Xenophobia (Piett and open)

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il stepped from the transport, dark sunglasses shielding her metallic eyes as she made her way across the tarmac of one of Omerose's space ports. Hands stuffed in the pockest of her grey trousers, she strode nonchalantly to where the customs line was. She had nothing to declare, and so expected a fairly short session with the men in uniform. She carried no baggage, and no weapons; what sort of a threat could she possibly be to them? She smiled. Oh if they only knew.

And so, waiting for her turn to be besieged with inquiries, she stood patiently. She was only here for one person after all, and that one person was most likely not going to expect her here, of all places.

On Omerose. s'Il hadn't been to the planet in a while, the last time being after a particularly nasty shockboxing match... she grinned at the memory, taking a small step forward as the line moved up slightly.

[Sean Piett]

Piett rocked his head left and right, visibly bored. He yawned and queued up another high-priority file. He had about three hundred ‘high-priority’ files to look at. As he skimmed down the page he drummed his fingers on the utilitarian durosteel desk he sat behind.

Things were happening on Balmorra. Willing to take any chance for a respite, he slouched in his chair and gave the story some thought. Well, bully for Millard.

The Admiral thumbed up another report. The Remnant had lost a Star Destroyer. Piett smirked at the idea of two of the rival groups suffering. The Federacy was thriving, and Piett reveled in the massive technological muscle Khendon flexed. He took a boisterous swig of Bantha Blaster, toasting the Federacy. The colorful pink and green drink hissed and popped as he swallowed it, tickling his throat.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Steadily she was nearing the front of the line, and as she stood patiently, s'Il once more shifted her weight, and stepping forward again, she stuck a hand in her pocket, digging out her ID card.

It had all of her stats; or at least it had those belonging to the woman she'd lifted it from.

After all. Reve Ryryie wouldn't be needing her ID anytime soon.

[Sean Piett]

The line progressed, and s'Ilancy with it. After a short amount of time, they took her card and slid it into a slot. The machine beeped, confirming it wasn't a forgery, and s'Il was allowed entry to the vast inner workings of the building.

Miles of corridor away, Piett continued to browse through files.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The sea of people around her was comfortable; it helped her to blend in more easily than normal, and s'Il let the press of bodies surround her. A few officers pushed past her, and she rose her brows at the air they seemed to exude; as if being with civilians was such a bad thing...

As she strode down the ramp leading outside, she once more had to use the ID card, as another security checkpoint was running extra checks.

And this time, they did stop her.

A pity, that when she lifted Reve's card, she didn't really bother to check if the other woman had any warrants out for her arrest.

Or that Reve Ryryie happened to be a known antagonist against the Empire.

[Sean Piett]

One of the two guards drew in a sharp breath. The other didn't recognize the name. As the suspicious one typed the name into his datapad to confirm that she was wanted, he spoke. "Ehm, just one second. Gotta type this here in, and then you can go." Yeah, she was wanted, alright.

He nudged his partner, and began to lift his blaster. The other guard began to move for his weapon as well, not entirely sure what was taking place.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il sighed, shifting her weight to one leg once more, and turning, she leaned an elbow on the counter-top, looking away from the two men. "Take your time," was all she grumbled, her patience just starting to wear thin. She was getting tired of security checkpoints; it seemed that that was all that Omerose was made of.

She sighed then, still oblivious to the actions of the two Imperials behind her. And upon turning around to ask whether they were through, she found herself face to face with two Imperial-issued blasters.

"Uh... hi... ?"

[Sean Piett]

"Reve Ryryie, you're under arrest."

The guard then spoke into his commlink, asking for a capture party to come and escort the anarchist to a proper holding cell. He then turned looked past her to see quite a crowd lining up to pass through.

"Wait up, people. We're dealing with something at the moment."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her eyes narrowed. Now what the hell was this? Under arrest? In anger s'Il reached out, her hand quickly snatching the datapad from the Imperial before he could react, and she turned away from him once more, skimming over what he'd pulled up...

... and felt her heart stop.

She turned back to the man then, politely handing him his datapad, a sheepish smile on her features.

"Well, heh, how 'bout that... ?"

And then she bolted, tearing away from the post as fast as she could.

[Sean Piett]

"Damn!" yelled the flushed guard as he watched her sprint into the crowd. "She ran off," he belted into his commlink. "Going north! Corridor 443, fast." The two guards were to guard the checkpoint under any circumstances.

s'Il ran through the crowd, angry people yelling as she shoved them out of her way. One hand, belongin gto a stern face, grabbed her arm and attempted to pull her in. She wrenched free and continued navigating.

As she came to a T-shaped intersection, the crowd thinned. People were pressed against the walls, a dozen members of the instalation's defense force checking every man and woman for their ID - attempting to locate her. She got no special attention, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sneak her way past the security.

Ironically, Piett had just finished an article concerning Reve Ryryie.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il barreled ahead, lowering her shoulder and ramming her way through the crowds.

She spotted the fan of soldiers going through ID's, and with a determined expression, she ran on. One of the stormtroopers spotted her right before she railroaded him, and even managed to drag her down with him. The two struggled briefly, but with a quick jab at his throat she'd broken off.

Rolling away, she came to a stop on her back, just as what seemed like a dozen blaster carbine barrels were lowered at her.

Everything was silent, and it seemed like no one breathed for a full minute.

Finally she offered a cheesy grin.

"Is there a problem officers?"

[Sean Piett]

"Alright, lady. Let's see your ID," spoke the team's leader, positive he'd found the criminal. s'Il did not pull it out.

