Dreams of Dalliance

[Têhra]

Ribbons of gold and fuchsia danced across the sky, painting the heavens with bold strokes of shimmering colour and light that bled into the lumbering clouds that migrated across the horizon. It was an ever present performance, the eternal day of Hapes forever offering inspiration to the countless poets, artists and dreamers that walked the vast, pristine planet. Speckled just above the sleek spires and obelisks of Ta'a Chume'Dan were leagues of grav-cars and cruisers, the whirring hums filling the air with a constant murmur that echoed out into the furthest reaches of the capital city. It was tranquillity personified, a harmonic scene that would naturally grant the beauty obsessed inhabitants of the planet some momentary pleasure if they were to offer the skyline a fleeting glance. Alas, such a thing would seldom happen, not when Ta'a Chume'Dan was the current location for a military summit involving the Galactic Republic and all of her allies. Any attention given to the scenery outside would've been wasted moments, precious time that could've been used fortifying security, spreading a new fragment of gossip or keeping oneself well away from the foreigners that flooded the hub of the city.

Anyone not required for the transportation, accommodation or foreign affairs of the visiting dignitaries and strategists were encouraged to go about their day ignoring whatever nonsense was occurring within central council in the northern quartile of the city. It was a necessary step in further integrating the Hapans navy into the wider galactic playground, ensuring that Hapes and the wider transitory mists would be kept safe from any potential danger. Such an arrangement required delicate diplomacy, of which the shrewd women of Hapes were particularly adept at. Nestled within Lorrell Hall, it's large arced windows bathing the room in soft golden light, was the ensemble of strategists, the murmur of their conversation whispering into the open air just outside the sleek structure.

Anyone who mattered was present, with the exception of the Queen Mother who preferred to leave such monotonous gatherings to her advisors. Representatives of the great houses sat atop shimmering obsidian seats, all clothed in equally eye catching garments and colours that signified their rank and wealth; the Duch'a of house Gah'lea was adorned with the finest crimson silks, so thin was the material that a mere tear would leave her as naked as the day she was born, beside her sat the young Pelin'a of House Sohrahn, confident in her posture, the red haired beauty rarely spoke during the meeting and much preferred the company of her own reflection in a handheld mirror. Lastly, seated nearest to the one of the Galactic representatives was the elegant Duch'a of house Syle'a, Zihanna, her raven hair a silky waterfall that trickled down the length of her bare back and above the jewelled neckline of a sapphire gown. She was fiercely attractive woman, with hawkish eyes that pierced through any unfortunate soul caught under her hypnotic emerald gaze. The woman's attention however was fleeting, constantly flickering between the war table in front of her and a particularly dainty girl that stood in the shadow of her seat, Têhra, the bastard of the woman's disgraced younger brother.

With eyes squarely focusing on her pale feet, the teenager stood still and silent, the muscles in her lean calves burning from the extended period without movement. Toes wiggled restlessly and teeth gnawed on an already scarred lip, the fleeting glimpses of life manifesting in an almost childish nervousness that was swiftly frowned upon by Zihanna Syle'a. Having been summoned to the hall as her illustrious aunt's maidservant, the girl was easily the most notable outcast in the room. Even without the fancy garb of everyone present Têhra still stood out like a sore thumb, a fact she was grudgingly well aware of, any hint of attention being thrown her way forcing her to recoil further into the shadow of her aunt's chair. Clothed in nothing but a beige tunic with a simple white sash around her petite waist, the girl was every bit the sorry little bastard her family so devotedly made her out to be. Golden cuffs embraced her skinny wrists and ankles, 'pretty' accessories that were cruel reminders of her position in the grand hierarchy of Hapes. She was a glorified slave, not by title of course but the markings on her back and the metal that adorned her wrists was enough to tell any curious onlooker that she was more possession than person, a pretty toy for the Duch'a of House Syle'a.

She'd been torn from a lengthy dance session when the meeting was announced, her aunt's guards escorting her out of her apartment and on to the violet cruiser of the Syle'a house without any thought of granting the girl time to change or clean herself. Her feet were still bare, powdered with chalk that stained the length of her shin and calves, a sight that particularly aggravated her aunt upon the girl's arrival. Although part of Têhra believed this all to be another chance at humiliation, to be so unkempt in front of such dignified guests, the dirty little bastard as it was. The people of Hapes hated blemishes and denying Têhra any chance to rid herself of such imperfections was just another overt insult on her person.

"Têhra, don't chew your lip. I'll gag you if you continue that disgusting habit." Zihanna snarled under her teeth, barely loud enough for even her niece to hear. The tone, however, was familiar enough to force the girl into freezing in place and offering the woman a careful little nod, a submissive gesture that left the Duch'a smirking to herself. Têhra knew she'd catch herself chewing on her lip sooner or later, hopefully in the privacy of her own apartment though. The mere thought of being gagged wasn't a foreign one, a memory she'd much prefer to leave in history than relive once more.

"Also, stop standing there and go grab the tea, our guests are thirsty." The woman ordered quietly, shooing Têhra away in the direction of kitchen hidden behind a crystalline panel not far from the war table.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

​

​

"Têhra, don't chew your lip. I'll gag you if you continue that disgusting habit." Ali's ears pricked and her eyes snapped toward the hawk-eyed woman who'd threatened the young girl standing silently behind her seat. Zihanna Syle'a sent the girl away to collect tea, which Ali didn't particularly care for. The Mandalorian woman watched Têhra leave the room through a crystalline panel opposite where she herself sat. The girl disappeared into the kitchen beyond, and Ali let her gaze return to the Syle'a woman.
"If you threaten her again in my presence, I will do to you whatever punishment you've promise her." Ali said suddenly, her voice made of steel. Her hands were pressed against the table as fists, and a dangerous look was in her eyes. The room fell utterly silent, and Ali's mind rewound to the beginning of the meeting hours ago.

Ali Hadrix was an Intelligence Officer with Galactic Republic Intelligence: Military division, known to operatives throughout Republic space as GRIM. She was on Hapes to meet with members of the intelligence community from all over the Galaxy, allies of the Republic were present in largest strength. The Hapans had offered to host the summit, likely to show off how little the recent catastrophe seemed to have affected them; while other worlds suffered, Hapes remained strong. It was a type of show-boating Ali didn't particularly care for, yet here she was. As she'd entered the room, she'd met individually with the Hapan representatives, proffered her thanks and taken her seat. Zihanna Syle'a had been one of the least impressive women she'd ever met, though the woman was admittedly attractive.
Their hostess took her seat, and the summit began, though the introductions had faded into the background noise within Ali's mind as a young woman, small of build and intensely beautiful, had entered the room in silence. Ali noticed her immediately, despite her attempts to remain as unobtrusive as possible. The Mandalorian woman was a true intelligence operative, the outstanding was interesting, a fact these Hapans had seemed to overlook. By forcing Têhra into whatever socio-political niche they had, they'd made her infinitely more interesting than any of them. Têhra's plain dress and bare feet caught Ali's eye immediately. Any intelligence operative worth their salt knew when something was out of place, and Ali was amongst the best of her kind. Têhra was special, and Ali wanted to know why these Hapans treated her more especially than they treated any of themselves, even if their stance toward was filled with frustration, disgust, and even outright hatred.
Admittedly, Ali knew it was likely a cultural thing. Yet what it was didn't matter to her, and throughout the course of the meeting, Ali could only consider what it should be. As the summit dragged on, Ali got the impression more and more that this young girl was a sort of captive or indentured servant. To say slave might be going too far, though if the girl was as miserable as her scarred lips made her look, Ali felt she was splitting hairs at the thought. She might as well be a slave. Ali realised, and she felt suddenly frustrated. These Hapans had been pompous and arrogant the entire summit; everything from their presentation to their manner of dress and their choice of words said it. As far as Ali could tell, not a single one of them was a true intelligence operative of any kind. They're just a bunch of gossips. Ali realised, and the intensity of her feelings grew. She disliked these people, truly.

"I do not understand why the Galactic Republic would need to be privy to the efforts of Hapan Intelligence in the Outer Rim. I do not see it as being any of their business." One of the Hapan representatives was saying as Ali's mind returned to the moment. Before anyone else could speak, Ali placed both hands on the table and stood, looking around and meeting the eye of anyone who would meet hers. She was garbed in black heels, with black, high-waisted slacks and a black sleeveless blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra, she never did, and didn't need them to begin with. The top left her shoulders and arms exposed, and her pert breasts were all but visible against the loose fabric of the blouse. Her long brown hair was curled and hung over both of her pale shoulders.
"It's important because we're the cheese maker and you're the sneaky rat." Ali bit out suddenly. The room remained silent for a moment, and Ali knew she had control. "The Galactic Republic is a major power, and considering you rely so heavily on the import of certain military technologies, it is simply our business to know what you're doing with them." Ali looked around the room and waited for someone to protest. No one did. Good.
"That point will not be debatable. If the Hapan intelligence community refuses to share the details of their efforts in the Outer Rim, then they will simply lose all access to it." Ali continued. At this point the original speaker stood and scoffed at her. "That is an unacceptable threat! The Galactic Republic hasn't the right to close us--"
"We could cut off all access outside the Transistory Mists if you'd prefer!" Ali snapped. The man fell silent and Ali returned him to his seat with a stare. She looked over at Zihanna Syle'a, who had offered little up unto this point. The woman remained quiet, but clearly attentive. Ali took that as a good sign, for the moment.
"Simply put," Ali continued, clasping both hands together before her stomach, "We cannot trust you. And until we can, we will monitor you. You are not the only delegates who suffer our gaze, the Duros Intelligence Agency does as well, and they do so without complaint." Ali nodded toward the Durosian representative, offering her silent thanks. The green-skinned male nodded politely in response.
"Now, if there are no more complaints in that department, I would like to move on." No one spoke. Ali cleared her throat and pressed a series of keys on her datatablet, drawing an image up to the holographic projector in the center of the war table that outlined the Galactic Map in a variety of differently colored clouds. "Now, these sections represent the density of intelligence gathering operations amongst the various agencies part of the Intelligence Coalition. As you can probably guess, we would like to expand on many areas in the Rim, though the Core has also become a recent concern because of--" And that is when Ali heard it.

