Private Total Detestation, Dearest Popsicle

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

It wasn't often that Ivalyn had a desire to speak with her father, let alone to try and reach out to him. Normally, he showed up when he felt like it, proving that as always he was the best intelligence operative. Although, she was sure somewhere, someone could counter that.

Yet, Ivalyn knew if there was anyone who she could talk to about the steps she would need to take to solidify the idea of taking independence. It would be her father, a man who was experienced in having Imperials be independent of Sith. After all it had been the New Imperial Order in the Third Imperial Civil War who had broken away from the Tenth Sith Empire.

The Sith were, as ever, being Sith, relentless in their ambition, unyielding in their appetite for dominion. Their presence on Ryoone was an insult not only to Commonwealth sovereignty but to every citizen who still believed in the legacy of Dosuun. Yet, pragmatism reminded her that a direct confrontation might spell the end of what remained of her nation's fragile autonomy. She could not afford to be reckless, nor could she afford to be weak.

She exhaled slowly, her gloved hand resting on the polished edge of her desk as if seeking its steadiness. "Father would know what to do," she thought, the admission landing with a quiet finality.

It wasn't that she expected him to solve every problem, but rather that his experience with carving out Imperial independence from the Sith yoke would lend her the perspective she so desperately needed. Even now, with the shadows of Planeshift and the Blackwall looming large, she could almost hear his voice: firm, unflinching, and tinged with that same Imperial tone she had inherited, reminding her that strength was not just in armadas, but in conviction.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

If she were to preserve the Commonwealth, if she were to carry forward the legacy of the First Imperials, she would need every lesson he had ever taught her. For in this delicate dance between appeasement and defiance, between legacy and survival, there was no room for error.

And so, with a measured breath, she resolved to seek his counsel, even if it meant acknowledging a vulnerability she rarely let herself feel. After all, sovereignty was not something granted by decree; it was something fought for, sustained by those with the will to endure. Ivalyn cleared her throat and approached the holo terminal pressing down on the call button.

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
KIJIMI
Ivalyn Yvarro

The only redeeming quality he had as a father was to make time for his legitimate children. Ivalyn was, out of all his offsprings, the apple of his eye. She proved her worth to him and that earned her his time. Djorn had favorites…it just depended on how useful they were as an asset. It was wrong and cold of him to value them in such a manner, though he didn’t share that view.

His ideals and objectives were placed before anyone. So, too, did she share this mentality.

Djorn had ventured out to Kijmi, another haven for scum and villainy. As usual, it was just business he was handling. Allies were plethora, one simply had to know who to trust and where to find them. It was great timing he had already finished as his eldest daughter called him. Without hesitation he answered, his figure appeared with attire suited for the cold.

“Ivalyn, what is the matter? Something I can do to help you?”

Right to the point while having an ounce of care and warmth to his daughter.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn knew the value her father placed on his time, and so she wasted none of it. She lifted her chin, her gaze steady and unflinching. "Father, yes, there is something I require of you." She let the words settle with all the weight of her position before continuing. "There is a Sith problem on the Commonwealth's borders. Rather," she corrected herself with a measured precision.

"We have been forced to accept the position of vassal, under this so-called Eleventh Sith Empire." Ivalyn paused, allowing the admission to linger in the air, a bitter truth she never truly, willingly embraced. Something her father would have never accepted in fact would have died before accepting such a fate. "I should like to no longer be their vassal."

Her tone sharpened with conviction, though she remained composed, every syllable deliberate. "I could strike at them, but the Commonwealth is not the First Order, and it does not wield the same military prowess it once did." Another pause, just enough to acknowledge the limits of her position without diminishing the force of her will. "Thus we must be smart," she continued, her voice low and resolute, "cunning in how we approach this."

The Dosuunian's gaze was unwavering, the weight of legacy and the flickering hope of sovereignty pressing down on her. "That is why I turn to you and your expertise. After all," she added, her voice softening just slightly with respect, "you served along side Irveric Tavlar himself." Her words carried the quiet authority of woman who knew she was asking much, but also of one who would settle for nothing less.

A beat passed , the weight of history hanging between them. Ivalyn drew in a steadying breath, her gloved fingers lightly brushing the edge of her sleeve, a gesture both composed and personal. "Father," she continued, her tone quieter now, more intimate. "I know you taught me that strength is not always shown in force of arms, but in patience, subterfuge, and in knowing when to strike. I have no illusions about the Sith, they will not be content to let the Commonwealth remain even a shadow of its former self." She paused, her gaze unwavering, a quiet fire sparking in her eyes. "I need to know how to stand against them, and survive it." Her voice, though measured, carried the unspoken truth: she was prepared to do whatever as necessary to preserve the Commonwealth's sovereignty and the remnants of the First Imperial legacy that still lived in her people's hearts, and in her own.