The men stepped in closer, their Federacy-issue blasters raised. "Hands on your forehead." Oddly enough, some people hid weapons in their hair, if it was long enough. The men formed a tight box around her, and one of the men behind her jabbed her in the back with his gun. She was to move forward - towards the detainment sector. The group moved forward, weapons at the ready.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

With a resigned sigh s'Il complied; she'd thrown the ID card off as she'd run, so when they'd asked, she had nothing to give them, therefor ignored the order.

With her hands on her head she let the troopers lead her to wherever they would be taking her.

Today's starting out just great...

[Sean Piett]

The trip would not have been a short one, in terms of time, if the party had not led s'Il to a small, four person hovercart. The group sat her in the back, to the right, as three of their own took seats. Two of the men focused their weapons on her and their colleague drove them great lengths and through many checkpoints towards a proper cell block.

As this was happening, Piett had taken a respite. Last time I let these pile up, he thought bitterly. He hadn't, however, come across a single piece of information he didn't think was worth his time.

Bored, he flipped on his commlink, only remotely interested in the happenings of the complex. He flipped to the security channel. He really didn't have any idea what went on in the typical day. How many people tried to work their way into the depths of the government building. He picked up talk of Reve Ryryie's capture in seconds.

"It wasn't her. I've seen Ryryie's picture on the holonet, and that was not her," argued one man.

"She'll be questioned soon enough. Get back to work, and keep the line open."

Piett smirked. What a genuinely reasonable excuse to delay work!

Twenty minutes later, he was in the detention wing. He crossed his arms and spread his feet shoulder width, just in time to pose for the unlucky s'Ilancy. His face was stern, though he felt compelled to smirk.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Wrestled into the cell, s'Il struggled against the binders that held her hands behind her.

As the troopers forcibly sat her in the single chair in the center of the room. Her binders were removed as they pushed her down, and with rough hands they secured her wrists and ankles to the cold steel of the chair. Her neck, too, was tied to the head rest, cutting off her field of view to what was in front of her and whatever her peripheral vision could afford.

And standing in front of her, feet spread and hands clasped at the small of his back, stood an Imperial officer.

Her face impassive, she simply stared at him.

[Sean Piett]

The room was terribly cliche for an interrogation- bare, save for a cold chair and a utilitarian durosteel table. A number of lights, however, were on- none of them pointed directly at the prisoner.

Piett was dressed in a uniform that would have been standard for an Admiral, but the black suit was unadorned by rank bars, medals, and cylinders. He didn't wear a cap, and scattered gray hairs were littered about his black hair. He had not-so-common red eyes, and a rather ordinary face.

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it. He thought for a second, then spoke. "You are not Reve Ryryie. We found her, by the way." By that, he meant the corpse. "So, who are you?"

She could have been any number of things. Reve had possibly provoked some other Imperial faction, and they had sent this woman as an assassin. She could have been a simple infiltrator who had taken the wrong ID by chance. She could be unconnected with the murder of Reve Ryryie.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il only stared ahead at his chest; of course it was all she could really do given her current situation. Her neck muscles strained as she tried to shift in the chair, but the collar holding her neck in place remained unmoving as she fidgeted. Her hands balled into fists then, and she took a deep breath, raising her gaze to lock metallic eyes with his red.

Chest rising and falling, she then let her eyes flit over the rest of him, taking in his uniform and polished black boots. This wasn't good, and she knew it. She cursed to herself; she should've known to run a background check on the woman when she'd gotten the card, but she'd been in such a hurry that she had just kind of let it pass, figuing the woman to be a law abiding citizen.

Apparently she wasn't.

"I don't think I have to answer that," she said finally, lifting her eyes back to stare into his.

[Sean Piett]

"Of course there's a choice. At this point. Allow me to encourage, however, your cooperation."

He theatrically snapped his fingers, and the door opened. A man stepped in, a dull black attache case in hand. He handed it to Piett, who gingerly set it on the table. The man clicked his boot against the ground in salute. Piett paid him no further attention as the attendant briskly walked out, the door closing behind him.

Piett moved each hand to a clasp. With a snap, they were undone, and the Admiral pulled the case open. The case had a foam room and floor, protecting an array or syringes and wicked-looking implements. He sat unmoving for a second, allowing her to absorb the image. He then lifted a syringe up. They were ancient-looking. Needles, a clear tube. Needles were not used commonly in that era, with much more sophisticated tools available.

Rounding the table, he prepared to inject the truth serum.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il visibly cringed at the sight of what lay in the case, and she struggled valiantly, with no success. The metal clasps holding her down didn't budge, and she shut her eyes tight. Truth serum wasn't something that she wanted in her system at all... Lok s'Ilancy was getting nervous.

As he came closer, she through her weight into her struggles, still without any difference. She was still secured thoroughly to the chair.

Desperation filled her eyes then... eyes that were slowly beginning to shift in color... from metallic to tawny yellow, and as she pulled at the bonds, her mouth opened a little as she was about to protest.

And in her desperation, she changed...

Bones shifted, joints dislocating beneath her skin as muscles realigned themselves to rest over her new structure. Sickening thwocks as her joints locked back into place filled the sterile room, and as her wrists thinned, she pulled them from the binders. Before her hands reformed fully into massive paws, they grasped at the neck collar, and putting all her available strength into a single pull, the collar broke at the lock.

s'Il fell forward then, her legs coming out easily from the bonds holding them to the chair... a wildfire of silver fur sprang up, spreading over her body as a whip-like tail grew from her spine...

Clothes discarded, the vornskr stood tall, chest heaving as she glared up at the Imperial...

[Sean Piett]

Piett grimaced, caught entirely by surprise. He had been almost certain she was human- metamorphs, he supposed, could take that form.

