...But Home Is Nowhere

[Miria Lasedri]

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies."​

​

It likely wasn't the best idea in the world, to be out on the streets of Chandrila on her own, with no supervision but her own eyes and that sixth sense that had the habit of nagging at her whenever danger was near. The Force, they called it. To her it was just another tool at her disposal. It wasn't as if it was all that bad. In fact, compared to the number of planets in the Outer Rim, not to mention the Core itself, it was a walk in the park. Besides, what passed for a city here was a small town, if that, to any that visited. That meant far less dangers than were present in your average metropolis, if any at all. The worst she had to look out for was the occasional pickpocket, but even that was rare. It wasn't difficult for everyone to survive and exist in harmony when the population resided in scattered communities about the planet. And it was even easier for one teenager to go unnoticed.

The simplest part had been talking her way out of the orphanage. Or rather, not saying anything at all. Being mute around most, that made slipping in and out at will that much more straightforward. Silence allowed her to go unnoticed, and going unnoticed allowed her to do things most others couldn't without some difficulty. Case in point, sneaking out from under the noses of those that were in charge of the group of ragtag children displaced because of this or that tragedy. Of course, being an Echani, sometimes she garnered more attention than she wanted just because of her appearance. With the majority of the population being human, that wasn't much of a surprise. It was a nuisance that one had to learn to live with. As long as she was allowed to go on her way, she didn't have much cause to complain.

One of the detriments of residing in a small town was the lack of much else to do but walk. And that's what Miria occupied her time with doing, dressed simply in her faded, slightly torn jeans, dark shirt, dark green military jacket and scuffed boots. Her appearance wasn't remarkable, and she kept it that way. The less people that acknowledged her presence was for the better, in her eyes. It meant having to spin less tales about just why she was out here alone, and allowed her time to herself. It wasn't as if she wasn't thankful for all that the orphanage did for her and those similar, but the environment had the capacity to become nearly suffocating. She was thankful for excursions like this, when she was able to leave that life behind for a time and just be.

The day was mild, the sun was out, and she was free to wander to her heart's content. There wasn't much else to ask for, really. It's so boring.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

It had been quite some time since she had truly been back to Chandrila--that world that was rich with history in breeding troublemakers like herself. A visit here or there had been all Lasedri could afford these days, but now was finally time when she could actually relax. It was something she was not known to do, and its toll was starting to become apparent to her physically.

It was not so much that Geneviève's appearance was changing, but her hands had been shaking and her eyes darkened with the mounting stress. Running her 'little rebellion' and then moving on up to running the Galactic Republic was no easy thing on her mind, body, or soul--even if there were those who did not believe she had one. The truth was, she would not have even cared about causing the trouble she did if she was lacking in her humanity. She would not have even taken the time to meander through the streets of this small Chandrilan town, either.

She had distanced herself from this place for years, but there was still some sort of tether that attached her to the place as 'home'. The concentrated skyscrapers that made up these towns were one of the trademarks of Chandrila. The cities did not spread to the horizon like on Coruscant or what had been Corellia, but the glistening white spires gave off a sort of community feeling. Or an elitist feeling if the tower was tall and unique. Gen had lived in one of those.

That coat--be it black, white, or red--was absent from her body for once, the Prime Minister allowing her adobe skin to actually suck in all that was her homeworld. A pair of casually draping, beige pants fluttered about her legs with each stride, while the black tank top she sported today clung tightly to her abdomen. The less conspicuous she appeared, the more she could likely enjoy her time without bother. Enjoy. That was not a word that normally applied to Lasedri.

What was wrong with her?

Her laces had come undone, and the Prime Minister bent down to retie her shoes. Her hands quivered with each pull of the lines. "Frak. What's wrong with me?" Exasperated, she looked up to spot a rather pale, teenaged girl passing near.

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

The air was still, the only sounds being the quiet murmur of those other passersby as they conversed among themselves. It was a peaceful day, with no debates currently taking place in the town square, which was a rarity in and of itself. But sometimes spending time like this, away from the general rabble of the others her age, was a good thing. There wasn't anyone prodding her to talk, or join in on their adventures, and all was calm. Despite this, Miria wished something worth note would happen for once on the planet that seemed to be so out of the way when in reality it wasn't terribly far from the galactic center. For one who was selectively mute herself, sometimes even she tired of silence. But it was a different kind of noise she craved.

