✦ •||• Fateful Meetings

[thenameofscreen]

(ooc: Just a note, I forgot to ask if you had a style preference, but I can match either action spam or prose! My default is action-prose, just because of the time I've spent on DW, but I also do a lot of prose on the side, so let me know which you like better. :) )

[ Most of her life had been spent living under Galra rule. They'd invaded her home world when she was still just a child, bringing the planet under heel through force and technology. Her parents had been among the first to fall, though not before sending her brother away for his protection. Her elder sister had inherited the throne after their deaths, and life as Tamaran once knew it came to an end in short order.

Exotic, deadly, tropical jungle was soon tamed and colonized, Galra structures dotting the landscape of the once savagely beautiful planet. The royal palace that had been her home no longer recognizable with the additions of Galra tech, spires rising from parts of the structure, and flags of the empire being flown where once there was no such heraldry.

The worst blow came, however, shortly after Koriand'r came of age. For the sake of their people, Komand'r had insisted, she had no choice. She had been presented with the ultimatum, her sister or her people. Koriand'r had fallen for the deception easily, and was taken into the custody of the Galra in short order.

Since her enslavement to the Galra she'd been forced to do many things. It largely consisted of fighting on their behalf, but never as an equal or even a soldier. She was treated as a weapon, to be deployed as they saw fit and stored away when not in use. She was never granted the freedom of roaming the ship on which she spent her days when out of combat, nor was she granted any level of respect for her service or skill. Once, the former princess thought that to be the greatest insult she was asked to endure, but she'd never protested such treatment, believing her cooperation to be essential to the survival of her people. She might have continued that life until her dying day, had the Galra not finally asked her to cross a line that she refused to cross.

Planet Atania was a harrowing experience, start to finish, but what stood out as the worst part of the whole ordeal was when the soldiers and sentries had turned their attention on the villagers. Their military forces had already been defeated, and the Galra had set about setting up base as they always did. When villagers were caught stealing supplies, however... she'd been ordered to track down the culprits and deal with them- under strict supervision, as always. Upon finding the thieves she'd been horrified to learn they were mere children, and yet the commanding officer accompanying her still demanded "justice", that they make an example of them for stealing from the empire. "Stealing", he'd said, as though the food they'd stolen hadn't been rightfully theirs to begin with.

There was no choice to be made. Koriand'r had done what she'd done, and the only regret that she had was knowing there was little that she could do to protect the village. In one last ditch effort to shield them she'd returned to the Galra base camp and wrought as much destruction and havoc as she could, to give them somewhere else to focus their anger, and a grand show she'd made of it, too, lest they think it had been anyone else's idea. Afterwards she'd fled in the opposite direction with the hope that they'd give chase, and they did not disappoint. Battered, bruised, and wounded, she'd been forced to take shelter on one of the planet's many moons knowing that it was just a matter of time before they tracked her down.

With Galra ship activity on the defensive anyone with a brain would keep their distance and give the area a wide berth. Neither help nor helpful distraction would not be coming, she's sure, wittingly or not. ]

Comments

this intro got long!

[exiletoempire]

[Exile.

Is it a mercy? His father could easily have killed him, he knows. He had been quite capable of putting an end to Lotor. But as much as Lotor does not want to die, in some ways, this is worse. An entire planet, an entire civilization—which had been entrusted to him, which had been filled with people he had introduced himself to, conversed with, worked in collaboration with—had all been destroyed, as he had watched. They were all gone. And for what purpose? None at all. It hadn't even been for gain. He had had the figures, the hard evidence, to prove that his way was better, in every quantifiable category.

How is he supposed to feel about that? He knows how he does feel. He is shaken. He can't afford to be shaken. There is no time for such an emotional luxury.

Although his father hadn't killed him, he might yet change his mind. Lotor might also be killed by a Galra who has a grudge against him, or some other person who has a grudge against his father. Really, the possibilities for murder are endless. And isn't that the Galra way, after all?