The Admiral had never before seen such a transformation take place. It was humbling, in its own manner. And now, rather than a common, though physically fit human, he had to deal with a rather large preybeast- a vornskr, with the mind of a sentient.

He stepped back and set the syringe on the table, ever cautious. Fortunatly, the room was being monitered. The door opened and a wealth of Imperial soldiers sprinted in, ready to suppress the creature. Standing safe towards the back was the Admiral, who was quite aware of his being more important than the men coming in to secure his safety.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She snorted, casting a golden gaze to Piett as he backed away. She paced a little, then stopped, her head turning to watch as the troopers poured in. She was reminded of her trip to Thyferra in that moment, as the business end of a dozen carbines were lowered on her... and braced herself.

The shots were never fired however, and as she stared up at the guards and they down at her, the beast backed off a little, head lowering as she backed up under the table. Tail lashing back and forth, the vornskr didn't take her eyes from the wall of blasters pointed at her.

Not good...

She turned then, to look up at Piett as he stood towards the back of the room... and growled, the rumble starting deep in her throat.

[Sean Piett]

She had backed away, if only slightly, thus showing that she was willing to cede this small fight.

"Open fire," he said clearly. Blue rings emanated from the weapons, catching the vornskr and knocking it unconscious.

When she woke an undefined period of time later, s'Il found herself reclothed and once again securely fastened in the chair. The first thing she saw was the smirking face of Admiral Piett, dangling a brown bag of smelling salts in front of her nose.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She surged forward; well, as forward as she was allowed. The chair didn't give her much room for movement, and s'Il nearly choked from the collar that held her neck tightly... seemingly tighter than before.

Her eyes lapsed a little into confusion, but soon rememberance dawned within their metallic depths, and she sucked in an instantly nervous breath. She had a bad feeling about this.

"Let me go," she finally managed to choke out.

[Sean Piett]

"In due time, I will set you free, one way or another." Hackneyed though it sounded, the Admiral surmised it would be at least a little frightening to a barely-conscious alien strapped into a chair with practically no give.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

... one way or another...

She winced at those words, still blinking her eyes as she fought the effects of the stun blasts. This man was using, in her mind, scare tactics; and truth be told they were working. She was disoriented, reeling from being dragged from the depths of her subconscious.

"No... now... please... "

[Sean Piett]

With a loud smack, Piett brought the back of his hand across s'Ilancy's face.

"You are in no position to make demands of me, vile creature." He was truly angry, and it showed in both his eyes and his breath rate. "Tell me your name. Now."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

It stung. Alot.

Her head was stopped from rocking to the side, and she let out a gasp as cold metal dug into her neck.

And yet she felt the fire returning, and as her eyes cleared a little more, she opened her mouth, snapping her jaws at him.

"Bastard, that hurt... "

[Sean Piett]

Disregarding her insult, the Admiral sat on the table, angling his head towards her.

"You don't look like an alien. Your eyes are a shade I'm not familiar with, but my own eyes aren't a common color, either.

"Like all Imperials, I regard aliens as underlings- filthy, imitative and stupid. But I take my hatred for them even farther than the most zealous of Imperials I know of.

"There are few- a very few- aliens I respect, or even acknowledge. Among these, they are all high ranking Imperials that have proven they are more human than alien, and I would not do a small favor for any one of these creatures.

"I am very Imperial in nature. I am sadistic, unfriendly, and xenophobic."

[Fenra s'Ilancy]

s'Il ground her teeth in nervousness at his words, and her eyes broke from Piett's harsh gaze.

"You don't look like an alien. Your eyes are a shade I'm not familiar with, but my own eyes aren't a common color, either."

She coughed, the sting of his slap still burning her cheek. "That's cause I wasn't always like this... "

His words of all Imperials being xenophobic was ignored. After all; she knew plenty of Imperials, and they hadn't thought her any less a person after her change.

"... I'm no creature... I'm as human as you are."

[Sean Piett]

"You are an alien. I'm positive of this much, at least. Alien by birth, or alien by choice."

He drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table, a habbit he was intimate with. Not always like this? Not always an alien? The idea was perplexing. Maybe it had something to do with the cuts and scars he had seen briefly as she was unconscious.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Think what you want," s'Il grumbled, doing her best to shift in her bonds. It did no good, as they'd been fastened tighter than before, "... but at least I know who I am... "

She twisted her neck as far as it would go, which wasn't very far at all, and the metal cut into her skin once more.

"Besides; I don't have to wear an over-glorified monkey suit and follow orders like some dog... "

[Sean Piett]

"I chose this path for myself, so naturally I'll not be shaken by your misguided argument. The truth is, I do follow orders- almost anything I'm told to do. It's a minor sacrifice for the power I've been offered, and have recieved."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Well then; good for you."

She glared at him, tempted to change once more, and let tawny yellow begin to once more lace into her normally metallic eyes.

"I'd give you a pat on the shoulder, but seems I can't quite detach myself from this chair."

[Sean Piett]

"I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless."


He looked down at the floor, and then up at s'Ilancy again. It had been a while now- he still didn't have her name. He then saw her eyes- yellow seeping in. He blinked and squinted, perplexed. Suspicious of a second transformation, he brought his knee up and crashed the sole of his foot into the side of her face.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She had no time to react as, out of her peripheral vision, she saw his booted foot fly up, and letting out a cry, her head was knocked back vicously. The slap had hurt, but this...

She gasped, eyes shut tight in absolute pain as the force of his kick caused a new kind of pain to lance through her nerves. And then she let her head fall forward as far as it would go, the metal of the collar driving into her throat.

"That... " s'Il coughed blood, and crimson droplets fell on her clothes, "... hurt... "

[Sean Piett]

Piett placed his hands on the table and pushed himself to the ground. He circled around, behind the captured lady he knew nothing about. He craned his head over his shoulder and whispered into her ear. "I'm very glad, then."