Living a life of silence meant that she was attuned to other things, such as listening or being able to tell when others were observing her, regardless of distance. So the voice that cut through the crowd despite it being a quiet muttering coupled with the feeling of eyes on her drew her attention nearly instantly. Her own dark eyes searched those on the street for mere seconds until she spotted the raven-haired woman currently lacing up her shoes. There was a sense of disconnect about her, as if she didn't quite belong here as seamlessly as everyone else. It wasn't the same feeling that came with outsiders, rather of one returning home. This was interesting.

Before she could process that, however, there was someone else that caught her eye. Not already. At least give me a chance. It seemed one of those in charge of the orphanage had noticed her missing already, a variable she'd acknowledged but not entirely prepared for, due to the simple fact that occurrences such as this were rare. With a slight frown she moved in the opposite direction, having memorized these streets in her times wandering until she knew them like the back of her hand. It wasn't any difficulty to locate the alleyway, and even easier to slip out of the crowd and into the small space that would be slightly cramped for anyone bigger than her.

Leaning up against the cool wall of one of the buildings, she sighed quietly, chewing her lip and studying the few crowds that milled past, uninterrupted by her sudden disappearance. Patiently she waited, watching, knowing it would be a few minutes at the very least before she would be able to emerge from her hiding place and continue with her day. It took time, but that was something she had in abundance, with the rest of the day ahead of her to waste away. All she had to do was wait.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

They shared a moment of eye contact, Gen able to take in the silvery eyes that marked a likely Echani. That was not really a common sight on Chandrila, but the galaxy was growing a bit more diverse by the day. Still, that was not what explicitly caught the Prime Minister's attention. Something in the back of her mind had clicked the moment her brown eyes and the girl's silver eyes had met, and it was not anything to do with race or familiarity.

Then the girl ran off, seemingly in fright or, minimally, surprise. Geneviève was not exactly an overly curious woman, but this sort of event warranted a little 'flyby', so to speak. She had noted the general location to which the fair-skinned teen had fled, and would begin to pace along the sidewalk by the entrance of the alley. She smelled something off--not troubling, but at least unusual.

Taking Lasedri completed her lace-tying and stood back up, brushing her black locks out from in front of her face before resuming her stroll in the direction of the child's escape exit. When was the last time she had concerned herself with youths? Probably when she herself was a teen. That had been a good while ago. She had become something of a big deal since then.

Peeking around the corner as she sauntered on by, the raven-haired Republic official thought she saw the distinct shimmer of that Echani-white hair. She hesitated, wondering if she should interfere with whatever affair was going on. There may be trouble, or this kid might be the troublemaker. It was hard to tell at the moment. Might as well ask?

Well, maybe not ask. "People get a little worried when you start hanging around in alleys." Yeah, she would certainly know about that.

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

At first, when Miria spotted a figure at the mouth of the alley, her instinct was to retreat further into the small space, simultaneously disregarding anything they had to say. But it only took a moment for her to realize that this one wasn't one of those from the orphanage. No, they were far from it. In some strange twist of fate, this was the same woman that had caught her eye earlier. The one that belonged but didn't quite fit in, like puzzle piece that had become worn with time but not completely misshapen. In the next few seconds she processed the statement put forth, but didn't give any outward indication of having heard the woman other than a slight relaxation of her own form.

Almost as if she was ignoring the stranger she took a few steps closer to the entrance of the alley, looking past the new arrival to scan the crowds, shrinking back after a few seconds of this and taking a step backwards to partially conceal her features in shadow, though her pale complexion made the effort a futile one. It was only then she completely acknowledged the other presence, simply watching her, gaze untelling of what thoughts were currently sparking through that adolescent mind. In truth she was gauging how much of a threat the raven-haired female was, and what the chances of her proving to be an ally were should things turn out to end less so in her favor. Not that she trusted the woman in the least.

Finally she registered the statement deemed to be slightly sarcastic in nature with the barest shrug of her shoulders and a slight inclination of her head, as if to say, 'So what?'. This wasn't the first time she had ever been cornered in consequence of similar escapades, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The incidents had been declining in frequency lately, and this was the first time a complete stranger had ever taken interest in her. But unlike those other happenings, this time, she wasn't quite so unnerved by it all. But she did her best to shake it off, the look in her eyes shouting defiance where any words that might have done the same remained unspoken.

Eventually, as it always did, this woman would likely become bored or frustrated enough with the fact that she refused to speak and just let her be on her way with no further incident. Such was a common occurrence at the orphanage she called home, and it happen more commonplace on the streets than anywhere else. She was different in a way that not many understood. But, in the strangest way, it seemed this individual did.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

She had a defiant one, here. It sort of reminded her of another girl she knew--the only girl she knew. That girl had purple hair in those days, and did not speak much herself. So personal experience dictated that it was unlikely she would get much out of this one. And why should she care? They were standing in an alley.