The Galra way is—unpalatable to him at the moment. Unsupportable. Unbearable.

Lotor doesn't like feeling at a loss. He likes to have work to dedicate himself to. A plan. He had hoped that his father would see things his way, because he had been right, but now, his plans have been burned to ash along with the people he had tried to lead into the empire, to create a new way of life. He has nothing. He needs something.

The way out of the empire is a long one, since the empire's influence is so vast. He has not yet reached its shifting borders. He still has far to go. So as he travels in the vessel he was allowed for the purposes of departing, keeping well away from warships, he monitors transmissions. He keeps waiting for the general imperial announcement of his exile and disgrace, but so far, it hasn't come. The order was a final, royal decree, but his father has not yet gone out of his way to inform the rest of the empire. Curious. But then, in so many ways, Lotor does not understand his father. He cannot fathom how he he thinks. Perhaps he has decided the shame of his son will reflect poorly on him. Galra do not admit to weakness.

Instead of a proclamation of his father's disapproval, Lotor picks up a flurry of more localized com chatter. The quickness and urgency of the transmissions, as well as the number of them, catch his attention at once. There's not much that can inspire that kind of reaction from the empire. Lotor listens avidly. They are speaking of a weapon, which increases his interest. More intriguingly, it is referred to as a weapon that escaped. Machines do not run off and escape their makers, unless they are very poorly programmed, so he imagines this is a weapon of a more organic kind.

But what? He knows very well of the kinds of weapons his people use. Some are people themselves, but others would be more correctly described as monsters. He tries to glean the truth of the situation, but there are few details to be found by just monitoring. He has to go in.

He pilots his craft toward the moon that's the source of the distress, and he is met with immediate resistance, a few craft swooping in to demand his identification and motivations. He does as requested, and because his father has delayed in publicly shaming him, he receives a stammering reply telling him Prince Lotor, we didn't realize— What are your order?. Is it that easy? It isn't that easy. He has to continue this charade and order these foolish soldiers, all the while realizing that at any moment, his father's announcement may come.

The announcement doesn't come. The soldiers transmit their information to him, and he scans the data concerning this weapon quickly. He can't afford to deliberate. If he delays, they'll realize his behavior is strange. They'll ask themselves while he's in this quadrant. If they contact headquarters—

He makes his choice. He flies his craft down to the moon, and lands it. The atmosphere is thin, but he disembarks. Is he being irrational? Possibly, he is.]

I know the feeling!

[thenameofscreen]

[ It would seem they were both in luck that day, though how long the luck will hold remains to be seen. She doesn't know it yet, but help, however inadvertent, is on the way.

Of course, when Koriand'r hears the sounds of a ship going by overhead her first thought isn't that she's saved, it's that the Galra forces have found her. She has no where else to run, though. If she returns to the planet she'll bring destruction with her, either in the ensuing chase or in the ensuing fight. If she flees into open space she'll be a sitting portkin. Sooner or later they'll search all the orbiting moons and anything large enough to hide her, and that means they'll find her.

The way she sees it the only choice left to her is to make a final stand, to go out fighting if she is to die here. She will not die cowering like a weakling. She will make them earn their victory and she will make sure that it costs them dearly.

Ignoring her aches and pains, the former princess rises to stand, leaving the cave sized crater she'd been laying low inside of, balling her fists as she hears the engine powering down enough for a landing, just within her line of sight. Her eyes begin to glow, her jaw clenches, and her stance widens into a fighting position- standing her ground.

She's ready. ]

[exiletoempire]

[One of Lotor's problems, as he sees it, is that he has no allies. While before, he would consider his father more a relation than an "ally", that relationship had brought with it an enormous about of power and esteem. That has all vanished, leaving him unconnected and relatively vulnerable. His situation is not a simple matter of fleeing.

For instance, perhaps his father means to kill him after all, and this "exile" was a ruse, to prevent the empire from realizing the truth. That is only one dangerous possibility. There are a number of them. One of which is that the Galra pursuing her will see through his motives and his stated intent to resolve the situation.