"Têhra, don't chew your lip. I'll gag you if you continue that disgusting habit." Ali's ears pricked and her eyes snapped toward the hawk-eyed woman who'd threatened the young girl standing silently behind her seat. Zihanna Syle'a sent the girl away to collect tea, which Ali didn't particularly care for. The Mandalorian woman watched Têhra leave the room through a crystalline panel opposite where she herself sat. The girl disappeared into the kitchen beyond, and Ali let her gaze return to the Syle'a woman.
"If you threaten her again in my presence, I will do to you whatever punishment you've promise her." Ali said suddenly, her voice made of steel. Her hands were pressed against the table as fists, and a dangerous look was in her eyes. The room fell utterly silent. Ali was in her element, commanding a room was one of her skills. People, especially men, could be easy to manipulate if you hit the right buttons. She knew relations between her and the Syle'a woman were not likely to ever improve beyond where they'd been at the start of the meeting, so Ali knew she had nothing to lose. Hapans were infected with cultural arrogance, and looked down on foreigners with a critical eye. Ali wondered if Têhra was an off-worlder of some kind who'd been roped into service.
Her threat didn't feel as if it weighed so heavily to Ali herself, though she was entirely unaware of Têhra's relation to the Syle'a family. To Ali herself she was speaking of a simple threat that had only recently made itself known; but to the Hapans in the room, Ali was speaking of the entire history of threats anyone of the Syle'a name may have given Têhra in her many years of service to them. Ali may have well just threatened to kill their entire family line, though she had no way of knowing it at the moment.

[member="Têhra"]

 

[Têhra]

Retreating past several appropriately dressed servants near the Durosian representative, the girl kept her gaze transfixed on her chalk stained feet, knowing full well that any possible chance at garnering attention from those gathered was the last thing she wanted. These were men and women with power, people who could easily wipe away half a continent if they were so inclined and the longer Têhra lingered in summit the more little she felt. It was now that the porcelain skinned teenager truly felt like a mouse, a creature she was commonly compared with and her tussled, chalked up appearance only made her feel all the more undignified. It was a conscious decision made by her aunt, that much the girl knew, there was no other reason to risk the pride of House Syle'a than to publicly embarrass the Consortium's favourite little bastard. Maybe it was a show of power, of how easily the famed family could warp an individual or even something more sinister.

Zihanna always threatened to sell Têhra off for the night to some dignitary, keep the foreigners warm and wet while the rest of the family slept soundly knowing their bastard was doing her duty serving her planet and Galaxy as a whole...although such a thing was yet to happen the lithe dancer always felt the nagging threat hammer into the back of her skull, forever reminding her how fragile her place in Hapes was. Perhaps tonight would be the night her chastity broke under the heavy yoke of diplomacy and political bargaining, a military alliance for a night with the daughter of a 'prince'...who would dare refuse?

The soft pitter patter of her dainty feet whispered across the polished pavement, creating a faint silhouette that mirrored the lithe movements of her petite figure. Although her gaze was trained on the floor, her ears pricked up at the sound of a woman's voice, anger and frustration igniting the cool atmosphere and sending a shrill alarm into the very core of her being. It was a direct response to what the teenager was certain had been a private threat, words whispered beneath bitter breath and clenched teeth. How anyone could've heard such a thing over the conversation at the war table was impressive in itself, let alone publicly decry it. Having been present for most of the meeting granted the teenager some semblance of who owned what voice and the very fact that such an affront was aimed at Zihanna left the girl biting her tongue and hurrying off into the kitchen. No one was allowed to speak to the Duch'a of House Syle'a like that, no one who wanted to live anyway and the very fact such a provocation was the result of her bad habit left the girl with weak knees and tense fists.

She didn't want anyone noticing her, let alone defend her, and whilst such a thing plagued her sweetest dreams Têhra knew such insolence would only get herself and any kind of friend in trouble from her extended family.

Having only caught glimpses of her personal defender during her time embraced in the shadow of her aunt's seat, Têhra naturally found herself wracking her mind for some possible explanation as to why a complete stranger would go out of their way to lambast a Duch'a of Hapes and disrupt the meeting. Surely the welfare of a bastard was minuscule compared to the wellbeing of galactic politics, let alone to foreigners who knew little about her place in society. Humans possessed a knack for causing drama, or so her cousins told her, and there was no doubt in the dancer's mind that this verbal scuffle would pierce much deeper than a simple war summit. Would Zihanna play fair from now on? Would she punish Têhra for being the catalyst for such an outburst?

Shaking her mind of such worries, the girl slipped into the kitchen with jaw clenched and eyes trained on the polished tea set that lay waiting for her. Such a thing probably cost more than her own life here in Hapes, a sad fact that left a bitter taste in the back of her mouth. Pursing her lips, the dainty dancer propped the silver tray on to a stationary hover-cart before slowly and tentatively making her way back into the war room. Almost immediately did her shimmering eyes flicker up to where her aunt was seated, the tense look of annoyance painted on the flawless visage, one that was well suited to a look of disgust as it was immaculate beauty. Zihanna looked perturbed, her piercing eyes staring daggers at the pretty human who dared to call her out in such a public forum. What if Zihanna ordered her to poison her reckless saviour's tea? The thought alone was enough to send a shiver down the length of Têhra's spine, goosebumps blossoming over her porcelain skin. The tension was palpable, whether that was due to the political dealings of the meeting or because of the human's most recent outburst didn't matter, the teenager simply didn't want to be there either way.

The steaming water dispenser softly buzzed as each cup was poured, the fragrant scent of exotic tea filling the air till the entire summit room was bathed in a floral, fruity scent. How utterly inappropriate for such a tense setting, someone out there somewhere would've laughed at such irony but not Têhra, she knew better than to exhibit such insolence in the presence of her superiors. Carefully, with the cart gliding just ahead of her, the teenager quietly offered the seated generals, dignitaries and representatives tea. Some accepted, many did not. Fleeting looks were thrown her way, from the curious to the lustful, the cuffed bastard found herself under the scrutiny of the very people she hoped to actively avoid. What they must've thought of her, a street urchin perhaps? A little charity case that the ever gracious Syle'a household so kindly offered, such a thing would have surely looked progressive to an eclectic assortment of species, proof that the people of Hapes were reasonable and forward thinking.

If only such a thing were true.

Hiding her face behind her hair, Têhra gingerly stepped around her aunt, ensuring she kept her eyes trained on the cart and her teeth firmly kept within her mouth. Zihanna was quick to grab steaming cup of halla-root tea, the indigo liquid swirling like a mini tempest in its polished confines. It was the woman's favourite drink, something that the teenager desperately hoped would cheer the Duch'a up.

"Offer Miss Hadrix something, I'm sure she's a little thirsty from after her little outburst." Zihanna purred sardonically, slender fingers coiling around the teenager's silken hair before tightening around the roots and slowly yanking downwards. The sensation sent a shiver down the girl's spine, a barely audible whimper escaping her throat. Tugging her niece closer, the woman's mouth brushed against the shell of Têhra's ear, a venomous smile curling across Zihanna's lips. "Also, I'll be having a little talk with you once this is all over." She snarled, so quiet that not even the human could hear, before planting a kiss on the girl's cheek and firmly pushing Têhra forward in the direction of Ali Hadrix. Not daring to refuse a direct order, the young bastard tentatively tip toed over to the seated woman, thick lashes blinking away a speck of dirt caught in the shimmering pools of her big blue eyes. For a moment she stood frozen, dainty hands tracing the lip of the dispenser as she summoned the courage to grant herself a proper look at the woman who defended her.

Full lips, lively eyes, brown locks, porcelain skin...the woman was as beautiful as she was terrifying, which only made sense considering the present company within the room. Why would someone so beautiful waste their time defending a mouse like her? Swallowing, Têhra quickly averted her gaze once she was certain the woman was more than conscious of her presence.

"Tea...madame?" The girl whispered, plush lips barely parting as she forced the sound from her girlish mouth.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali hid her shock at the Duch'a's response; the woman was cold and sharp-witted, that was for true. Ali's face remained stone set, the disgust in her eyes dancing brightly as Zihanna spoke. What Ali could not hide, however, was the sharp twitch of her lip as the Duch'a immersed her fingers in Têhra's hair and yanked the girl downward by the head. Ali felt her nostrils flared, and she found her left hand drifting toward her sidearm. Remembering who and where she was, however, Ali forced the anger down, though it boiled in the back of her throat in the form of bile. Swallowing, Ali stood straight, her eyes shifting to watch Têhra make her way around the war table on the tips of her toes, causing the previous sweet pattering of her feet to fade into nothingness. Ali nearly forgot her anger as she watched Têhra's lithe figure bounce gently her way, the hover-cart of tea afore her. The young woman's locks bobbed almost merrily, her breasts rising and lifting pleasantly. Ali glanced down at her calves as the girl came around the edge of the table; they flexed strongly as she propelled herself forward. It was only now that Ali noticed the chalk powdering her feet and ankles, and she gazed at them until the girl stopped at her side.
Ali response to Têhra's inquiry with only silence, looking over every inch of the young woman as she now stood before her. The girl's soft lips were quivering, the tendons in her neck strained. She kept her joints tight, her limbs almost rigid. Ali realised the young woman lived in a perpetual state of overbearing stress. Ali reached out and caught the rounded front of Têhra's chin along the edge of her forefinger. She brought the girl's head up, till their eyes met. Têhra's eyes were the deepest pools of sadness and despair. Beautiful as they were, Ali's lip curled in disgust, not at the girl herself of course, but at the depth of her struggles, which were laid so bare to Ali now. Her thumb lightly caressed Têhra's bottom lip, tracing every vague scar between the corners of her mouth. Her lips were plush, reddened, and Ali suddenly felt lightheaded. The scars they bore did not mar the girl's beauty in the slightest, but further deepened Ali's empathy for her. These people could not truly have been her family, Ali knew. Whomever they were they were little more than masters, owners, Ali thought, utterly disgusted. Her own eyes shimmered slightly, though Ali refused to let them wet themselves. She was clearly feeling more for this girl than she had felt for anyone in recent history. Ali suddenly felt the need to distract herself from Têhra's haunting, youthful beauty.