Though, the fact that the kid kept peering into the streets and not running away from the adult present made the situation a little more than interesting. There must not have been anything dreadfully wrong she was committing by standing all alone in the backstreets if she felt secure enough with Lasedri around. And there was no sign of recognition of such an 'important' person in the teen's eyes. Not that anyone else had taken special notice of the politician yet. Gen habitually wore her hat most often for reasons--one of which being that it would be more difficult for the average person to pick her out of a crowd if she should ever remove it. Like today, for instance.

Gen decided to duck into the alley as well, considering that standing in front of it like some surveying spectator might bring a little more attention to her or the Echani kid--something she assumed neither of them would like too much. "I guess it's cool if you want to hang out with a killer like me." Gen humor--usually a lot more truth embedded in the 'joke' than most might be comfortable with. She had most definitely killed a person or two in her lifetime.

"Don't worry. I won't stay long." There was a little bit of her mindgaming, a bit of a mental pinch to try to provoke a response. Why do I care? She crossed her arms and waited for a response--her expectations were naturally low, of course--as she lingered just inside the shadow of the buildings, eyes focused on the open streets in the direction the girl was staring. They always taught kids not to talk with strangers. But Gen rarely spoke with friends.

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

That statement didn't unnerve Miria as much as it probably should have, but there wasn't much of a reason for her to be overly concerned about whatever crimes may have been committed. The only prerequisite for being considered a killer was ending someone's life, and in her mind there were plenty of less than savory individuals that had death coming to them eventually. It was only a matter of time before it caught up to them or someone else quickened the process. So once more she shrugged, uncaring. What was the big deal if someone's life had been ended at some point in time? It wasn't her problem, and there was no one pursuing her now, so the issue had already resolved itself.

Every once in awhile her gaze shifted from the woman to the streets and back again, though she had deemed it safe enough to return to her meandering minutes ago. Now all there was left to do was dissuade this stranger and be on her way. But, considering the enclosed space and the number of others around that would notice them if this turned into anything more than the one-sided conversation it already was, she didn't want to risk anything just yet. Remaining undetected was one of life's luxuries that she hardly took for granted, and usually it helped her to avoid situations similar. This time it seemed to have done quite the opposite.

Just standing there wouldn't do any good, so she moved once more to the entrance of the alley, scanning the crowds one final time. Briefly she glanced to the woman again, the smallest of smiles flickering across her lips, as if daring her to follow. Seconds later she was off, taking her time in walking, her pace unchanged from earlier. This time she had a set destination in mind, however, and it was the orphanage just a few blocks away. If this woman was so keenly interested in her, it would only do good to show her just what it was she was getting into. This was the part where most lost interest and left, something she was halfway counting on.

It was always an annoyance, drawing unwanted attention. Why couldn't people just leave her alone for once?

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

Well, that was uneventful. An odd smile had appeared on the young one's lips just before she parted, and Gen assumed that was that. Evidently, the teen had not recognized one of the most famous--or infamous--people to hail from Chandrila in recent history. Granted, Lasedri had taken care to keep from being easily identifiable, but she figured that she had allowed ample time for the Echani to recognize her. Or maybe she was full of herself and had mistaken her influence. Everyone did not necessarily keep track of politics these days--though the proximity of the warfront was on everyone's mind on this planet. Surely the Prime Minister would hold a familiar image on her own homeworld during these troubling times!

The Rebel Alliance founder lingered in the alley for a bit longer, allowing the teenager to get a good lead to wherever she was going while she kept her eyes on that white hair from a distance. After she supposed enough time had passed, Geneviève strode out behind 'casually', trailing by a long enough measure so the girl would not notice--or at least not notice that she was following her. She imagined that might seem a bit creepy.

It had been estimated that at least one half of the galaxy's population had been swept away by some mysterious phenomenon. The thought crossed her mind as she continued after the Echani girl. You're one of them, aren't you?

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

Yes, it was true that Miria most certainly was one of those displaced by the great disappearance that had swept the galaxy into turmoil. And it had affected her perhaps more than it had others. Namely in her selective mutism. It was something that had, for lack of a better term, developed out of nowhere. To put a better label on it, it was a form of separation anxiety that stemmed from the sudden loss of her parents. Around them, and before the event that had transpired, she had been able to converse normally with everyone, not having to bother with communicating through minute facial expressions and various gestures strung together. Now, however, things were different.