The Grand Vizier had tethered to herself those who could move through the shadows such as the Golden Flame. She knew to make deals and alliances, "I need to know how to take what we have, our alliances, the shadows, and turn the strength of our enemies against them."

A final pause, one she allowed to stretch, a testament to her resolve. "Because I will not stand by while they erase everything we fought to build. Not while I still draw breath." Her chin lifted fractionally, the steel of her voice matched the elegance of her bearing. Even in this moment, reaching out to her father, she as every inch the Grand Vizier of the Commonwealth.

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
KIJIMI
Ivalyn Yvarro

“Your first mistake was giving them an invitation, Ivalyn. It’s better to act in defiance against that scum than rolling over at their mercy. Tavlar did and created an Empire out of it,” he said very bluntly to his daughter. Almost as if someone was saying “I told you so”.

But what good would it serve to coddle?

She was a grown woman, in a position of power. Only incapable egomaniacs wanted to hear what brought joy to them.

“If you want to go all out, then I wouldn’t waste a second to raise your arms against the crimson blade. You’ll all die and be another footnote to the list of the conquered.”

“But…sometimes a place doesn’t define an Empire. It’s the ideals; the New Imperials were just a disgruntled band and consolidated their strength before going on the offensive. It was brave and many doubted their ability including myself.”

“You need to grow your strength outside of your Commonwealth. Act in good faith with the Sith to not raise suspicions if you want to…” how was that one saying?

“…play them like a fiddle.”

A short pause, before he spoke.

“I guess I have more work to do,” meaning he would be an asset to his daughter’s campaign; however, it would come at a price.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Of course her father would state the obvious.

The first mistake had been aligning with the Sith at all.

Tavlar, at least, had momentum, something resembling a mandate, when he made his defiant stand against the Tenth Sith Empire. The Commonwealth, in contrast, had possessed no such luxury. What were the options, really? Allow the Sith to roll through their space unchallenged, without so much as a token gesture of resistance? No. Her Majesty Kelora Priestly would never have permitted such cowardice, and at the time, Ivalyn's role had been far smaller. An advisor. A steward. A footnote.

A sharp contrast to her position now.

She held her tongue. This was simply her father's way, abrasive, pragmatic, and devoid of sentiment. She understood it. More importantly, he understood it. The Sith Order would erase them, reduce the Commonwealth to a footnote, if given the chance. Which was precisely why every decision she made now had to be calculated. Conservative. Clever. The path to sovereignty could not be walked in full view of the Sith's watchful eye.

She continued to listen as Djorn, the Snake, as many once called him, spoke of the ideals that had once forged the New Imperial Order. The very same order that had dared to charter an Empire without Sith chains around its throat. He was not wrong. Strength, real strength, would have to be built beyond the reach of the Dark Council's claws.

But the truth, which neither of them needed to say aloud, was that the Blackwall complicated everything. Movement was restricted. Alliances difficult to maintain. Communications strained. And while she could rely on Lady Raaf, perhaps even trust her to some extent, to help navigate that void, such dependency was dangerous. Overreliance on a Sith Lord would undermine any claim to independence when the time came.

Still, she gave the faintest incline of her head, just enough to show she had heard him, understood him. This was what she wanted. To play the Sith Order like a well-worn fiddle. To pit them against one another. To keep them distracted with ambition and infighting while she quietly built something durable, something Imperial, something hers.

When her father concluded with his familiar refrain, "more work to do," Ivalyn raised a brow, the corner of her mouth quirking ever so slightly. "There's always more work." She said, voice light but pointed. "But at least now we know which orchestra we're conducting. And which instruments might break in our hands." The smile that followed was faint, composed, and entirely without warmth.

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
KIJIMI
Ivalyn Yvarro

He appreciated her mature stance, not protesting against his criticism. Ego was destructive to Imperials, no matter their ideals. Far too many he had met with that behavior and all were humbled on their knees. Being humble could go a long ways.

"There'll be a lot of broken eggs, so expect to get your hands dirty," not just physically, but mentally. His methods were pragmatic, but it was not for the faint of heart. If his daughter was this determined, then he was certain she had the stomach of it.

"You'll be running the show from here on out... and Ivalyn," and stared intently at his daughter, almost as if challenging her, "you will not interfere with how I conduct operations. I won't do anything that'll jeopardize your life, but I know the best way to get what you want. I've never told you about my work with the New Imperials, but you'll see how it's done. For now, I'll leave that to your imagination."

He was sure to be sent to hell for all his actions, and there was chance of redemption. It was best to make the most before touching that plane.

"Do you have a specific base of operations to get started?"