"You're a dancer," Ali stated matter-of-factly. She released Têhra's mouth from her touch and took the girl's wrists into her hands, wrapping them around the bracelets she wore. Ali glanced over to Zihanna, only now beginning to understand what she had done. Ali began to fear for the younger woman, though little could be said of it for the moment. Ali let Têhra's hands fall from her light grip, and she returned to her seat, her eyes locked with those of the Duch'a from across the war table. Ali crossed one leg over the other knee and leaned back in her chair, then reached for her datatablet and tapped away at the screen while waving to the girl. "To answer your question, yes, I would like some tea, please. No sugar, but some cream." Ali glanced up at the girl, her finger absent-mindedly tapping at the edge of the datatablet's screen. Were Têhra to glance down at the device, she would see the message Ali had quickly scrawled containing her commlink frequency:

8290.5283.32.7​

​

Ali picked up the device after a moment and continued manipulating the map she had currently displayed, then looked back up at Têhra. "Well, girl, hurry up. The Duch'a is right, that outburst nearly cost me my voice. I feel a fool for having wasted words on someone so unworthy of them." Ali kept her eyes on Têhra as she spoke, intent on ignoring the Duch'a for the time being. Unable to resist, Ali shifted her gaze back to Zihanna Syle'a, "Next time I won't waste time with words." She said, dead pan and threateningly. Leaving Têhra to her task, Ali returned her attention to the matters at hand.
"If you'll all surrender your attention to the graphic once again..." Ali's words continued but her mind trailed off, thinking only of the young girl and how much she already meant to her. It was a bizarre experience, one Ali could not recall having before; to be so enamored with another woman as she was, it was...strange. But all Ali could think of at that moment was doing right by the young woman, and doing whatever she could to help her out of the hell in which she lived.

 

[Têhra]

If there was one hard truth that Têhra learned growing up it was that every choice had a consequence, regardless of the individuals conviction at the time of their decision. Pal'da Tarvyn chose to commit adultery on a foreign planet and was left with a squalling bastard bundled in his arms, forever chained to a life of disgrace once he returned home. Duch'a Zihanna chose to pluck her niece from her morning dance practise and forced her into the humiliating position of serving dignitaries looking like some street walker from Coruscant. The human chose to stand up for Têhra in front of the elite group of individuals, whether such an action would derail the political dealings of the summit would only come to light in due time. The dancer knew not why the slightly intimidating strategist even bothered to verbally strike the Duch'a so viciously, maybe there was a history between the two? Maybe the human, this Miss. Hadrix, was simply too empathetic for her own good? Maybe this was just another elaborate prank being pulled by her cousins? Têhra could have spent the rest of her day theorising why she was granted the protection of the peculiar female but such a thing was a luxury she could not afford, not when there was tea to be served of course. Her duty was to the task at hand and regardless of how much she wanted to scurry away and hide in her greenhouse the dainty dancer knew she was locked to the meeting until she was relinquished by her aunt.

Sucking in a strained breath, the girl stood silently waiting for the human to answer, blue eyes transfixed on her morphed reflection on the water dispenser. As curious as she was the porcelain skinned bastard possessed little in the way of maintaining eye contact, the mere thought of being caught looking at someone was just as uncomfortable as many other simple social graces such as small talk and flirting. Just serve and disappear Têhra's mind reminded her, echoing into the furthest reaches of her consciousness before snapping back like a rubber band when something gentle and warm cupped her chin. Jerking away slightly, with brows momentarily raised in apprehension, Têhra was met with a particularly strange development, one which left her blushing and fumbling with whatever utensil remained in her dainty grip. The human was touching her but it wasn't like the cruel talons that normally takes her flesh. The sensation was surprisingly tender, almost worryingly so and the young bastard found herself unsure of how to properly react to such a thing. Even with her chin lifted to face the pretty woman, Têhra's fickle attention could only remain locked on to Ali's curious gaze for a mere moment before her blossoming anxiety demanded she look away. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong for this...this stranger to be touching her, especially a place as sensitive as her lips.

Releasing a feeble cough, the girl slowly granted the older female an awkward little nod when the observation about her being a dancer was made. Many factors could have granted the human to come to such a conclusion but Têhra was more than certain it was the chalk staining her feet and ankles, something that made her feel all the more self conscious. How long had Miss. Hadrix been watching her? Swallowing, the rosy cheeked bastard held her breath as her slender fingers were embraced in the warmth of the woman's own, confusion painting her porcelain visage as her shimmering blue eyes tried to look anywhere but at the woman's face. Alas, her concerns were settled when her hands were freed and the woman's tone quickly shifted into something more appropriate for the current setting. Good, she wanted tea...that much Têhra could deliver on. Tentatively nodding, the teenager poured the woman her desired drink, the sweet fruity aroma flourishing from the exquisite cup and into the vicinity between the bastard and the enchanting woman.

"Yes Madame. Please...enjoy" The chalk stained dancer quietly replied, the fleeting sincerity in her feathery voice tempered by her own confusion and exhaustion. If this woman was as noble as Têhra's mind begged her to be then surely reciprocating any kind gesture was enough, of so the girl hoped.

She wanted to search those eyes and see what the human was playing at, to understand the meaning of all of this without making a fool of herself once more. But Têhra knew it was rude to look at her superiors...or so she was taught anyways. If Zihanna even suspected the slightest bit of insolence coming from her niece then the punishment would be swift and severe and the young dancer was left fiddling with the little jar of cream as her peripherals caught onto a peculiar series of numbers on the woman's commlink.

8290.5283.32.7

Was it a trap?

A proposition?

A mindless scribble not meant for any proper thought at all?

All she knew was that remembering the numbers would do her little harm than anything else that's already happened to her.

8290.5283.32.7

Pursing her lips, Têhra took a slow step back before offering the woman the most subtlest of nods. She wasn't sure why she was affirming her discovery, maybe it was the polite thing to do? At this moment in time the young bastard had no idea what to believe and she quickly retreated from the human's side with the sound of her once more focusing on Zihanna Syle'a only several seats away. What on earth was happening? Getting caught in the crossfire between the two fiery females was the last place the dancer wanted to be, who knows what damages might ensue. Nervously glancing up at the flawless woman she'd come to know as her master, Têhra saw only distaste and amusement gracing the Ducha's' face. Like a cat playing with its meal, Zihanna looked more thrilled than threatened at the prospect of gathering a such an outspoken rival.

"Girl. Retreat into the kitchen...you're clearly distracting some of our guests." The woman uttered beneath her breath, motioning with the back of her hand for Têhra to do what she did best, hide, before realigning her posture and offering several generals opposite her a thin lipped grin. How easily the Duch'a could switch between cruel caretaker and shrewd politician, a talent that distressed the bastard as much as it did intrigue her. Why the human even dared to challenge Zihanna's authority was simply another observation that left the teenager's mind in a topsy-Turvey state.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali watched Têhra turn, walk away, and vanish once again through the crystalline panel at the far end of the room. She watched the young woman's every footstep, every shift of her hips, every bob of her locks. Ali watched her with intrigue, empathy, even lust. The girl was a luxury brand of beautiful, easily outclassing any of the woman Ali had yet seen on Hapes. Perhaps that is why they hate her so. Ali pondered as she reached for the small, ceramic cup and lifted it to her lips. For a brief moment she watched Zihanna Syle'a over the far rim of her demitasse, eyes locking with the woman she had been so quick to challenge. Who is Zihanna Syle'a? Ali questioned herself. She'd learned much of the many dignitaries and intelligence representatives that she had been notified by GRIM command would be in attendance. The Duch'a Zihanna, however, had not been on that list, and her presence had mystified Ali momentarily upon their meeting. The woman clearly had clout, every Hapan in the room seemed to stand in her shadow, if only to shield themselves from her anger. Ali realised then that she had taken a stab at a relatively dangerous beast, and began wondering exactly how things might play out. Briefly, just briefly in the shortest of thoughts, Ali imagined herself thrusting a beskad up through the woman's throat and scraping shavings of bone from the inside of the top of her skull. Maybe I could etch my name up there, Ali teased herself with the thought. A smile came unbidden to her lips as she lowered her teacup, lifting it in silent toast to the Duch'a and letting her smile grow. The Duch'a would have no idea what Ali might be considering, but it didn't matter. Ali herself was entertained.

Ali commanded the remainder of the meeting for the day, though she couldn't help but feel it was only at the Duch'a's behest. The woman was manipulative, for true, and Ali felt that the harder she fought against her, the easier it would be for her to lose herself in the Duch'a's machinations.
Hours later, Ali found herself ending the meeting for the day. "Given that we have managed to settle territorial disputes between the Hapans and the Republic, the Selonians and Corellia, and resolved new measures to coordinate counter-terrorism efforts in the Outer Rim, I declare today's business has been properly reconciled." Ali stood and bowed slightly to the room's occupants. "This session adjourned until o8oo hours tomorrow morning, thank you." Ali gathered her documents and datatablet, tucking them into the black leather handbag she had resting at the floor by her seat. She briefly activated the tablet's screen, checking for any word from the young girl, but had yet to receive any. Frowning slightly, Ali returned the device to her bag and pushed the chair back up against the table before making her way toward the room's exit.
The Duch'a was several meters away and Ali was not inclined to give the woman any of her time. Filtering out of the room passed the Onderonian intelligence representatives, Ali felt the wash of cool, fresh air against her face as she stepped outside. She was on the eightieth floor of a rather large building in the center of the Hapan capital city, and the view proffered to her by the balcony outside the turbolift was nothing short of breath-taking. Ali resolved to enjoy it later, however, as she quickly stepped into a lift with several other representatives and descended before the Duch'a was likely to reach the lift.