Progress halted once she reached the outside of the orphanage, meters from the entrance, standing on the edge of the pathway that led to the doors of the building. If it wasn't already glaringly obvious before, the reason she had been able to wander the streets so freely and easily was because she had little adult supervision beyond those faculty that helped to keep the other children in order, including herself. Of course, it was obviously less than effective, given where she stood just then in relation to the others. Even the best attempts at security could only go so far, and she was anything if living proof of that.

The woman from the alleyway was a new variable in all of that, and she would undoubtedly bring a change, and one for the better, if her gut feeling was any indication. Well, her gut feeling and what little control over her Force sensitivity she had. Typically it served beyond nothing more than a lucky hint here and there, but she couldn't complain too much. Being able to recognize this one as a possible friendly over taking her chances was certainly preferable to playing a guessing game, after all. And it was those same minute intuitions that gave indication of her being followed by the woman as well. What she wanted, only time would tell.

Reaching up with a hand, she tucked a strand of nearly colorless hair beyond her ear. I don't have all day.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

This felt a lot like stalking, as innocent as it may have been. Just leave her alone. Normally, she would have.

There was something about this one--a savvy that the Republic's leader adored. While she was at a bit of a natural disadvantage as far as blending into crowds went, the Echani girl had a knack about her for avoiding attracting attention. Her size helped a little, but the way she wove through the streets with such an easy--though deliberately so--gait reminded the raven-haired one of herself. The girl was independent, and she knew what she was doing. That was obvious in the way she had played it safe in the alley without causing a stir.

The white-haired teen had halted in front of a building that was not of an unfamiliar variety to Gen. She had never seen one for the majority of her youth, but a little stint with slave ring busters had educated her in the sad fate of far too many children around this galaxy. And while a very sad picture had been painted before Lasedri in that time, it had hardly affected her. These sorts of charities were nothing without the bigger, militant liberators fighting to keep them all from being dispatched to mines or places worse. Orphanages were not her priority.

It was apparent that she had been detected by the girl after a few moments of no movement. Geneviève stopped a good forty meters away and pulled her tank top taut, trying to seem as casual as she could. In reality, it would not work. She knew it.

But there had to be a reason the girl had not entered already. If she was concerned for her safety, it would just take a step inside that door. And yet she remained stationary. Reflexively, Gen swept a few strands of her own hair behind her ear, not realizing what she was doing until a second after. What?

She moved closer to the girl. "This where you live?"

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

The unintentional mimicking of her actions by the woman didn't know unnoticed, and Miria wasn't entirely certain what the proper response to such a thing was. In some way it sparked the beginning of a kind of solidarity between the two of them, a mutual understanding that although life wasn't what it could be for either of the two, they had both survived up to this point because of their own resilience and determination, and would continue to do so through the same factors. It was a sense of familiarity between two strangers that was unique in and of itself, and something she wasn't entirely sure of how to comprehend just yet. This bond was a foreign thing, but not entirely unwanted.

Calmly she took in the woman's silent and methodical assessment of the edifice she stood in front of, the micro-expressions that flickered across her face only hinting at the thoughts currently coursing through her mind. Her own analytical brain reviewed them in return, and so engrossed in this process was she that it took a beat longer than average for her to completely grasp the question that had been asked of her. A slow nod was her only response, a straightforward and affirmative gesture. There was more to explain, much, much more. It wasn't as simple as her being abandoned, and nor was it a common tragedy that had befallen her. But it would take more than hand gestures to convey the tale.

For a moment, a fleeting hope in her heart stirred that perhaps this would be the one person to finally adopt her and take her away from the orphanage for good, instead of leaving her to be content to sneak out every chance she got. But, just as quickly as it had appeared, that same optimism was snuffed out. Too many times she had had the same aspirations only to have them leave with those individuals as they departed from the orphanage. So she'd become used to surviving on her own, and had gained a sort of independence most her age didn't posess. Maybe that was what had caught this woman's attention.

Momentarily she considered perhaps attempting to verbally communicate with her, but if such a thing was going to happen it would indefinitely be at a later date, if the two ever became more familiar than just passing in the crowd. There was a connection there, certainly. But a momentary thing was all it was.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

The hesitant bob of the head was all she needed as confirmation. But whatever action was to be taken was beyond Lasedri's knowledge. It was strange to consider that she had encountered a situation in which she knew not how to proceed. She had fought wars in the most serious sense and taken rise to the highest seat of power in all the galaxy without a day serving in any political office. And yet she was now unsure of what to do because of some random orphan girl.

