No day passed without Jenn questioning herself. Leaving the Enclave was a difficult decision for her to make, and one that would forever alter the course of her Clan. Honor was a difficult topic to approach, and one much debated over by the Mando'ade among themselves: how could one hope to define such an abstract notion, and then somehow talk others into
abiding by that definition? In the end, she realized that the Enclave's notion of
honor was deeply,
deeply flawed, and she no longer cared to sacrifice her own integrity in the name of an idea that no longer existed. Compromise was nothing more than a word used to justify reprehensible acts in the name of some
greater good, and although it took her time to come to that realization, Jenn emerged wiser from this ordeal, as did her Clan.
And yet, it still
hurt at times. Realizing that she had made herself and those who chose to follow her into outcasts. Renegades, to some, perhaps even
traitors. A difficult path to thread, so very full of uncertainty... but one she chose to thread with her head held high. If only she could muster but
half the dignity the Senator seemed to
embody. Even now, she could only look upon her with something that went beyond awe itself. In spite of all that she had done, here stood the Galidraani, unflinching in her commitment to carry herself with all the august grace expected of her.
"Yes", the siren all but breathed out, her gaze so very lost in the depths of Natasi's eyes. When had they become so captivating to her? Had it been during the monarch's captivity within Tor Valum, when she found the sheer intensity of her ferocious feelings for that woman reaching what she
thought was a peak? Or was it borne of the gradual realization that she had committed a great wrong in the name of something she could no longer recognize?
"I would not say I was blind to the degradation of my people. I refused to see it. It was weakness, for me to look away and pretend that things would get back to normal, that fighting in this war would preserve the dream of a place where my people could exist safely. I failed to realize that this cradle of our people was no longer worth protecting." Nothing could absolve her of what she had done. Although an admiral of the Enclave had given her the last-minute orders and redirected her pods, she had obeyed without question, killed without thought, and deployed unrelenting force against two
politicians. Politicians with a certain amount of military background, to be sure, but... they were still diplomats, faced with someone who sought to embody all that it meant to be a
hunter.
And her smile was
beautiful, no matter how faint it may be, or stricken with a certain touch of melancholy. Natasi Fortan was worth
admiring, even though the term did not feel quite
right in her mind. It was becoming... more and more difficult for her to focus on the situation at hand, rather than its elegant messenger.
"I erred in the manner in which I chose to treat you... or how I chose to go about apprehending you and your colleague." Her gaze shifted to rest upon the place she had struck, her jetpack-assisted punch breaking the woman's nose and knocking out a few teeth - to say nothing of the
dislocated jaw. Slowly did her gaze move to her own hand, her fingers closing to form a fist, as if she sought to reconcile what she had done beneath the embrace of her warrior's shell with the appearance she chose to adopt for the gala. An elegant dress and a tentative step towards embracing her own femininity did not make her a different person from the terrifying warrior Natasi had come to know her as.
"I thought I could do things differently with Senator Organa. I thought that... because he did not hate us as you do, I could get through to him. Re-establish some measure of diplomatic channel. I was a fool to believe I could turn the Crusaders away from their warmongering."
And so she listened most carefully to the words uttered by the one she had so clearly wronged, somewhat taken aback by such a display of... well, she would not quite call it
trust, but for Natasi to speak of her past to the one who had, as she so adequately put it,
broken her face? That was certainly an unexpected, if welcome turn of events. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized the meaning behind the Galidraani's words: by her actions this night, perhaps she finally managed to accomplish her hopeless goal of laying down another stone by the wayside, another marker of Mandalorian integrity. A reminder that their culture was far from monolithic, and that some among them truly
did understand that they held no
right to conquest. At long last, had she finally brought about some measure of change, no matter how small?
Then, came the matter of what yet remained before then, and the fiery-haired siren cast down her gaze in shame, regret etched all over her surprisingly delicate features.
Deserve was
such an interesting word. Alicio Organa deserved to go home to his wife and children, Varys deserved a future, and, to her chagrin, Natasi
deserved some measure of closure, and
justice. If only she could give it to her.
"Of course not, your grace", answered the Mandalorian with naught but a whisper, her voice almost
tender and
vulnerable. Slowly mustering the will to meet her gaze once more, she focused on her breathing as best she could.
"I deserve to be punished for my actions, just as you deserve closure for this... fiasco. But my people need me. They need my vision, so that I may fashion from our gathering of outcasts a Clan worthy of calling themselves Mando'ade, that they may know honor from glory."
There was a sad smile, then. One that only seemed to
add to this odd look of longing and heartbreak.
"I don't imagine you will be satisfied by anything less than a lengthy imprisonment, your Imperial Majesty, and I swore I would sooner die than let myself be caged ever again. There are some fears even I cannot confront.
Darth Malum of House Marr
Sarlow Zambrano 