Minutes later Ali found herself walking alone on the open streets of Ta'a Chume'Dan, Hapes eternal daylight bathing the city in the form of sunlight reflected from the planet's seven moons. The result was startlingly beautiful, though as Ali looked out over the myriad shades of the city itself all she could think of was that girl, Têhra.
Ali made her way to a sparkling pool several blocks away from the government building where the summit took place. Hapes was known for its beauty, a beauty maintained diligently by the Hapans themselves. The pool was large, roughly the size of a smashball field. Surrounding the pool's permacrete banks were lush green grasses and vibrantly colored flowers; a walkway circled the pool with comfortable benches dispersed here and there along the path. Ali walked slowly over to one and sat down, resting her purse beside her and lacing her fingers together and resting them on her knees. She looked out across the water, at the countless pinpoints of light that birthed and died across the pool's pristine surface. In it, she could see the reflection of the entire city as she faced it, and wondered how a place with so much beauty could house so much cruelty. Hapan politics were notorious for being filled with scheming and murder, though Ali suspected that behind closed doors, Republic politics weren't much different.
How do we win against such madness? Ali asked of herself. She had no answer, though thoughts of this girl, Têhra continued to swarm her mind. I wonder if she's suffering right now, because of me. Ali wondered sadly, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing it for a moment before letting it go suddenly. Têhra's lips were chewed to scarring...why? Why is she so unhappy?
Briefly, Ali thought of Riley, a young woman she had met on Nar Shaddaa who had been forced into slavery and who's limbs had been replaced by prosthetics. Riley had been trained as a soldier for some long dead Hutt's personal army, living a similar life of slavery and servitude. Ali saw a lot of the same struggles and pains in Têhra, and the way in which the young woman carried herself. Truly, a part of Ali's heart felt broken at the thought. This woman, this beautiful, powerful woman, had been beaten down and whittled into nothing.
She lives in fear, and the day will come when death tastes too sweet to deny any longer. This last thought frightened Ali, she couldn't, for some reason, bear the thought of this girl she didn't even know, suffering until she took her own life. Ali checked her datatablet again, hoping Têhra had figured out her message and contacted her. Nothing. Ali noted bitterly. She looked back out to the water as she stowed the tablet in her bag. All this beauty, walking hand in hand with the hidden suffering of those upon whose shoulders this society is built.
Ali sighed gently to herself, sitting back against the bench and letting the cool evening air caress her neck and throat and lips and all she could think of in that moment was Têhra's small, gentle hands, tracing lines along her skin that she would remember forever though they left no mark on her. Ali wanted to feel her, hear her; she wanted Têhra to know every pleasure and happiness she deserved and yet had been so clearly denied.

Ali knew she'd lost her mind, her presence on Hapes was...was for what? What do I do? Ali asked herself. I'm an intelligence operative. She reminded herself. Why?

Ali felt confused for a moment, the thoughts she was having were thoughts she hadn't had since the last time she left her home. To protect people. To save them. She remembered triumphantly.

So save someone. Save her. Love her.

 

[Têhra]

Hastily retreating once more on the tips of her toes, Têhra was almost glad she'd been excused from having to deal with every single person present at the summit. Regardless of what she did, or didn't do, in the presence of the various diplomats, officers and politicians she'd be forever burdened with the harsh scrutiny of her aunt, a woman who was more than willing to point out any flaw in her diminutive niece. The young bastard knew that the peculiar little exchange shared with the human officer would have been witnessed by Zihanna, that and any nosy individual not preoccupied with the vast information presented in the classified hologram. How much her aunt saw would ultimately affect how harsh the girl's imminent 'discussion' would be. Têhra intimately knew the common insults and insinuations her cunning caretaker would throw once they were alone, away from any overly sympathetic individuals. Was she flirting with a foreigner? Propositioning her with 'lustful' eyes or 'whorish' simpers? Was she trying to make the Syle'a House look bad? The girl knew none of this to be true but an interrogation was never complete without one or all of these crude questions, they were simply more tools used by her aunt to belittle and warp the teenager's already fragile psyche.

Slipping past several crates of freshly harvested Shuura, the girl distanced herself from the muffled voices of the men and women dictating the safety of Hapes and all of its inhabitants. She didn't want to hear about how many credits which delegate would need to properly import whatever goods they specialised in or which battle cruiser would receive the experimental upgrade in the case of a 'Sith takeover'. On a normal day Têhra may have afforded these subjects minor attention, believing such knowledge would somehow benefit her in whatever sticky circumstance she was thrust into, by her family of course. Alas, her fickle intrigue for politics and war strategy was severely mutilated by the presence of the woman she only knew as Miss Hadrix.

Taking a seat atop the large polished window sill, with one leg perilously dangling over the edge and the other swinging against the interior wall, the girl attempted to calm her mind and rationalise everything that happened. The murmur of the city beneath the girl provided a steady rhythm for her contemplation, the flickering glimpses of the human's face haunting her mind as she attempted to piece together the whats and whys of the recent...incident.

Têhra was confused, a rarity in itself and one that particularly irked her the longer she thought about what the intelligence officer offered. It wasn't an accident, that much the bastard knew, but its purpose evaded her mind till it was all she could think about. 8290.5283.32.7 8290.5283.32.7 8290.5283.32.7 The numbers pulsed in her mind, etching themselves into her cranium so that she was certain the order would never be forgotten. What was she being offered? What could a stranger possibly offer Têhra that wouldn't be monitored by her aunt?

Whether it was Fate or the Force, thoughts of her aunt manifested into the real thing, the sound of her heeled shoes clicking against the polished tiles.

"Têhra!" The slick voice uttered, snapping the girl's attention from the gleaming cityscape to the familiar sight of her raven haired aunt.

Not even waiting for the porcelain skinned bastard to answer her, Zihanna strode over to her niece's perch and grabbed the sash that was coiled around her petite waist, pulling downwards till Têhra crumpled on to her knees, apprehension painted on her youthful visage.

"Do you enjoy it?! The attention?" Zihanna snarled, clutching the girl's jaw so that eye contact would be forcefully maintained. Têhra winced, but knew well not to react any further. "Dressed in this filth and prancing around like some human whore, enjoying her little games with the other human whore! You disgusting runt, remind me to toss you into a Twi'lek den the next time you come to serve covered in chalk!" The woman spat, scrunching up her perfectly sculpted brows and curling her crimson lips into a disgusted sneer, squeezing her niece's cheeks much harder with every passing second.

"I...I..." The girl started, only to be stopped with a frightening glare that froze her in place.

"No. Silence, you do not get to talk. Understand?" Zihanna growled, relinquishing her grip on Têhra's face before pushing her back on to all fours. It was standard procedure, especially when her aunt was in such a bad mood. Têhra could only imagine how much worse her treatment would be if she was a boy, a twisted little thought that seemed to ease the pain and humiliation her caretaker freely bestowed upon her. With eyes locked on to the floor, the girl awaited the next barrage of insults, tensing up just in case the woman decided to push her over once more.

But it never came. Almost as quickly as she'd arrived, Zihanna Syle'a was gone. The retreating sounds of her heeled footsteps echoed into the kitchen before disappearing into faint nothingness, a fragrant trail of her sweet perfume following the woman's departure. Even gone, Têhra still felt her presence. It was a tight sensation in her chest, icy and frigid with talons that gripped her core and tore at the confines of her fluttering heart. Maybe the woman was simply saving more punishment for later, after a lengthy visit to one of the exclusive restaurants or something else equally extravagant.

Sniffling and fumbling with the sash around her waist, Têhra shakily returned to the soft pads of her feet before slowly tip toeing into the corner of the kitchen, a stack of crates keeping her well hidden as she sunk into the wall and cradled herself against her knees. The girl felt numb, almost sickly so. Was it emotional fatigue? From curious wistfulness back to anxious obedience the internal whiplash was enough to keep her trapped in that comforting corner for several minutes till she was certain she would simply start crying if she didn't distract herself.

Stretching her legs, wiggling her toes and clearing her throat, the girl sucked in a deep breath before reaching upwards near the counter and clasping one of the serving boy's secondary comlinks, having been abandoned for whatever chore the head chef ordered right before the summit was adjourned. Zihanna wouldn't be able to track this, or so Têhra hoped.

8290.5283.32.7

Tentatively, with teeth firmly clamped on her lower lip, the girl delicately punched in each number. With every shrill beep of the comlink another question sprinted through her mind. Was this worth it? What if this was a joke? What if the woman wanted to hurt her? What if the woman wanted to hurt Zihanna? What would happen to serving boy if someone tracked this call? What was the actual point of all this?! Shaking her head of such thoughts, the girl finally brought the device up to her lips, keeping her finger on the transmitter as the muted crackle of the comlink sprang to life.

What could she say?