Another step forward; she was nearing the Echani's side slowly but surely. This girl was smart, and Gen made sure to cover all her bases before getting within arm's reach. She inverted her pockets and lifted her top enough to reveal her abdomen and waist. No weapons on her today except for a lone blade, which she dropped on the ground. It felt awkwardly like the time she had been forced to surrender before being ransomed.

"I'm Gen." Normally she did not like to share her name like this--not with strange kids, especially. She rarely even passed a glance at any kids. But maybe it was alright for once. Maybe it was just normal.

The Prime Minister offered her hand for the orphan to shake.

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

Momentarily she was puzzled as to just what the woman was doing, revealing the null contents of her pockets and then raising her shirt for a split second before producing a blade that was then promptly deposited on the ground. Then it dawned on her that, in a gesture meant only to put her at ease, she was presenting herself as unarmed so as not to give Miria any thoughts of immediate harm coming her way. It was an entirely unexpected gesture, and one she immediately seized within her mental grasp to ponder. It spoke of a care that went deeper than curiosity, which again gave her pause. The logical part of her brain, which was unquestionably dominant, wanted a rational answer. But that same facet of her knew there wasn't one.

That name was vaguely familiar for reasons unknown. Being one immersed in politics herself, she reasoned that it was in that galactic scene she'd heard of the woman. The Republic. That was it. Only then did she fully fathom that the prime minister of the Republic was standing in front of her. This was one she'd only heard of on the Holonet, and a public figure she'd had an interest in meeting since her rise to power. Now that she'd been given the chance, she wasn't sure exactly what to do. Maybe talking wasn't entirely out of the question today. This was someone to make an exception for, after all. For the moment she settled with reaching out to shake the woman's hand, her pale skin a stark contrast, almost as if symbolizing the divide that separated them.

Her lips pressed together firmly, as if in denial of their ability to put forth words, but the moment was there. At this point nothing more could be lost, only gained. But the only way to gain anything was through verbalizing her thoughts. "I'm Miria." If those in charge of the orphanage had heard her speak, there would have been quite the shock. After all, they had only learned of her name through the written word, and that could only convey so much emotion before it was eventually meaningless. But it was the only real outlet she had, writing her thoughts down. And speaking of that...

Without another word, which was unlikely in the first place, she turned and, indicating for the woman to follow, entered the orphanage. Assuming Gen did as she was bid, the two would turn a corner and enter through another door into a hall with about four beds on either side, storage trunks at the foot and nightstands with various items atop them to one side. It was one of a few rooming areas about the building, and the one she called home. With deliberate steps she moved to the third bed on the left side, sitting down on the edge and simply waiting.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

So she talks. That was not something Gen entirely expected. Sure, she had played the quiet one in her past, but this one seemed completely honed in silence. But a hint of recognition washed over the younger one's face, and Gen knew she probably knew. When the words came out, they felt like snowflakes to the Prime Minister's ears--gentle and passing as they melted in the warm air. Miria. It was a splendid sign of trust that she would allow the woman such knowledge. Gen could tell it was not everyday that one was privileged to hear the girl's voice.

Everything about the girl seemed soft, from the liquid silver eyes to the silky skin to the shimmering white bangs; the handshake and the name. And yet Lasedri sensed a blunt defiance in the teen's spirit. It was incredibly unique. And Gen liked independence and unorthodoxy.

Still, why did she care? She had never had any sort of attachment to the people of Eshan--or almost anyone at all.

The girl reminded her of herself. That was why. She's you, Gen. Whether she should consider that a curse or not was up for debate. Life had been good and bad for her, just as it had been for an octillion of others; for Miria. Though Gen had been considerately blessed for most of her time around the galaxy. The fact that she was still standing, straight and tall and filled to the brink with every kind of arrogance swirling inside, was a testament to her fortune.

But she was alone. There were those who abided her grit and insolence, and then there were those who hated her. What was a little time spent with a girl who had so far not judged her? And so the leader of the Galactic Republic kicked her knife into the grass and followed this strange girl named Miria into the cramped quarters of this home for displaced boys and girls.

"Could use a little work here," she commented as she approached the Echani's bedside, arms folded underneath her chest as she looked about the weathered hall. "We'll have to fix that."

