. And once in the alleyway, she turned and looked upon her mother. She did not speak. She did not make a scene. But she could not stop the tears from spilling over. It was just too much.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva guided the young half-breed to the nearest alleyway, one hand clamped to the girl's elbow like a vice. The child obeyed, keeping as silent as she could in spite of the occasional sob that racked her small body. The Matron released the girl who turned to face her once more, tears streaming down her face. Zenva's bizarre yellow-red gaze turned back to the street for an instant to insure no one but her guard had followed.

When she turned back to the youth Zenva's hand snapped forward, closing firmly around the girl's throat. She forced the girl back against the alley wall, her scowling face just inches from the weeping child's. "How have you come to know that name girl?" She whispered in a dangerous tone. "Do not think for an instant to lie to me! I'll gut you like a fething animal, and leave you to bleed out on the fething street if you do." The Zabrak's free hand drew a vicious looking combat knife from beneath her blood red coat before she had even finished the threat. Her grip loosened enough to allow the child to breath, and therefore to speak. "Who told you my daughter's name, girl!?"

[member="Alair"]