"Hello...?" Têhra whispered unsurely, cupping a hand over her mouth as she furtively glanced around the now abandoned kitchen, wondering where Miss Hadrix was right now. "I...I don't know if you can hear this but...but I want to say thank you, for earlier I mean. You might've scared my aunt..."Têhra simpered carefully, wondering whether her feathery voice would be easy to hear.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali decided she had been sitting long enough. An hour had passed, and Hapes pseudo-night had fallen. The city was emptying, the skies were regaining their control of the view from the traffic of the daytime. Suddenly, Ali realised she hated the beauty Hapes had to offer. I would see this all burn to ash if it would free those living under the yoke of this wretched society. Ali felt her lips turn downward in a grimace. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to return to her offices of the Republic, to her field work in the Outer Rim, anywhere but here.
"What am I doing?" Ali asked herself aloud, somewhat surprised. A passing couple glanced her way but didn't seem to think much of her. The woman sneered at her and the man let his gaze linger too long on Ali's legs. The couple stalked away from her arguing. Ali smirked to herself, but the question she'd asked of her own conscious would not surrender. What am I doing?
"The Republic is worth working for." She reminded herself aloud, resting her face in her hands and rubbing the tired from her eyes. She'd been awake for nearly 20 hours, and was beginning to feel the nagging need for sleep. When she heard the "Hello?" emanate from her handbag, Ali thought she'd gone crazy. She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then stood and made to leave to return to her suite in one of the city's downtown hotels.
Then she heard it again, words coming from inside her purse. My tablet! Ali remembered, pulling the device from her bag just in time to hear "...thank you, for earlier I mean. You might've scared my aunt..." Ali yanked the wireless earpiece from the tablet's frame and lodged it inside her ear. She heard static buzzing softly in the background as Têhra's words trailed off. Ali knew immediately it was the Hapan girl by the sound of her voice. She'd barely spoken in the summit meeting as she served Ali tea, but the Mandalorian woman had remembered the young woman's voice above all else that day. The teenage girl's voice was sweet and soft on Ali's mind, almost soothing as a hot bath after a long day.
Ali had hardly thought of the Duch'a Zihanna Syle'a since the meeting had ended for the day over an hour ago. The woman was dangerous, that much Ali could tell. The political and social influence the woman must wield alarmed Ali to her core. And yet she couldn't be afraid. It was clear Têhra had experienced enough fear at the hands of the woman, Zihanna didn't need any more emanating for others. Whatever torture she'd put the tiny dancer through, Ali would put a sharp stop to it.
Wherever Têhra was calling from, she was speaking quietly, to herself, as if she were standing in a closet with a burglar just outside the doors. Ali, whose heart rate had jumped as she'd heard Têhra's sweet, soft voice, forced herself to breathe deeply and consider her words before responding. There was so much she wanted to say to this woman she didn't even know, but above all else, Ali felt she needed to garner Têhra's trust. Heart racing, Ali felt her lips tremble as she parted them to speak, then held off for another moment. Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, Ali took another breath and closed her eyes. She felt her eyelashes lace themselves together, she felt her heart pounding. Why am I like this? I'm a woman grown. Ali asked of herself, but her inner person held no answer. Têhra was deserving of something better than she had, and Ali felt as if she were the only woman in the galaxy who would be able to give it to her: Freedom.

"Têhra." Ali said, the name rolling off her tongue and between her lips sweetly like a sugar-water cataract. Ali felt her heart settle somewhat, as if merely saying the girl's name was therapeutic. "Têhra, I hope you're okay. I'm glad you contacted me." Ali almost waited for the young woman to respond, but she got the better of herself. "Please tell me you're alright. I'm sorry if I did anything to have you hurt. I-I...Are you okay?" Ali's voice was so rife with worry she almost felt disgusted with herself. She was a damned intelligence operative. She'd handled her share of deathly situations, yet it was this young woman's terrible life that had her doubting herself and feeling weak in the knees. You're thirty-five, get over it, Ali. The Mando'ad in her tried saying, but the soft heart inside her could bear no harshness, only compassion. I can't just get over this. This woman needs someone. And...I need someone.

 

[Têhra]

Têhra knew this was unwise, the very notion of speaking to foreign stranger making her act all the more risky. She was but a simple maid, why on earth would she waste a Republic officer's time? Surely Miss. Hadrix was required for much more important business, saving the Galaxy and so on and Têhra felt little more than a nuisance as she pressed her lips against the transmitter, hoping to whatever heaven existed that the woman would grace her with some kindness. Why did the human defend her during the summit? Why waste time and damage her own reputation defending a bastard? The questions run rampant in the teenager's mind as she waited for a response, her instincts telling her to simply switch the comlink off and crawl back to the safety and comfort of her apartment.

Faint crackles snapped her attention away from the prospect of abandoning her risky venture and Têhra was left staring wide eyed at the device in hand, a familiar voice drifting through its glowing speaker.

Was it relief she felt or apprehension? What if someone else was listening in on the conversation? What if this was being recorded? Paranoia stubbornly clawed its way into her mind, begging the girl to at least consider the possibilities of going further with the beautiful woman that offered her this strange opportunity.

She heard concern in Miss Hadrix's voice, surprising considering the woman's profession and that alone was enough to plant several little seeds of hope within the girl's yearning soul. Maybe this woman could be a friend? Someone to teach her about the what existed far beyond the transitory mist, maybe she could even provide Intel on Têhra's birth mother...the witch.

"Yes...I'm um...I wasn't sure if it was meant for me or not." Têhra whispered, blushing, tracing faint marks in the chalk that powdered her dainty feet. Flickering her blue eyes across the impressively stocked kitchen, the girl saw and heard nothing. She was truly alone. Sighing, the teenager rested her head against the wall before once more brining the comlink to her mouth, wariness still plaguing her voice.

"I'm...I'm okay. Please don't worry about me Madame, you have more important things to concern yourself with." Têhra weakly reassured her, even considering hanging up right then and there to nip any trouble that may arise from this daring little conversation. What if this woman wanted her to be a spy? Zihanna already commissioned such a task of her and the dancer was often left in the possession of very dangerous information, the political sort of course. The girl waited a moment, gnawing on her lower lip before clearing her throat.

This was a dangerous game she was playing.

"I don't want my aunt to ruin Hapes for you. I mean...umm, there's a lot here worth fighting for. If that makes sense." Têhra whispered sincerely, resting the comlink on her knee as she cradled herself in the corner of the room, the slight breeze from outside delicately brushing fragrant wind across her petite figure.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali waiting for Têhra's reply with bated breath, silently begging for the young woman to have remained on the line. When she finally did speak again, Ali could not hold back the smile that grew on her lips, watered by Têhra's very words. Of course it was meant for you. Ali thought sweetly to herself. She didn't want to say anything, she just wanted the other woman to continue talking, to keep drizzling Ali's heart with her sweet, small voice.
Small, that was the word for Têhra. She was diminutive, mousey almost, but there was so much about her that felt bigger to Ali; her heart, her mind, both seemed vast. There was an entirely different woman trapped beneath the veneer of her enslaved self and Ali wanted to see that woman freed. It broke Ali's heart to hear that Têhra was more concerned with everything but her own well-being. She had been raised to live for others, never for herself. Ali considered briefly how hard it must have been for Têhra to reach out to her in the first place. Surely such an act would seem as one of defiance. Ali waited for Têhra's words to trail off, and despite wanting to hear more, Ali felt the young woman needed her to speak.
"You're right, Têhra, there is a lot worth fighting for." Ali said in response. Her voice fell to a whisper, immersed with a haunting sense of feeling. "So let's fight for you."
Ali let her words hang in the invisible innerspace between their lips, the background static of her earpiece becoming a roar as she strained just to hear another of Têhra's small, quiet, nervous breaths. A small part of Ali's mind realised how fast her heart was racing, and she could feel it pounding in her chest. Ali placed her hand between her breasts, leaving her fingertips to rest against her sternum, and felt the organ pumping powerfully within her. Ali had never much considered her spiritual heart before and she began wondering just how important it was. Whomever this young woman was, she was prompting Ali to think more about herself as a woman than she had her entire life.

 

[Têhra]

The hum of a cruiser just outside the great Hall sent a vibrating fizzle through the warm kitchen air, the pulse of the large metal beast echoing into the walls and making it all the more difficult to maintain a proper connection to Miss Hadrix's comlink. Têhra wasn't particularly surprised though, she was using some kitchen boy's second hand device after all, the little transmitter probably better suited to short distance calls than anything else. Instead of ordering fruits or checking on menus the teenager was 'fraternising' with some foreign intelligence officer, a thought that put the entirety of this strange little situation into perspective. For the moment though, with her mind still teetering over the potential consequences of the call, the salt stained and spice scented comlink would do.

Straining her ears to listen to the woman over the groan of activity outside the large building, Têhra tightened her lips into a thin line before slowly exhaling, the warmth of her breath tickling her knees. The girl knew that speaking to someone was the healthy choice, therapy in its most simplest, and although the woman on the other end was still a stranger the young bastard held onto the hopes that she was someone to trust. Miss Hadrix had so far done little to support any suspicion, but growing up in Hapes was enough to warrant some wariness when dealing with powerful women, especially ones as beautiful as her.

Alas, the human's desire to help was simply too good to ignore and for a moment the porcelain skinned teenager sat motionless, jaw clenched as she considered what was said over the comlink.

"That's a nice thought Madame, it really is...though, I umm...I really don't want to burden you." Têhra answered slowly, biting her tongue because of how rude she felt. But the reality of the situation was far too overt to simply toss aside. This was an intelligence officer, a woman tasked with the wellbeing of the Republic and its allies and having her babysit some poor little bastard in Hapes seemed like an incredibly anti-productive thing to do. But even then, the girl knew that her wariness was also due to her own shyness, a nagging presence that held much sway over her choices.

Têhra wanted to know this woman. But she didn't want the trouble that would occur for the stranger if she pursued the potentially risky offer of assistance. Dealing with bastards was like dealing with prostitutes, a shameful little venture.

"I don't mean to offend...I just...There's too much happening, so many things that are involved in all of this that getting you involved could jeopardise your work...or career." The girl whispered, almost mournfully, as she dug her nails into her soft, fleshy palms. Têhra was doing what she thought to be necessary, a fact that bothered her more than she thought.

"I'm sorry Miss Hadrix, I um...I can't - I just don't want you getting in trouble."

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali's nerves rattled slightly as a deep thrumming sound began to foster the background static until it drowned out the sound of Têhra's wistful breathing. Fear gripped her, Ali didn't want to lose her connection to the young, oppressed woman. The pressure in her chest lessened, however, as the interference diminished and Têhra finally spoke. Têhra's words were tremors of emotion that Ali could feel was born of her fear of her aunt, the Duch'a Zihanna Syle'a. She closed her eyes and let the woman's voice drift sweetly through her mind, as if they were a young girl skipping through a dense wood, surrounded by flowers and sweet smells. Têhra's voice was refreshing, and Ali wanted to unburden the woman of her fears, wanted to massage the tenseness from her muscles with precise hands and searching fingertips. Soon, too soon, the young woman ended her thoughts, and Ali opened her eyes.