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

'A little work' was the best way to phrase the fact that Miria wanted to spend as little time as necessary in the building, let alone in this hall with the number of other children that called it home. It wasn't a bad place to live, and everyone was plenty nice enough, but there was a nagging feeling of not quite belonging that stubbornly refused to budge. Once upon a time every individual that called this place home had had a life of their own, a place to return to at the end of the day, and loved ones that supported and cared about them for all that they were. But in some strange twist of fate that had been taken from them, and now they were here, young, ousted from whatever peaceful life they had before, and deposited here. It was well-kept, and it wasn't lacking in much of anything. But it wasn't right.

Her idea of fixing it was leaving when she was of age, or otherwise being taken in by this or that family, and never having to worry about any of this again. The reality of it was that everyone in this small Chandrilan town already had their own kin, and no desire for expanding their home any more. It wasn't out of unkindness or dispassion this was so, but rather the simple circumstances of living in a small metropolis opposed to the sprawling cities that covered planets such as the glittering, sky-reaching spires and towering skyscrapers that covered Coruscant. And so this had become life for her and countless others. But her time here hadn't been wasted, and she had done her best to make it all worthwhile. One of those methods was writing, whether her idle thoughts or more serious subjects, political or otherwise.

Standing, she moved to the foot of her bed, fiddling with the straps that held the chest there closed, the top finally sliding smoothly up. Intent on what she was searching for, she set the clothes within to the side, revealing a flimsi book bound in worn, mahogany leather at the bottom, which she removed and placed on the floor, replacing everything in its proper place and once more sealing the trunk. Taking that same book in hand she sat down at the edge of her bed once more, opening the tome and slowly flipping through the pages, only scanning those words penned there in a small, flowing script. After a moment of this she settled on a particular section, only then looking to Gen. Silently she motioned for the woman to sit next to her, passing the journal across if she so chose to do so, a clear indication for her to read what was written: a simple explanation of all that had happened to lead her here.

It wasn't as perfect as the story coming from her own mouth, but it was far more accurate. The more sensitive subjects held within would have to wait until a later date, if they were read by the woman at all. Right then she was trusting her with a part of her life that not many had the chance to glimpse. The journal was a private thing, something she only brought out when she was certain no one else would bear witness. Or, in this case, with an individual she felt a strange connection to. It was entirely up to Gen whether or not she would continue to read before or after the pages prescribed to her, and Miria wouldn't do anything to stop her. Freedom of choice, that was the thing.

Maybe nothing would come of this chance meeting, maybe everything would. Either way, they would both part ways with something to think about.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

Geneviève watched the little ritual with a distant manner, unsure if she was being outright ignored or if Miria was fetching something to show her. The dark-haired woman had never been much of a social creature, so it was difficult to tell what she was supposed to be doing right now. Why was she even here? Was this girl really that interesting?

Interesting--perhaps not in a wondrous, fantastical sense. But, yes, the girl was interesting to Lasedri in the way she actually cared to stand around for more than five seconds when feeling unacknowledged. She actually felt a hint of anticipation as the Echani youth picked up the box of whatever precious possessions she had and procured a diary. Not that there was anything special about one girl having a diary (Gen kept one, herself.), but one did not usually bring such a private book out in front of strangers. And so she assumed she was still welcome to be here.

The nervous tension--yes, the Prime Minister was nervous--was put to ease when Miria laid the book out and motioned for her guest to sit down to read it. Allowing an unannounced visitor to simply sit down and read her most personal writings? Despite all the functions and briefings and receptions and applause and unique privileges allotted to her throughout her life, the opportunity to read the diary was an honor Geneviève had never had before. What did I do?

She did not decline. Lasedri slowly took her place on the bedside, next to Miria, and gently accepted the delicate book. The teen wanted Gen to read these pages, apparently, and that was what she would do. She absorbed each word from the specified pages, quickly grasping what had been documented by the pale hands belonging to the girl now beside her, but not entirely becoming moved by what had happened. She had never gone through what Miria had experienced. In fact, nearly everything bad that had occurred in Gen's life had been brought upon her by her own doing.

Gen stopped as she reached the end of the segment describing the crazy events, mind briefly pondering over how she had, of course, not been on her homeworld when everything had happened. In fact, it had been quite some time since she had set foot on the planet of her birth, and perhaps that was for the best. But she did know that Miria had been here, and in the hour she had known the girl, she had found a connection to something that she had not had before.