From what he understands of this "weapon" now that he's read the information, she is also alone. She is injured. In need of an ally. How fortuitous. The problem is, how to make his intentions clear without being injured himself—or worse—in the process. Now, where is she? Her former handlers had made some efforts to pinpoint her location based on biorhythms, but the results had been inexact. Lotor does have the means, in his suit, to project his voice—useful for a leader, in front of a crowd.]

As you can see, I have come alone.

[Not unarmed, because that would be foolish. He can't let down his guard.]

I only wish to talk to you.

[thenameofscreen]

[ When the pilot of the ship finally emerges she finds herself caught somehow off guard. From the look and sound of him, he doesn't sound like the average Galra. She's not heard that particular dialect before, which makes her wonder. His appearance isn't that of what she's seen of the Galra either, not ENTIRELY. He must be the first one she's seen with white hair, all the ones she'd seen before (who weren't wearing helmets) had black growth, which didn't mean that they all did- she could hardly account for every single one. Still. Could it be that there was more to him and the situation than meets the eye?

Or, she muses, could he be trying to lure her into a trap, into the range of some sniper's cross hairs?

Necessary though it was she didn't care for so much idle speculation. She didn't wish to wait any longer and question. She only wants answers, at this point, and to face her fate, whatever it is.

She calls out in answer, wary and distrusting. ]

I have never known the Galra to favor speech over force.

[ Still, as a show of some modicum of good faith she does show herself, adorning battered armor, but armor that didn't offer much in the way of obvious protection. Better for her agile fighting style, and she may need the advantage now depending on how this encounter goes. ]

[exiletoempire]

[Lotor doesn't expect her to trust him. If she'd seemed to, he would have assumed it was a trick. Anyone in her situation would be very foolish to trust him. And anyone in her situation, who also had managed to escape her handlers, would also be dangerous.

He hadn't been sure if she would show herself, but there she is. That's a step in the right direction.]

That is because they rarely do, but do I look like other Galra you have seen?

[Lotor knows what he looks like, and he knows what other Galra think of the way he looks. Their feelings are far from positive, and his appearance has always been a sore point, a barrier standing between him and his father and the rest of his people. Because he isn't really one of them, is he? Yet if he can use his mixed heritage to his advantage here, then he will. Usually it has been used against him, so why not?

Then again, it may not matter very much to her—because just as, to his father's people, he looks strange and un-Galra, to other species he appears menacing and very much Galra.]

You are surrounded. Hunted. At this point, you have very few options. So why not talk to me?

[thenameofscreen]

[ She'll concede that he is correct on those points. Had she not just been thinking the same? She could respond, appearances being deceiving and what not, but she'd only be stating the obvious. Besides, by that logic his arrival may also not be what it appears, though she doesn't quite dare to allow herself to hope.

None the less, the harsh glow does leave her eyes, revealing deep green as the brightness fades. ]

Very well. What is it that you wish to discuss?

[exiletoempire]

I will not say I mean you no harm. That would insult your intelligence, because you have no reason to believe me.

[He's not trying to forge a bond of trust. There isn't time for that. It would be more accurate to say that he wants a bond of need. For all that, when the glow leaves her eyes, it's encouraging. He's read about the powers of this "weapon".]

Those who are hunting you are not my allies. In fact, I have deceived them in order to reach you.

[A little honesty won't necessarily hurt him. The deception wasn't particularly cunning. Throughout the Empire, people are constantly pulling rank or undercutting each other to carry out tasks that might help them curry favor with the emperor. He's sure that's what they think he's doing—seeking to counteract some disfavor.]

[thenameofscreen]

[ She listens. It's not the way of her people to talk over fighting, but she's not on Tamaran, the Galra are not her people, and as he himself has already stated she's a bit low on options.