She felt she had to be careful. Têhra was clearly uncomfortable with treading outside of the reach of her metaphorical shackles, and it was a fear Ali wanted to help her overcome. She wanted to see the girl freed, yes, but to free her from Zihanna, Ali first had to free her from herself. Ali took a deep breath and considered what she was going to say for a moment, looking around at the dense city scape surrounding her and the large pool at which she sat. All the beauty of the Galaxy and all Ali could think of was this tortured young woman. Ali felt proud of herself; just as with Riley, Ali was finding it easier to put another person's needs before her own. Suddenly, the Republic officer felt she knew exactly what Têhra needed to hear.

"Têhra, I don't know what horrors your life has held, but I can see their ghosts diminishing the fire of your beautiful, blue eyes. I don't know why you fear the way you do, but I see it has bent your back. I don't know why you shy away from a chance at freedom, but I see the bracelets upon your ankles and wrists weighing you down." Ali stopped for a moment to let her words sink in. She could feel a sense of desperation building within her, a hope that her words would strike true within the girl's heart. She didn't expect an immediate turn around, but she needed Têhra to accept her help, and first her desire to have it had to exceed her fear. "The worst they can do is break you. Don't let them, let me help you, and you'll never be broken. I have survived the crucible, and you can too. Let me share your burden. It's what I do, Têhra. Were it not for everyday people, suffering just like yourself, I would have no reason to serve."

Ali felt her eyes shimmer, and realised she hadn't been using them. She'd been so focused on Têhra she hadn't noticed her eyes grow wet. At first she assumed it was sadness and empathy for this young woman building within her, but after a quiet moment of introspection, Ali realised it was hope. Hope that Têhra would open up to her, despite the fact that she was a stranger, and worse, a foreigner, a second-class citizen in any Hapan's eyes. But they could think whatever they wanted of her, Ali didn't care. The only Hapan whose thoughts and feelings mattered to Ali was on the line with her right now. Ali took another deep breath and sighed gently this time. She wanted Têhra to hear her breath, to know she was thinking, processing. After another quiet moment, Ali let slip a thought that was intended to be just that.
"I don't know who you are, Têhra, Princess of Hapes, but I want to."

 

[Têhra]

It was rare thing indeed for Têhra to deal with such a forthright individual, one that was actively trying to help her rather than hinder her. Whilst the girl possessed a healthy amount of caution due to the events of her upbringing she knew that denying the woman's request to protect would more than likely be something she'd regret in the long run. How often was she granted audience with someone powerful, kind and sincere? The last time she was faced with a potential guardian the person was merely trying to take away her virginity, a cruel prank that left the teenager in tears for days even if the ploy did fail. Thankfully, with virginity intact and a healthy dose of wariness commanding her choices, Têhra was much more shrewd in her dealings with Miss Hadrix. It might've made the entirety of the exchange all the more extraneous but the bastard needed to know that what the woman was saying was from genuine interest and not vague boredom.

Têhra wouldn't allow herself to be somebody's charity case, even if it meant denying comfort and safety.

Pursing her lips, the teenager felt her cheeks bloom with pink as she listened to the human provide her argument. It was eloquent to say the least, almost poetic, and would've left the girl swooning if she weren't so conflicted with the current state of things. It was clear the stranger wanted to help, for what reason she was yet to properly pinpoint, but the mere thought of having a foreigner, an intelligence officer no less, hoping to make her life a little better was as flattering as it was nerve wracking.

How could she escape a life she was so accustomed to? The girl could even argue that she led a comfortable life, even if it was one of submission. She owned her own modest apartment, a place to dance and grow her flowers...all of which her aunt so graciously provided in her 'infinite' wisdom and some part of the bastard was eternally thankful for that. Zihanna could've simply dumped her on the streets or sold her off to some brothel...but she didn't.

"We don't call them princesses here, we call them pelin'a..." Têhra simpered, feeling the blush in her cheeks intensify at what the woman had said. How could someone be so forthcoming? It was almost blasphemous to label a bastard a p'elina, let alone grant them the time of the day to simply sit and chat...if that's what this was. "Miss Hadrix...I...well, maybe if you wanted...I just don't know if you should because um.... I'm a bastard, haven't you heard of my father, Pal'da Tarvyn Sely'a? He...disgraced our family." Têhra mumbled, ashamed of herself for labelling her father so tactlessly.

"I don't want you to catch my curse...." The girl whispered, swallowing hard before sucking in a deep breath and clamping her teeth on her lower lips.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali found herself on her feet as she listened to Têhra's words. She paced distractedly back and forth along thirty or so meters of walkway afore the bench, the periphery of her vision tracking the glimmering water just off the narrow embankment. Pelin'a...Ali recalled to herself, knowing she'd heard the term before. She rushed back to the bench where her datatablet lay while listening intently to Têhra's words, and most importantly, her tone of voice. The young woman was nervous, and rightly so. Ali had to think diligently about where Têhra might be coming from emotionally; empathizing with a source that you needed information out of was a skill related to her work, but Ali found it equally useful here. She needed to find out what drove this girl, where she came from, who she was.
Now the term pelin'a was familiar to her, though she couldn't remember where she'd encountered it before. It was the scent of a vague hunch that drove Ali back to the bench, the datatablet resting on her knees, tapping away at its digital screen. After sifting through the files assigned to her mission on Hapes, Ali found the one she was looking for. It was a dossier on the Syle'a family and their history, going back roughly thirty years. It covered the Duch'a Zihanna Syle'a's rise to the head of the family, at least the publicly available portions of it. There were, however, bits of information on the Prince, Pal'da Tarvyn Syle'a, who had left Hapes for Dathomir for whatever reason, and birthed a child with a Dathomiri witch while his own wife remained behind on Hapes with their child.
There was little information on the mother, she hadn't been deemed relevant to the intelligence summit agenda, therefore the Republic Intel corps had done little digging on her. There was enough, however, to include mention of the Pelin'a Têhra Syle'a, the second daughter, the child born to the witch.
"A bastard..." Ali heard herself mutter under her breath. She couldn't keep the disgust of the term from dripping off the word. "Têhra..." Ali began, but words failed her. She felt anger, she felt rage, and yes, Têhra could consider herself Ali's charity case, because Ali felt the Galaxy needed more charity in it. What Ali needed were the right words, no, the right truths.
What could she possibly trust in? Ali asked herself, lost. Truth, yes, but what truth? Ali felt a sudden pain in her hand, she realised she'd been clenching her fist and digging her nails into her skin. Ali stretched the hand and shook the pain from it, looking down at the small, inconsequential tattoo on the back of her left hand. She'd given it to herself when she was a child, using a fountain pen of her father's. The device used two sharp flanges of metal to deliver the liquid ink to paper for writing. Ali had used it to poke at her own skin, foolishly trapping ink in the layers beneath as it healed. The design was supposed to be the first letter of her family name, Hadrix. It was vague and faded, a truly terrible job done by a silly child. But it was hers. What did Têhra have that was hers? Ali chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought, knowing the silence growing between them was far too long.
"Têhra, I'm still here, I haven't left you," Ali muttered. Her eyes skimmed frantically over the dossier and she realised what she was looking for: A story.

"Pelin'a, do you know what I saw when I first looked at you?" Ali asked rhetorically. "I saw a young woman, strong and bright and beautiful, who loved to dance." Ali stood once more and began walking down the promenade alongside the large pool. "I was born on Mandalore, and my people have a saying, Aliit ori'shya tal'din. It means, family is more than blood."
Ali paused, considering her next words carefully. "Where I come from, almost everyone's a bastard. My people are known for adopting war orphans to pass along our heritage, our honor, our family history. We choose our family so that we know the family we have is always the right one." Ali stopped and looked out across the water. She wanted this woman to feel her own heart, something Ali had been so reluctant to share for so long.
"I know this life is all you've known. But elsewhere life is different, which means that what you know isn't the only truth. And that means you get to choose your truth. I want you to be able to dance because it is the life you live, not because you're using it to escape the life you live."
Ali let her words end there and she found herself standing on the bank of the pool, the water lapping gently at the ground afore her. She was staring out across the water at the spine of the city in the background, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a young woman, dancing. Whether the image existed only within her hopes and dreams, Ali never discovered, but she never forgot.

 

[Têhra]

Fiddling with the hem of her tunic, Têhra gazed down at her chalk stained feet before slowly unravelling her skinny legs till they were comfortably lined up against the panelled wall. With toes pointed, the matte pink varnish on her nails chipped from the excessive dancing, the dainty dancer allowed her eyes to rest on the sight of the two gleaming anklets that glistened under the glow pouring out the window. To some it would appear that the girl was wearing little more than antique silver jewellery, aesthetic elements to assist in the 'look' of her dance routines, however any world wizened Hapans would know that the anklets were too tight to conventionally slip on and off, even for feet as small as hers. They had to be locked and unlocked, just like the cuffs any slave wore. Embedded in the gleaming metal were trackers, simple devices the Syle'a house installed to monitor the girl's health and whereabouts, ensuring the little bastard wasn't doing anything someone of her lowly status wasn't supposed to do. House Syle'a, in all of its graciousness, offered the girl a decision during her twelfth birthday. Têhra was given the cruel choice of owning the keys to her own shackles or grant her aunt full control over when and where such implements were to be used. The girl chose the former, much to her conniving caretaker's disapproval and has gone through her teenage years under the constant surveillance of her father's family. The ultimatum was simple, put on the cuffs whenever she was out in the public eye and no one would get in trouble, however if the girl so much as forgot to bind her own ankles then the punishment would be severe.

Did the family know where she was now? Did they even care? What if the entire thing was a ruse and simply used to frighten her into submission. The thought came as a raw slap to the face and the girl was left bitterly glaring at the devices wound around her pale ankles. What would her mother think of this? Would she even care? Was she still alive? Would Têhra have faced similar treatment if her father left her in her mother's tribe? The girl didn't know, she wasn't particularly sure she wanted to know and the thought of her parents only made the pit in her stomach sink deeper.