He stepped away and to the side, then walked to the table, where the truth serum still sat. He took it in hand and stepped over to s'Ilancy. He tapped it on the end and a few drops of the yellow-green liquid shot out.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Through a single narrowly opened eye, s'Il watched as he stepped back to the table, the feel of his breath on her neck still sending chills down her spine. And then his hand closed around the syringe, and her muscles froze for a moment before she lifted her head up, blood trickling from a slight gash along her cheek where his boot struck her face.

"No... don't do that... please.," she nearly begged, then resorted to the only threat she could think of, "... I'll change... "

[Sean Piett]

"Excellent!" Piett beamed and set down the serum.

He stepped closer. "Now," he started, "Tell me your name, or I will regret my mercy."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Through the pain, she couldn't help the laugh that shook her slight frame.

"Not that kind of change... "

She blinked, her eyes shifting to yellow once more, and she watched as the color of her world began to drain from her vision. Teeth bared, a little, she glared at Piett, and spitting blood, she coughed once more.

"Besides; if I told you who I was you'd do one of two things... " she could feel her bones beginning to shift... "You'd either not believe me and keep torturing me, or you would; and continue your little sadist rituals anyway."

[Sean Piett]

Piett nodded. "Yes, you're probably right. Telling me, however, might doctor my anger..." He wasn't really angry. He considered, and corrected himself. "Er, put me in a better mood, though." He flashed a smile. "But concerning another transformation... Well, that's not in my best interests." He could hear slight shiftings and saw subtle flesh movements- she was going to transform again.

He pondered, trying to think of some bizarre way to knock her out. When she'd been bit by the stun beams earlier, she reverted and became a human- or a humanoid, at least, again. An idea came. Not one particularily original, but it should certainly hurt.

He stepped over to the briefcase and pulled out a common stun baton. He examined it, wondering if it would prove fatal. He shrugged and proceeded. He wouldn't much regret losing her.

When he came to her, she was squirming, the metamorphosis still in its dominantly human stage. He slammed the baton into her ear, dangerously close to her brain.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The sheer power behind his blow rocked her head to the side, and she yelped in shock...

And her shift stopped abruptly, bones freezing for a moment before reverting back to their original structure. She cried out in pain, grinding bones screaming through her senses as they agonizingly popped back into place. The cut along her cheek had begun to clot, her internal regenrative ability showing itself with flying colors as her metabolism began healing her body... and yet blood trickled from her ear with this most recent show of anger.

She gasped once more, dry heaving as the shock nearly floored her.




",,, afraid... ?"

[Sean Piett]

Piett smiled at her reaction, altogether not dissapointed in her resiliance. He saw her already recovering, and he found himself wondering more about what she was.

"I'll cut you a small deal. You tell me what planet you're from, and what race you are- and I will undo your bindings."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She coughed, her head lolling to the side so she could stare at him. Now this was an easy question; but if he was going to take off her restraints, then she was all for it.

"Kir... CorSec space... "

Another fit of retching, but she continued nonetheless.

"And I'm human... I've already told you that much... "

[Sean Piett]

"I'll take your word for it."

He flicked his wrist, undoing the bindings with the force.

"You see? Cooperation yields resu..." He stopped abruptly.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

The mental spike that drive splinters through her mind was merciless, and her hands came up, cradling her head as she bent over, dry heaving on her way to the cold floor. She hit the floor solidly, her skin suddenly hot to the touch as she curled in on herself.

"... hnhhh... stupid... "

[Sean Piett]

Piett scowled. The first chance he gave her, she began to change into a vornskr. Then his thought train paused - she could have changed just as easily while bound.

So why did she shapeshift when he undid her bindings?

Stupid with pain, he thought. Perhaps she wasn't strong at all.

He held up a finger. Eight unarmored stormtroopers promptly jogged in, two of them carrying a rolled up net. They stepped up to s'Ilancy, curled up in the fetal position on the cold floor. They fastened it to the ground and stepped back. Piett watched, and the corner of his mouth turned up as the stun net was activated, sending painful ripples of energy through the lupine's body.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

There are two types of transformations; the first being voluntary, and more of a smoother transition between forms. The second, was very much involuntary, and the pain experienced when such a thing happens is much more intense than the first form.

s'Il was already in a fair amount of pain, so when the stun net was turned on, the arcs that traveled over her body were merciless, and she cried out in agonizing pain. Her change halted abruptly, and the sheer agony of of reverting bones was enough to elicit another yelped cry. His use of the force had set her off, sending a mental spike through her mind, but the energy now lancing through her body had halted her involuntary reaction immediately.

It'd shattered her senses almost utterly.

Still curled in on herself, she barely managed a half-choked plea... "stop... please... "

[Sean Piett]

Piett folded his arms over his chest, looking down at s'Il. "Why did you change into a vornskr? Why, when I had just done you a large favor- even though you hadn't fully answered my questions?"

He knew that she wouldn't be able to reply. He allowed the current to flow a few seconds longer before he had his men switch it off, keeping her pinned to the floor with the taut net.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She could smell herself burning... she could also bet that if she'd opened her eyes, she would have seen wisps of smoke rise from her body in wispy tendrils.

She could hear the officer's voice, but it took a while for her to answer, calming her body before letting a shaky voice puncture the silent air between them.

"You... used the force... " she replied, answering his question with a simple answer, then went on. "Don't... use the force around me... "

[Sean Piett]

He frowned. A lot of people held force-hating sentiments, but Piett thought it odd that she would risk her life for a slight chance to kill him. What sense did that make? Not much, at least not to the Admiral.