She rubbed one of her bare arms and momentarily adjusted the straps to her top with unsure finality, still clutching the journal in her idle hand. What now? "How can I help you? What would you like?" she asked in hushed tone, hoping the sincerity of her words was accounted. But she was not sure what would be required of her. She hardly knew what she was thinking now.

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

The uncertainty and hesitation of the other didn't go unnoticed, but Miria treated it as if it had, knowing that her straightforwardness had likely caught Gen off guard, as it did most. Being conceded to silence meant that her form of communication, whether written or through other means, was required to be straight to the point. It wouldn't serve its purpose directly otherwise. Even if it was off putting to some, there was simply no other way to go about it. And here was one of the first people to stick around long enough to, for lack of better phrasing, hear her out on all that she had to say. Or rather, not say.

Silently she waited, patiently, carefully observing her reactions to it all. In truth she wasn't sure what her intent was, showing a near complete stranger what she hadn't revealed to those at the orphanage that had known her for months at this point. There was no real purpose to it all, and there wasn't much of anything that connected them, beyond a chance meeting on the street that led them here. But still, something about Gen kept her attention, even if it was rather indirectly. It hinted at there being more to this woman than met the eye, beyond her affiliation with and position within the Galactic Republic, though that certainly interested her as well.

Before bothering with even attempting to explain the thoughts currently processing behind her silver eyes, she gently took the book from Gen's grasp, closing it and setting it to the side, though not stowing it away just yet. And then she began to, well, not speak, but articulate her thoughts in the galactically used sign language. There was no certainty that she would be understood in the least, but if the chance was there she would take it. Something told her the woman would at least have a basic grasp of the words she was doing her best to convey. It wasn't the most efficient method of communication, but it was all she had. And so, without speaking, she signed, 'It's up to you. I brought you here to show you this,' Here she gestured towards the journal, 'And hear your thoughts. What I would like...what I would like is a home. How you can help is up to you.' There. The offer was made, however indirectly.

There was a momentary pause, and she continued, 'I don't want you to do anything because you pity me. I'm not searching for sympathy. It's nice to have someone pay attention, but if you're doing it just to make yourself feel better, then don't waste my time or yours.' That might have been a little more blunt than she intended, but it was nothing more than the truth.

Once more she tucked a strand of silvery-white hair behind her ear, something of a nervous tic. While her thoughts may have been unreadable on her face, they were certainly more than visible in her actions. She was anxiously awaiting Gen's reply, whether she would admit it outright or not. It wasn't often she had guests as personal as this, who deemed to stay and genuinely listened to everything put in front of them, who weren't immediately driven away by the fact that she deemed not to speak around most. Silence was the highest form of communication, if one listened hard enough.

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

Varied lifestyles had brought Gen various knowledge, and there are those things that come and go as habits in the meantime. Had it really been nine years ago that she had signed into mercenary work? She nearly chuckled, briefly considering what the people of the Republic might think of her should that fact ever come to light. How she had been elected was enough of a shock, both to her and anyone who had actually had a political stake in the race. She was absolutely certain that her victory would not have had a chance should much of her past have been revealed at the time.

But now she was Prime Minister. And now she was sitting on a bed in some small-town orphanage, skin clammy from a combination of sweat and nervousness because of some teenager right next to her. Maybe this was why she preferred to stay impersonal the majority of the time. Sympathy felt so foreign. But that was the only emotion she could pin this down as, and it felt like her heart was sinking as old switches were triggered in her brain, recalling the sign language she had partly learned when dealing with trouble on the streets. She wanted me to see the book.

Lasedri continued nodding, trying to keep up as her mind kicked up to another level of processing, remembering, remembering... Hear you... Want a home...

Me? It was not quite plain to understand. Was the girl deaf, that she only knew select words to vocalize? She had spoken her name earlier, but otherwise she had not uttered a sound. But Gen continued to watch the hand signals closely, translating as well as she could from the buried banks of her memories. Pay attention... Feel better... Don't waste your time.

Waste her time? If there was anything Geneviève Lasedri could use, it was some time wasted. She had done anything; everything she must to accomplish those grand and impossible goals at the expense of herself. She was the most powerful woman in the entire galaxy, and yet she trembled each day from the weight of all she had handled and taken upon herself. It was her fault, most definitely. She had taken... and taken... and taken what she needed to do what she willed and what she felt was right by everyone else. Her job was to make everything perfect. Now look at her.

Gen looked down at her hands and noticed they were not shaking. Tell me no lies. What did she need? Miria just wanted a home. "Do you know who I am?"