Shaking her head, the girl patiently waited for the intelligence officer on the other end, the faint hum of the background activity granting the dancer enough context to know that the human was somewhere outside. The woman deserved it, being trapped indoors and debating with other dignitaries and agents must've been a draining ordeal and any chance underneath the perpetual daylight of Hapes was a reward in itself.

Tearing her gaze away from the polished shackles on her ankles, the raven haired bastard wrung the pins the needles that crept up her forearms before relinquishing herself from the corner of the abandoned kitchen. No one would come around, save a few cleaning droids that would begin their late afternoon shift. Wriggling her toes against the clammy coldness of the tiled flooring, the girl stepped around the crates of frozen goods before taking a tentative turn around a barrel of pickled apricots. The aroma was strong enough to latch onto her slight movements and follow her until she reached the arced window closest to the wall.

"I'm not a p'elina. I...I can't be and it would do my family a great dishonour if I were to walk around with that title..." The girl whispered, blushing at the woman's words all the while feeling a searing sensation slither down the markings on her spine. No matter how far she ran from her fate she would forever and always be the bastard of Tarvyn Sely'a.

"Miss Hadrix I wish I could fulfil everything you're saying but...things are complicated. It's different here, although I'm sure you've noticed..." Têhra uttered, clenching her jaw as her eyes traced the sleek form of a passing cruiser. How much she'd give to simply jump on it and never look back.

But that's what her father did and the consequences of his actions caused ripples that altered the fate of many. Maybe she could've been p'elina Têhra, in a perfect world perhaps, but the reality of her situation was a bitter drug she had to swallow lest she face a life of eternal heartbreak.

"I want to believe you. I really really do but...you don't know me yet. I wish I could dance for you, show you how much this place has taught me...but, I don't...I- I'm afraid of what's going to happen if I abandon what's been set for me... Têhra practically whimpered, biting down on her tongue from forcing back an ugly little choking sound that was eager to make her little statement all the more pitiful. She felt like a little girl again, dealing with thoughts and promises too big for her mind to comprehend. Was it even possible to escape her bonds? What if the promise of freedom wasn't as sweet as the human made it out to be. Her father was free, but he ended up returning to a place of prejudice because of the safety.

Could she ever feel safe with the Mandalorian? Têhra certainly hoped so.

"Miss Hadrix...can I maybe, if...if you're free, see you?" The girl asked quietly after a significant moment of silence. She wasn't sure why seeing the woman in the flesh might change anything, let alone grant peace of mind, but the teenager couldn't ignore the nagging sensation in the back of her mind demanding she not let this opportunity go to waste. She was terrified and hopeful, a dangerous concoction that left her head spinning and lower lip trembling.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali felt her heart breaking over and over each time Têhra talked herself down. Ali wondered if the young woman's views were simply the result of a lifetime of ill-treatment and abandonment. It would certainly explain why Têhra clung so tightly to ideals that excused the terrible manner in which she was treated on what was clearly a constant basis. Ali forced herself to focus on Têhra's words rather than letting her own thoughts wonder; her anger was at a full boil and Ali felt a passion growing in her heart for this woman that was surprising her. Every word that was birthed from Têhra's supple lips was another reason why Ali should abandon the girl, just as her family had again and again before. But to Ali, none of the words sounded as if they truly belonged to the young woman, but were merely her Aunt's words, beaten into her. In all likelihood, literally. Ali thought bitterly to herself.

Têhra's next words were full of fear and wonder and hope; Ali didn't think such feeling could be put into a form so simple, but Têhra's heart and mind were clearly beyond her own. Ali glanced down at the datatablet, her eyes drifting over the word "witch" several times. Têhra wanted to meet, and Ali's heart lept into her throat upon realising it. The Intelligence operative nearly let her tablet slip from her lap as she leaned over and grabbed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. She wants to meet, do we have time? Ali asked of herself. You have all night, you dolt, of course there's time. Ali resolved to see the young woman immediately, not at all missing the fact that she had the freedom to choose how her nights were spent, whereas Têhra did not.
Ali was standing once again, her heels clacking sharply on the permacrete walkway as she left the pool behind her. The bright night sky was calling to her, supporting her it seemed. The happy colors signaled her victory, the relative quiet was the city stepping out of her way. There was so much she wanted to say in response to Têhra's recent words, but Ali resolved to say them when she was able to look the young woman in the eye and revel in her beauty. Rarely was she so smitten with a woman, but this Hapan was far more than just another lay. Like Riley, Têhra was born of adversity, she understood more pain than was fair to someone so compassionate and softhearted. Ali wanted to help ensure she remained a softhearted, rather than turn to stone under the onslaught of her family's treachery and mistreatment.

"Pelin'a..." Ali began, the word sidling from her tongue and between lips like a raindrop from a cloud. "Where do I need to be to see you?" Ali replied softly, hoping Têhra could hear and feel Ali's need in the manner of her voice. She imagined Têhra stood just before her and Ali's thumb was once again caringly caressing the silky, scarred lips of her diminutive mouth. She wanted to call her pelin'a in person, she wanted Têhra to hear the title come from someone in sincerity. But why? Ali asked herself. It was an elementary question, with a succinct answer: Because that is, quite frankly, what Têhra was. Perhaps not in given title, but it was how she lived that mattered most.

 

[Têhra]

A swift gush of adrenalin flooded Têhra's petite figure the moment the last word fell from her lips, the finality of her little plan exciting her to the point of giddy terror. It was strange, organising something so utterly against her family's rules, and to a larger extent, the rules of the Hapes that the dainty dancer actually reconsidered taking back her offer and scurrying back to hide in her apartment. Whilst the teenager wasn't a total stranger to improvisation this was completely based on a whim, chained to the hope the pretty Mandalorian was offering her. Maybe she was just desperate for affection, the little girl inside her yearning for someone to comfort and protect her, and yet Têhra knew it was more than that. The intelligence officer was tempting her with promises unfulfilled by many and whilst Têhra should've rejected her claims of help out of cynical caution there was something very different about this woman. This woman was powerful, maybe even more so than Zihanna Syle'a, and the thought of gaining the approval of someone with her influence lingered long enough in the teenager's mind that it set her feet off into the direction she wanted to go.

"The Lotus tower, just near the theatre on the eastern stairwell...it's where I dance. I'll...I'll see you there." The girl answered in a quick soft voice, feeling herself become breathless as she weaved past several dormant stoves and into the brightly coloured hallway led out into Lorrell Hall's lesser gate. However, the young bastard quickly swivelled on the balls of her feet before gently returning the kitchen hand's comlink to where she found it. Regardless of how excited she was she didn't want anyone to get in trouble, let alone some boy who probably faced the brunt of Hapans prejudice already. She was certain an intelligence officer, of all people, could find the chosen location without much fuss and as much as the girl wanted to continue hearing the woman's intoxicating voice she knew it wouldn't be far till she experienced it in the flesh.

By now, all the representatives and dignitaries attending the summit were absent, probably spending their evening involving themselves in whatever Ta'a Chume'Dan could offer. It was no lie that the great city, in all of its sleek beauty, would offer any curious foreigner sights and experiences unlike anything found on any other planet, system or star. The hallways and rooms of the great building were occupied by no one but several stray cleaners and droids going about their scheduled 'walkabouts'.

The light pitter patter of the girl's bare feet against the polished permacrete tiles gently bounced against the heavy tinted glass walls, her shimmering, skewed reflection following the curve of the hall until she eventually found the back door. A nearby droid offered her a complimentary whizz and nod, whirring as inspected the barely visible trail of chalk that was left in her wake. If there was one thing Têhra liked about droids was that they didn't discriminate, neither caring for the markings down her back nor the lack of footwear adorning her dainty feet.

The hum of the city instantly welcomed the girl as she stepped outside, brushing her lonesome figure with several licks of crisp evening air and slithering up the naked skin of her slender legs. Goosebumps instantly blossomed atop the supple, ivory skin, sending a wave of shivers down the girl's body till she forced herself to move at a more brisk pace.
Avoiding most of the busy roads and streets for fear of being recognised, the girl found herself tip toeing through the quiet alleyways that made up the veins of Ta'a Chume'Dan. If it weren't for the continued maintenance and cleanliness of the city droids then Têhra was sure her feet would have quickly become soiled from the momentary journey outside. Alas, much like the rest of her immaculate body, her feet were granted a sterile and safe detour to the chosen destination.

By then, the sky had turned into a brilliant violet, dappled with blotches of scarlet and indigo, the distant moons hovering just behind a thin, shimmering veneer of clouds. It was a grand spectacle, even for someone accustomed to such sights and the girl slowed her pace to simple breathe in the undeniably gorgeous sight before her. Hope swelled within her body, joining a sweet and dizzying wistfulness that only grew the closer she got to the spiralling tower. Was she doing the right thing? The bastard didn't know and for a second she did not care, the briefest of smiles dancing across her scarred lips as she thought of how quickly the day's events turned around.

Maybe this was what Tarvyn Sely'a felt when he escaped Hapes and into great beyond.

Tightening the sash around her waist, the young bastard turned a corner before she was greeted with the sight of the Lotus tower, it's metallic 'petals' blooming beneath the majestic canvas of the Hapes sky. The tower wasn't a hard place to find, a popular destination for all dancers, acrobats and gymnasts hoping to perfect their physique, finesse and skill. It was the one place where Têhra actually felt like she belonged, away from the politics and drama of her family's House and its dealings with the Consortium. Whilst the makings on her back did make for some awkward instances the young bastard was quite comfortable dealing with the occasional odd stare from a dancer compared to the disgusted leer of her father's family.

Making her way past a fountain, with two canoodling lovebirds sitting by the water barely even registering the girl's presence, Têhra quietly made her way up the reflective stairwell before stopping near a pillar and gazing out at the surrounding area. She clung to the hope that the Mandalorian would come and prove the sincerity of her words, knowing full well that this could simply be another failed attempt by a curious purveyor of flesh.