"I will not take orders from you, and certainly not under these circumstances. I will use the Force whenever I please."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She coughed, drops of blood discoloring the cool grey deck she lay pinned to.

"I thought you were smart...

"... what happens when you use the force around a... " she hesitated, knowing that she would be conceding the fact that she wasn't all human, "... a vornskr... ?"

[Sean Piett]

He frowned thoughtfully. He'd never encountered a vornskr before. From what idle talk he'd heard of them, they were aggressive towards Force users... but she had not attacked him the one time she fully transformed.

"I'm not so well versed in the particulars of alien species," he admitted. "I'm just a typical Imperial officer. I kill aliens, not study them... though, as you've discovered, I do question the odd one."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"I feel so honored," s'Il grumbled, shifting under the net. It was fastened tight however, and her efforts to at least rise to her hands and knees proved worthless. With a groan she went limp once more, expelling a somewhat snorted breath as she remained on her side. Shoulders flexing a little, she kept her eyes on the floor, and letting out a cough, she spit more blood from her mouth.

"... I kill aliens... "

She winced. His words stung a little, and she couldn't help the slight shiver that went through her body...

[Sean Piett]

"Well, I can't trust you any more. I'm getting bored with your constant resistance." His words were simple. "But I'll let you up nonetheless." He waved his hand and his men lifted the net. "If you turn into a beast again, however," he added, "I will most certainly be very unhappy."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

As the net was removed, s'Il rose to her hands and knees, allowing a coughing fit to overtake her as she did her best to shake off the effects from the stun net. Her hair fell into her face, and sitting up, she threw her head back, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes before turning a sidelong glance up to Piett.

She stared at him.

"Not all Imperials are like you," she finally ventured, metallic eyes locked with red.

[Sean Piett]

As s'Il rose, the second Admiral Piett kept his own eyes trained on hers. "You're very right," he announced. "Some are taller, some aren't; some aren't as fit, some more burly. But Imperial is a breed, and we are all bound together. Though we don't all go about things the same way, we all have the same ethos. I'm just more assertive than the Imperials you're familiar with."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il leaned forward then, doing her best to stand, and as she slowly rose, she placed a hand on her recently vacated chair to steady herself.

"No...

"Not like that... "

She dry heaved, feeling an aftershock of the stun energy. "They're not as cruel as you. Even after... " s'Il sighed, lifting her eyes to look into his, "... I became Lupine, the ones I knew never saw me as any less."

[Sean Piett]

"And you can read minds, as well?" He mentally jotted down the word Lupine. "An ensign here and there may have gotten through the academy and retained a love for aliens. I assure you, however, no such men would advance through the ranks."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Well they did," she blurted out, locking eyes with his.

Her fingers twitched a little, and she lowered her small bulk into the chair; mindful of the binders that'd previously held her tied to it.

"... And there's nothing wrong with being what I am... " she coughed once more, feeling her body as it sped up her healing processes, "... sometimes it's preferable."

[Sean Piett]

"Preferable? Well, we all have our opinions, I suppose. And as Imperials grow more powerful, being an alien will only hurt you."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She stared at him, unbelieving, and as her eyes flitted from him to the syringe he'd set on the table, she let a sigh escape her lips.

"Then I feel sorry for you; it's people like you who live hollow lives."

[Sean Piett]

He did not respond, audibly or facially. Instead, he shifted his thoughts to the word Lupine. Was it a race? Another word for vornskr? He chose to ask. "Tell me, what is a Lupine?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her brows rose as she regarded him, but she remained still, her muscles relaxed as she sat.

"A Lupine?"

Now that was a departure, and she gave him a cautious stare before going on. "A Lupine is someone who can change from a vornskr to a human and vice versa. I can't change into anything else, just those two.

"I can heal faster than you, hear better than you, smell better than you... "

s'Il canted her head, the beginnings of a smirk on her features.

"I'm better than you."

[Sean Piett]

When the ugly words hit Sean, they drew an instant reaction. Though he was realatively mild-mannered, the man despised belittlement. . . at least when he was on the recieving end.

Facially neutral, he stepped closer to s'Ilancy. He stood unmoving a foot and a half away from her. Then, suddenly, he swept her legs out from under her. As she began to fall, he grabbed her by the roots of her hair and slammed her forehead into the chair she'd been standing next to. She slid off onto the floor, still conscious. Lowering himself into a kneeling position, he whispered into her ear. "You are most certainly not better than me, or I would be the one on the ground, bleeding." He stood up again, kicking her hard in the ribs.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Stars had exploded before her eyes as he'd bashed her head into the chair, and s'Il couldn't help the yelp that escaped her lips. And then he'd dropped her, letting her fall to the floor. His breath on her ear barely registered, as did his words, but his kick did.

It was vicious, and she could feel hot tears fill her closed eyes as his boot drew away. She lay, curled in on herself, wracked in pain while turning a single metallic eye up to his towering form.

Her next words were choked; it seemed as though she was talking like that more often in his presence...

"What the hell do you want from me... I answered your question and got beat for it... " she coughed. "... why should I answer any more... ?"

[Sean Piett]

"You did not answer correctly." Sean Piett respected her constant defiance. He knew full well he wasn't the Empire's, or even the Federacy's finest interrogator, but this Lupine must have been in incredible pain.

"One of us in on the floor bleeding, and the other is drawing the blood. Tell me, does your surperior nose smell what it's currently wading in?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her hands shot out then, latching firmly on the ankle of one of Piett's black boots, blood slicking her fingers and smearing over the glossy black leather. With a snarl, she twisted violently, causing him to lose his balance, and as he went down, she kicked a leg up, the toe of her own well-worn boot catching him in his shoulder joint as he fell...