[member="Miria Elysar"]

 

[Miria Lasedri]

Maybe it would be easier, in the long run, if Miria just came out and verbalized everything she wanted to say. It would be the first time she had done so consistently in what had been months, but perhaps this time, it was worth it. There were only a select few in this galaxy that she would ever bother speaking aloud to, and the only two she had previously known had been her parents. But with the arrival of the newest stranger in her life, it seemed that had changed. It wasn't often she spoke, if she did at all. And it was an occasion for celebration, or so seemed to be the case around the orphanage, whenever she did. That unwanted attention was one very small part of the reason why she chose to remain stubbornly silent.

It was a strange question to ask, at this point in time. If she hadn't been aware of who she was speaking to, then she simply wouldn't have continued the conversation. Once the pieces clicked together, it became impossible for her not to recognize the woman that had recently been elected Prime Minister of the Republic, a title only an esteemed few could claim as rightfully theirs. Still, she could see where that would factor into this rather complex equation. When immersed so deeply in politics, one had to be careful of what the public eye saw when it came to their personal life. Even something as trivial as this simple meeting could have a drastic effect on Gen's political career.That was something she understood, even in her young age.

But this woman didn't know that. She wasn't of yet entirely aware of how intrigued with the entire political agenda Miria had been once in her life, before everything that had transpired to eventually leave her here, sitting on her bed next to a woman she barely knew discussing what could possibly be the next great leap in her life, both of them all but paralyzed in what the next wisest decision would be for the both of them, given their recent situation and agenda. Now she was less concerned with the government and more so with her own survival, however and whenever that might come about, and by whose hand. And perhaps she had found the next link in that seemingly endless chain dubbed life.

Slowly she began to continue signing, breaking off before a single word could be formed and hesitating for another few moments, once again silently debating with herself over the next course of action. Taking a breath, she took an entirely different, and rather unexpected approach. She began to speak. "You're the Prime Minister of the Galactic Republic. There are, perhaps, other things, more personal things, to know about you, but those aren't my concern, nor am I privy to them. You're an important and influential being, that much is certain. But it doesn't change who you are as a person, and it can't influence your moral compass and personality, as long as you don't allow it to. Your standing has no basis here. Right now you're just you." That was more than she could remember speaking in one sitting in months. And for a moment it seemed as if all of her words had dissipated with those simple few sentences, so carefully eloquent.

In summation of that brief declaration, she once more began to sign, 'I'm capable of speaking. I just choose not to unless I believe it's deserved.'

[member="Geneviève Lasedri"]

 

[Geneviève Lasedri]

She absolutely knew who Gen was. Whether there was any reason to be impressed or not was nothing of concern at the moment, nor was it really contributing to the Minister's ego. No, it was not even political worries that the Republic's leader was mulling about. It was the motives of Miria and why she might choose to open up so swiftly in comparison to her obvious vocal reticence with everyone else that were of concern to Gen.

Perhaps the Echani felt like there was less of a risk to speaking with someone of such social and political stature. She may have assumed that Geneviève would forget her the moment she walked out the door if she held no interest in the orphan. And, indeed, Gen would have dropped all importance of this conversation to the depths of her mind, simply because there was no rational reason to ever bring up this girl's secrets to anyone--especially on the public stage.

Perhaps the Echani was hoping to take a once-in-a-lifetime shot at becoming someone famous in the blink of an eye. To most children who were even the least bit politically aware, becoming associated with a senator--or the Prime Minister, in this case--would be a ticket to that fame that the naive think they desire. That was what concerned Gen the most.

But what was said hardly reflected either possibility, and there was an almost-forbidden genuineness behind what the girl said. She had elected to speak, after all! That was apparently a rare delight one might have the opportunity to take in--that soft voice that contained all the timidity and resolve in itself. It liquified Gen's core.

And it was frustrating. This spark in attachment was unnerving. Intertwining lives were an anomaly for Lasedri, and when such events occurred in her past, they had only held her back. She had left her family for this reason. She never had a real family, anyway. Miria would not like that. Gen was going to be just like her father--always busy with the public and formalities. It was an awful breeding grounds for a teenage girl. It would serve her best to wait for some dirt-poor family to pick her up. Someday.

She's you, Gen.

Shut up. "I think you're better served somewhere else." It was honest. She was always blunt about things--just like Miria had shown herself to be. She was letting her off easy, though--herself. "You don't want it, anyway. You won't." Her moral compass had been compromised too much already, had it not?

What would she do with a girl, anyway? But this one was different. She was Gen. I want you.

[member="Miria Elysar"]