Têhra hoped it would be much more than that.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Ali was tapping the name of the tower into the locator on her datatablet before Têhra had finished speaking. As she walked she keyed the projector and left the glimmering pool behind, heading in the direction of the Lotus Tower. The sound in her ear shifted and the static broadened; Têhra must have left the commlink behind. Ali resolved to reach the Tower quickly in the hopes that Têhra would not be seen or overtaken by her own fears.
The evening was young, colorful and sweet-smelling. Just like Têhra. Ali caught herself thinking. It was not often that Ali was surprised by her own lustful mind, she'd gladly lived a life of promiscuity for years since reaching adulthood, yet now the thought subdued her eagerness somewhat. Perhaps it was a desire to respect the young woman, and that considering her physical drives was somehow not fulfilling that desire. Ali shook her head as she stalked brusquely through the city streets on a more or less direct path toward the Tower. She felt excitement boil inside her as a pressure built in her chest and adrenaline pumped through her mind. It was the same feeling she got performing interrogations, clearing buildings or anticipating a firefight. She knew conflict was coming. But with it was kindness, compassion, sharing, love, happiness. Life. Ali was heading toward a life of some kind. Not just Têhra's life, or her own, but a new life, the one that they would share for however long they spent together. Whether this lasted a night, or all nights, Ali knew it would have its own beating heart.

Ali reached the Tower shortly and located the theatre and the eastern stair access on a map displayed at the property's south side. Ali followed the guidance of the map and walked around the structure's base, passing a fountain huddled within an intimate courtyard along the wall. A Hapan couple was sitting on a bench near the fountain, kissing and holding one another. Ali suddenly thought back to Elsa, the last woman she'd shared her bed with. The morning after Ali had slipped away and gathered her clothes, then promised the woman she'd be reach her. Ali never did, the woman had meant nothing to her. She was fun, and fun is all Ali had wanted. They had kissed parts of one another yes, necks and breasts and legs and backs, but they never held one another like this couple Ali was watching. They had had sex, but they hadn't made love. They had been together, but they hadn't been intimate.
Ali realised suddenly she was standing still, staring back at the couple, who was in turn staring at her. Around them stone worked walls rose, and Ali's gaze went to their intricate designs, distracting herself as she walked away, embarrassed. Get a grip on yourself, woman. She snapped inwardly, approaching the eastern stairwell of the Tower. Ali took each step slowly, quietly, her anticipation building. Around each corner she expected to see the tiny dancer, and her heart froze every time she looked.
After several terrifying flights of stairs, Ali came to a flat court with granite pillars dispersed throughout. The court was large, but empty, and there wasn't a thing to be heard. She looked to her left, where the staircase continued onward, but something caught her eye. To the right, just meters away, she caught the flicker of the hem of a white dress dancing back and forth behind the pillar, caught in a light breeze. Ali swallowed the lump in her throat and stowed her datatablet, then smoothed the front of her blouse and shook her hair out. Taking a deep breath, Ali stepped forward, her heels clacking gently on the stone floor, echoing pleasantly throughout the court. She stopped at the opposite side of the pillar, resting a pale-skinned hand against it and looked around to see Têhra standing at its face. Ali's eyes took in the sight of the small woman. She wore the same beige dress and white sash, her hair tumbled gently over her shoulders and the chalk still dusted her dainty feet. Ali stepped forward and turned to face the girl, still garbed in her assembly of black slacks and heels and blouse. She was dressed plainly, professionally, but Têhra...
Ali Hadrix reached forward and taking the young woman's small, delicate hands within her own. A diminutive smile touched her rouge lips, and she allowed it to grow. "Hey, you."

 

[Têhra]

The view from tower's eastern court was something to behold, Ta'a Chume'Dan, in all of its shimmering glory, engulfed in the sea of violet and orange that painted the Hapes skyline. The sight alone lulled the teenager into a wistful state of wanderlust, her gaze tracing the wispy clouds that soared just above the city's silhouette and into the glowing horizon. Part of the girl wondered whether her mother was witnessing something similar on Dathomir, the width of her vibrant imagination creating a scene that hoped to match the tangible glory that blossomed before her eyes.This was all she knew, endless days, shimmering skies and an omnipresent beauty. Têhra's mind could not comprehend a world away from the sleek silver of Hapes' cities or the dazzling light shows the heavens regularly performed, the thought of leaving such a place unnerving her like nothing else. All of this was her truth, a place of perfection and pain, how could she abandon what she'd come to understand?

Exhaling the conflicted thoughts from her mind, Têhra eased herself against the cool touch of the granite pillar, the gentle breeze brushing stray wisps of dark hair down her cheeks and against the curve of her collarbone. It was tranquil, the calm before whatever storm the peculiar human officer would bring with her once she arrived. Têhra understood little of the Mandalorian, barely working her mind around the fact that such an individual was actively trying to help her. It almost seemed too good to be true, a chance act of charity before the woman was whisked away to some other planet for her Republic duties. Maybe people of her rank were expected to meet a quota of 'good things done for the galaxy' before their next job performance interview but Têhra quickly wiped the thought from her mind...that was silly.

Whatever trail her thoughts were following during the time alone was quickly halted when her ears caught the echo of heels against stone. Someone was coming, giddiness flourished within the girl's diminutive figure as she tightly pressed her lips together.

Click-clack, click-clack

The sound grew louder, the steady rhythm matching the girl's fluttering heartbeat as she forced herself into staring ahead, not wanting to seem too eager to meet the strange Samaritan. The child in her wanted to skip and squeal but the bastard knew better than to embarrass the brown haired lady. Goosebumps trickled down the back of her neck, sending shivers against the length of her spine as her senses latched onto the subtle aroma of the woman's perfume even before she came into the girl's peripherals. This was actually happening! Têhra did not know what emotions swirled within her; was it fear, hope, joy?

When her eyes finally caught sight of the human in all of her alluring charm she was left in a momentary stasis. Her mind went blank, bleaching itself of anything that roamed its fragile halls, the shock of reality leaving the teenager with mouth agape like a fish and eyes blinking at the figure before her. This woman was gorgeous, that much could not be ignored, but it was the confidence that oozed off of her form that truly took the girl by surprise. She was actually holding her hands? As if the stigma of touching someone as cursed as Têhra did not bother her in the slightest. The warmth of her touch ignited the teenager's slender fingers, forcing the girl to quickly tense up from the strange sensation and immediately tear her gaze away from the woman's face and back down at her own feet.

"I...I um, Miss Hadrix! You're actually here?! I'm sorry, this is- I mean, I know should've dressed better and...and I'm not wearing shoes which is highly improper of me and..." Têhra stopped, biting down on her lip as she felt a certain warmth bloom within her porcelain cheeks. Curling her toes, the girl released a shallow sigh before tentatively glancing back at the woman and offering her an embarrassed little simper.

This needed to be done right.

"Thank you for coming Madame. It's...it's an honour to see you in person." The bastard softly spoke, hesitantly relinquishing her hands from the woman's grip before offering her a formal little curtsy. As much as she wanted to revel in her own excitement Têhra reminded herself that she was dealing with a grown woman, someone who probably deserved the same amount of respect she offered her aunt.

 

[Ali Hadrix]

Têhra let words tumble from her lips in a manner that was hazardous and unkempt, though Ali didn't mind. The woman's tone may have changed but Ali still heard the same lovely little voice behind every word. Ali reluctantly let Têhra's hands slip from her fingers, every inch of skin against skin felt by Ali's own. She could almost feel the waving ridges of Têhra's fingertips as they sloughed away from her touch. The young woman looked away from her and curtsied, the manner of her words shifting to a sudden controlled formality. The change in demeanor saddened Ali somewhat, all she saw was the mental conditioning it was apparent Têhra had been forced into throughout her life. Ali smiled as gently as she could, bringing a hand up to the young woman's face, cupping Têhra's jawline and cheek against her own palm. She ran her thumb lightly along the pelin'a's cheek, before skimming it across her bottom lip. Ali pulled the lip downward somewhat, inspecting the thin, pale scars that lined the red flesh. After a moment she removed her hand, even though every moment of contact was galvanizing, almost arousing. No, not almost. It was. Ali felt her jaw tighten, the realisation surprising her.
If Ali had known Têhra referred to herself as a bastard within her own thoughts, she would have stopped her. But Ali could only hope to save Têhra from others, only the young woman could save her from herself. Even so, Ali wanted to be there, and was glad to be in that moment.

"Your beauty is every bit as arresting now as it was before. You honor me, Pelin'a." Ali whispered, brushing a lock of hair from Têhra's visage. It seemed she couldn't resist touching the woman. Têhra remained pressed against the stone pillar, with Ali standing mere inches away. Only now did Ali realise how small the woman truly was, and in that moment, all she wanted was to hold her. Instead, Ali pressed her hand against the pillar, it was cool in the twilight air. She let the coolness seep into her skin for several long, quiet moments, then pressed her hand against Têhra's cheek once more.
"Feel this cold, this hardness, this stone." Ali softly spoke. Even as she said the words, she could feel Têhra's skin warming her hand, melting the cold away. "That's a cold I know you live with everyday, born of the heart of that wretched woman," Ali continued, finally removing her hand. She brought the other hand to Têhra's face, cupping the young woman's jaw and sharing her warmth. "I want you to know warmth and kindness and love." Ali lowered her hand. "You deserve someone who will brush your hair, watch you dance, wash the chalk from your feet." She looked down at Têhra's petite toes, wriggling slightly in nervousness. I would wash her feet every morning and evening. Ali thought to herself, the sudden drive and passion swelling within her causing her pupils to dilate and her nostrils flare. Ali swallowed her nerves and reminded herself to breathe. She shook her head lightly and smiled, looking back up at Têhra and flashing her eyes. "You deserve dignity and respect and joy." Ali whispered, gazing down at small lips, bright eyes and pellucid skin.