[Sean Piett]

With a grunt, the Admiral was knocked down and back. When he landed on his landed on the same shoulder, he felt a little blood rise to his mouth.

The eight troopers jumped into action, leveling their blasters at the antagonist. Piett held up one hand in a gesture to stop, and as he pulled himself to his feet one of the men helped him up.

He held out one hand, and the man set a blaster in it. Sean Piett's eyes grazed the Sevon Rifle Co. logo as his eyes moved up the length of the topside towards the sights. He pulled the trigger, the mechanism clicked, and a laser bolt whisked out of the barrel towards s'Ilancy's own shoulder joint.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

As the bolt spun her back, knocking her to the deck once, s'Il cried out, one hand going to the blast wound. The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils as she hissed out a pained breath, eyes rolling in near-madness. She rolled from side to side, letting the pain wash through her body.

The socket had been shattered, the burned skin cauterized almost, and throwing her head back to hit the floor, she let out a frustrated yell.

And falling silent, she continued to stare at the ceiling.

"What... " she stopped to inhale a sharp breath as another wave of pain swept through her body. "... do you want... "

[Sean Piett]

Piett stepped in closer. He lifted a foot and lowered it onto the wound, grinding his heel into the tender flesh. He looked down at her. Her eyes were firmly closed, and her jaw clamped shut.

"I want you to say who of us is the better. See that you answer correctly."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il cracked one eye open, glaring up at him through a single steely slit. Teeth grinding, both hands went up to feebly push at his boot as it ground into the fresh wound. After a few minutes of failed struggling beneath the pressure of his weight, she gave up.

It was all she could do to keep from crying out once more as he pushed down on her shoulder.

Her head rocked back once more, slamming into the ground as she hissed out a breath, her voice quiet; defeated; painfilled...

"... you are... "

[Sean Piett]

Wearing a slight smile, Piett pulled back his heel and set it down on the floor.

"Miss," he began condescendingly, "What is your name?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

As he let his boot up, releasing the pressure, s'Il gasped a little as cold air came in contact with the fresh wound. Her eyes shut tight once more as a hand went over her injury.

"Lok... " s'Il let her eyes open a little to stare up at Piett as he stood over her, and her voice remained soft and low; as if even though she was giving him her name, he would lash out regardless. "... s'Ilancy... "

[Sean Piett]

Lok s'Ilancy? It didn't sound like it was rooted in any of the cultures Piett was familiar with. Maybe she'd spoken truthfully when she said she was from Kir- though the name sounded more like something made up. He waved his hand, and one of his men left the room to check out the name.

"Is that your real name? Because that man that just left will be back promptly to inform me whether it is or is not."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her head hit the floor once more as she let it fall back, and she sighed painfully. Her hand pulled away from her shoulder, and she let her body tense a little. Whatever was going to come next she was almost sure would not be the best of experiences. And regardless being nervous of what he'd do to her, s'Il couldn't help the snapped tone in her voice as she answered him...

"Loklorien Iakyn s'Ilancy; is that good enough?"

[Sean Piett]

Piett frowned slightly when she returned a response- she was ever resistant. He did not excersize his power, though.

He heard a man's boot click against the floor as he stepped into the room. He did not turn to face the courier. The man briskly stepped up to Piett and handed him a small datapad. Gazing down at the thin moniter, Piett wondered if she had lied or not. Then he saw who she really was.

Indeed, she was Loklorien s'Ilancy. And she had Imperial friends- big time Imperial friends. Millard. Desaria. Piett narrowed his eyes, realizing that they were most certainly alien lovers. The thought was obscene to Piett.

"Well, I'm sure you've been waiting for some time just to see the look on my face as I find out about who your friends really are."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

His words slowly registered in her mind, but they confused her; which friends? Prent? Blake? Silus? It'd be more explainable if Prent was who he was referring to... s'Il was sure the man had ruffled a few feathers in the Empire, and on more than one occasion had she been partners with him in shared endeavors. And then there was Blake; of course she hadn't seen her business partner in a long while, but that didn't matter; both women each had sizable records.

It never occured to her that he could have been speaking about Millard or even Desaria. After all. She'd left both men; Millard permanently, and Desaria for a few weeks, to come here for her sister... certainly not an interrogation.

s'Il rolled to her side then, pushing up with her good arm, trying to rise.

"Not really," she answered haltingly, still trying to manage her way up, "I don't particularly care what you think of the friends I have.

"They're good partners."

[Sean Piett]

Partners? Piett had no idea what she meant. She sounded as if she was referring to criminal associates. He looked down at the datapad again. She matched the scowling image displayed on the flip-up moniter, and he was quite sure that Lok s'Ilancy knew two Grand Admirals.

He scrolled down the page, skimming. Well, she did lead a very criminal life. It was likely she was referring to some reputable names.

"I was referring to Grand Admirals Desaria and Millard," he said as she tried to rise, deciding they were more important than most any caliber criminal.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

A look of 'ooohhh' crossed her features as she placed a hand on the chair, levering herself up a little more. Apparently he was referring to her ties with both Grand Admirals. She couldn't help the battered smirk that crossed her features, wondering if the files he was skimming over said anything about her and Khendon. Standing up a little straighter, she cast an odd look at him, then voice her mental observation...

"Does it say anything about Sevon?"

With a painful breath, she lowered her slight bulk into the chair; mindful of disturbing her shoulder... the bones were already grinding against eachother, and even though her metabolism was speeding along the healing process, it still hurt badly.

"It should; I've been with him too, you know."

[Sean Piett]

Piett frowned.

"No, I'm afraid it doesn't say anything about Khendon. Though I remember him mentioning in brief a Kyry s'Ilancy."

Surely Khendon wouldn't fratenize with an alien. Not if he knew, at least. He wouldn't.

As an afterthought, he kicked her in the blaster wound.

"You could be Khendon's best friend, for all I know. It's not my concern. I will do as I please."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

s'Il curbed the cry that threatened to come out as he kicked her shoulder, knocking her back in the chair. Her hand went to the wound instantly, covering it in a failed attempt to ease the pain. She glared at him through painfilled metallic eyes.

"What do you want from me?!" she nearly yelled, "I've already told you you're better than me; what else do you want? My life story? So I was engaged to Millard; not anymore since becoming a Lupine; so I've taken up residence on Thyferra with Desaria? why should that matter to you?!"

[Sean Piett]

"Why the hell did you come here?" Piett asked sternly. He hated the disrespect she handed him time and time again.

And so, he cut straight into what he'd been wondering the entirety of their meeting.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"I came here to visit my sister," she hissed through clenched teeth, doing her best to ignore the burning pain that lanced it's way from her shoulder into the rest of her body.

"You know... Kyry s'Ilancy? If you hadn't noticed, we happen to have the same last name; she's my younger sister."

s'Il stood then, and taking a faltering step forward, stood toe to toe with the Admiral, glaring up at him. "You might have beat me into saying you're better than me, but just remember this; on even ground things would be a lot different. If you think you're so high and mighty over me, why the need for so many stormtroopers? You're not afraid that I might hurt you, are you?" Her sudden courage was shortlived, as she watched the changing expressions on his face, but she kept talking, refusing to back down now. She'd already gone halfway, no sense in quitting now.

"And you know what else? Imperials aren't all like you; I've seen it. Being around Millard and Desaria proves you're wrong; I've witnessed it first hand... " she paused then, her eyes narrowing as she did her best to avoid the pain...

"... You're afraid of me, aren't you... "

[Sean Piett]

"I am not afraid of you," he spoke confidently. "But I must be cautious. Too many brilliant men have taken unnescesary risks. Consider me... more practical." For some reason, the question threw him off enough to keep him relativly passive.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She snorted a little. "Practical? I highly doubt that. I think you like doing this; beating the piss outta me and making me out to be inferior to you...

"Just don't forget... " her good arm lifted, and she jabbed a finger into his chest, tapping hard against his sternum beneath the black tunic he wore, "... if we were anywhere but here, I would have run you into the ground. You only won this time because of you boys in white."

s'Il stood tall; or as tall as she could. With blood running a thin line from one nostril, and an ear, her shoulder shattered and arm useless, she wasn't exactly the model of health. But she didn't care.

[Sean Piett]

"These men are an asset of mine, just as you would consider a blaster an asset of yours. With or without them, I'm thoroughly positive that I would have no problem defeating you in single combat.

"You seem to have me cast as a weakling. I may be out of my prime, but my combat training didn't stop when I graduated." He briefly thought of his strenuous Sith and Royal Guard training.

"I will ask one more question, and possibly others. Why is it that you felt you had to sneak in like a spy to visit your sister?"

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

At that s'Il bit her lip, hesitating a little while taking a slight step back to lean on the table; the task of standing up straight causing her to expend more energy than she thought she'd had.

"Millard," she said finally scowling up at Piett, "is looking for me; he wants to take me back... to Balmorra... "

[Sean Piett]

Millard, looking for her? Maybe she had been behind that castle bombing. He wondered... If it was her that had done that, her value increased dramatically.

He could turn her over to Millard. He suspected, however, that the Grand Admiral wouldn't appreciate being handed a severly hurt former fiance. He probably wouldn't appreciate someone else finishing a job for him in the first place. Rather than deliberate, however, he decided to make a standing decision.

"You have answered my questions, though I don't appreciate your attitude. Earlier, I promised I would release you. I plan to do so, in time." A large part of him wanted to kill her very badly. She would prove a more beneficial specimen dead and cut open by the Federacy's scientists, should he choose to use her in that manner.

He had already chosen, however. Her resistant nature had possibly helped more than hurt her, and he respected that, if only a little.

He stood silent for just under a minute, thinking through his course of action, or, in some ways, inaction.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "I'm going to send you to rehabilitation. P'raps you'll learn your place. Then, when you've passed your courses, I will allow you to leave."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

She stared at him, her eyes unbelieving as he spoke. Rehabilitation?? What kind of garbage was he talking about?

"Rehab?! I don't need frakking rehab!"

Her hands balled into fists as she glared up at him, metallic eyes boring into his own red. She was simmering now; soon she'd boil over.

"I already know my place; I don't need you to try and shove me into whatever rung on the ladder you think I have to be on."

Nails biting into her palms, s'Il stood her ground, refusing to move.

[Sean Piett]

"If you'd like, I can always kill you." Deciding he'd had enough, Piett started to walk out. As he stepped up to the door and it slid open, he turned his head about and spoke again. "On second thought, I'd rather you go to rehab." He then stepped out, the door closing behind him.

s'Il had no way out. Ready to leave, one of the guards tapped her on the back. Angry and defiant, she didn't step forward. The butt of a blaster crashed into the back of her head.

s'Il woke up several minutes later, laying on a hoverstretcher. She could tell that she was in the clinic wing of the giant government building. Her heightened sense of smell clued her to that more than anything- the area was practically odorless, only a faint smell of cleaning agents lingering.

She strained to look about, using her elbows to prop herself up. An obvious patient- shaved head, numbered grey jumpsuit, bound hands- was yelling at a scrawny lab-coated elderly man. A physician, she assumed. The man drew some sort of club out of his jacket and smashed it into the patient's head. Two stormtroopers jogged up and dragged the body away. The man was dead- s'Il could smell it.

Her room was four hundred other inmates' room. Talking was strictly prohibited, and lights were lit around the clock.

She followed a strict schedule. She was on a three strike system. She did this, and that, and she said 'Yes Master' three dozen times a day. She used her first two strikes in the first few days- and learned that each strike was a punishment, as well.

Life was hard, but she conformed. Piett observed through many a holocam and two way mirror, interested in her progress and in the program itself. And he kept his promise- after some time, she was brought the the room where she had first met Piett. There he stood, hands clasped, smiling.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Her eyes were hollow. She did as she was told. She said what she was told to say. She had been through enough punishment and beatings that served to push her into submission. Clubbing after clubbing until she submitted; day after day she had bucked Piett's system, until she could stand up no more. After that she began to slowly lose herself; to drown in the schedule forced upon her.

Days stretched into weeks; weeks stretched into months. Time was a foreign thing now for her; all of it was painfilled anyway, so after the first week she'd stopped counting.

And now, prodded into the same room she'd been in months before; where she'd first met Piett, her eyes remained on the ground... after all, she was the inferior one. Hands at her sides, she stood silent. Until she was spoken to, she knew not to speak.

[Sean Piett]

Piett inhaled through his nose. He could tell she was broken.

"You're free. You may go wherever you wish. Visit your sister."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Eyes still downcast, s'Il stood obediantly unmoving.

"Thank you, Sir... " she paused, then went on, her voice tentative. "... Sir... how long have I been here... ?"

[Sean Piett]

"Four months and twenty-odd days. I'm not entirely certain." He disregarded that she'd forgot to say 'please'. The change was a complete inverse of her attitude- and in a way, Piett was a little downcast.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"Thank you, Sir... "

Four months; it had all seemed like one long day for her.

"Sir... I don't... know if my sister is still here; on Omerose... "

She looked up then, though careful to avert her eyes. "... may I... talk to Khendon, please?"

[Sean Piett]

"Khendon Sevon is the Imperator if the Imperial Federacy, and you will refer to him as such," Piett said softly. "As I said, you may go where you please. I will not, however, facilitate your travels. You're on your own." He brought his hands around and steepled his fingers. "You may now leave."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"But Sir; I don't know anyone here; only Khen- " s'Il stopped herself then, visibly cringing in expectancy of being punished, but also quickly tried to correct herself at the same time, "... Imperator Sevon... and my sister...

"... and I don't know where eiher is."

[Sean Piett]

Piett was a little angry to see that she still wasn't entirely passive. He did feel slightly responsible, though. "I will send you over to his on-planet office. I beleive he's on planet, but he may choose not to deal with the likes of you."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

"- but he may choose not to deal with the likes of you."

She looked down then, her shoulders slumping in defeat. If Piett said that Khendon wouldn't want to have anything to do with her, then most likely that's what the case would be.

"... if he doesn't want to have anything to do with me... I... " she sighed, then shifted a litte, "... I have no other reason to be here... "

And just as she'd been beaten into learning, she gave the Admiral a polite nod that seemed to convey her knowledge of the fact that he indeed was superior over her.

"Thank you, Sir, for speaking with me."

[Sean Piett]

He wondered how long she would be like this- broken, submissive. Forever? He didn't think so. He was willing to let go. He'd seen the results he'd waited patiently for, and that was enough. "You're welcome, and goodbye for now, s'Ilancy." She'd been 55912568100A for almost five months, and he gave her back some individuality.

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Feet bare, hair tied loosely back, and her body seemingly withered, s'Il nodded again. For now... she winced a little at the words, wondering if Piett had had her tagged in some way; so that if he wanted her back for testing of any sort, all he had to do was send out a ship to track her down. She decided that must be the case, and a hand went up to scratch at an unseen itch at the back of her neck.Don't bring me back; please...

When he said her name, she couldn't help but look up into his eyes, a blank metallic gaze meeting his. s'Ilancy... ? ... my name...

"... s'Ilancy," she repeated softly, "Lok s'Ilancy... " it was her name, but it felt different to say it; the number she'd been called ever since arriving feeling more natural than the name. Her mind worked slowly; her senses dulled considerably. Forbidden to change, she had been forced to remain human for almost five months. Her Lupine half had all but died... she could still feel it though; begging to be let out; begging to run free.

A restless feeling swept through her then, and she suddenly felt caged; locked down.

All this happened in a matter of seconds, but she quickly quelled the feelings within her. She felt the intense desire to change; to run; to be free... but if Piett saw her change, he'd send her back to that cage, and possibly never let her out. So she stood quietly, then turned to be escorted from the room.

s'Il looked back one more time though, one last question on her lips.

"You said you would facilitate my travel to the Imperator's office... since he will not see me, will you still pay for a transport off-planet... ?"

[Sean Piett]

Piett frowned a little. A part of him felt like he'd done enough to her- felt like he should help. Another part still argued that he should kill her.

He wasn't afraid of Telan Desaria. He beleived Telan would find out, one way or another. He nodded slightly, thinking. Khendon and Piett, though mostly the former, had put together a mosaic of technology unrivaled by any other known faction - to his knowledge.

"Yes, I will do so."

[Loklorien s'Ilancy]

Another nod in thanks, and s'Il turned, stepping from the room. She wouldn't be coming back to Omerose for a long while; if ever, and the fear Piett had beaten in to her was very real.

s'Il didn't know what transport he'd put her on, but she silently prayed it would be one that would take her away from any Imperial held world. Where she went from here she didn't know, but one thing she did know; she wouldn't be going anywhere near Imperials again. She couldn't afford anyther experience like this one again.

Ever.