That being said, it doesn't take much for her to see some logic behind his claim. The Galra have an open disdain for ANYONE not of pure lineage. This young man, whomever he is, is clearly not pure Galra. He doesn't have the look, no matter how she tries to look at it- or him, rather. The hair, the regal bearing, the lack of distinguishing marks on his face, AND the lack of any sort of growths on his head are all reason to believe that he's half Galra, at most. He may be an outcast, so far as she knew, to have to stoop to deception. ]

And what is it that you desire of me, that you would go to such lengths to reach me?

[ Because she is smart enough to know that he's likely not here to help simply out of the goodness of his heart. More specifically, she suspects he wants to use her the same way that they did, though if that's the case he's certainly taking the much, much smarter approach. ]

[exiletoempire]

[Unlike many Galra, Lotor actually does prefer talking to fighting, at times. That's not to say that, at other times, he doesn't relish a fight.]

I will address that shortly, but first—will you tell me your name? I would prefer to know who I am speaking with.

[For all the information he had received on her, it was all related to her capabilities, her genetic makeup, and the purposes she had been used for. There was mention of her origins, yes, but a name had been deemed unnecessary data. There was only a number assigned to her.

Their time is limited, and running out, but a personal touch can have its uses. It may make her more willing to listen to him, and will certainly set him apart from other Galra, most of whom don't even deign to speak to such "weapons".]

I am called Lotor.

[He doesn't mention his title. This is not the best time to bring that up. It's really just too much to explain in the moment (and might give a very negative impression).]

[thenameofscreen]

[ The pragmatic approach is something to be appreciated, given the circumstances she finds herself in. For while Lotor worries about when the transmission about his exile will come through, when the soldiers will question his involvement, Koriand'r similarly wonders how long before they come searching for their companion, assuming they DON'T figure out his deception.

And a name is simple enough. He theorized correctly, too. It's been so long since anyone has cared enough to be so much as politely curious about her name- she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to actually converse with someone. ]

I am Koriand'r.

[ His name might have been familiar to her, if her guards had bothered speaking in her presence. More often than not she was left with sentries, however. She does note this, however, like the rest of him, Lotor doesn't sound like a typical Galra name. It's more elegant, much like its bearer, and lacks the sharper or harsher sounds she's come to expect when Galra speak their titles and designations.

Perhaps, just maybe, her luck is turning for the better after all, but it remains to be seen as it depends largely on his response, which she now eagerly waits to hear. ]

[exiletoempire]

[Lotor knows that he is not the most popular figure, and knowing what he does of his people's refusal to discuss their own matters with outsiders, he thinks it unlikely that she would recognize his name. Good.]

Koriand'r, then.

[For a moment, Lotor remembers his last assignment, the people he had spoken with—their names. No, he can't think about that now. He cannot waver. He will put it out of his mind.

He has practical matters to focus on.]

What I am proposing is a temporary alliance. You are trapped here, but I have a craft. You have certain talents that may be of use to me. Both of us would be best served by removing ourselves from the Empire's territory as quickly as possible, for our own reasons. It's simple enough. A purely practical arrangement.

[thenameofscreen]

[ It's a sound proposal. There's no arguing that getting away from the empire is in her best interest, and while she's curious about his own reason for leaving (Especially after he seemed to almost hesitate. Had she imagined it? No, she doesn't think she did.) she also recognizes that now is very much so NOT the time to ask.

She doesn't have the luxury of a reasonable deliberation time either, and so she decides that even if she cannot trust Lotor, she can at least trust her gut. Her gut is telling her to take the offer and go while they both still have their hides intact. ]

Then I accept your proposed alliance.

[ Resisting the urge to look back the way they'd both come from, she finally begins to draw further away from the crater, closer to Lotor. No sudden movements, but there is urgency and tension visible in the measure of her stride all the same. She regards him for a moment, then holds out her hand once she's within reach. She means to shake on it, to seal their arrangement. The sooner that they've sealed this deal, the sooner they can leave. ]

[exiletoempire]

[Desperation is a powerful tool. Although he is desperate himself, she is more so, her situation more dire. Without his intervention, she will be either recaptured or killed. She might even prefer the killing, considering the nature of her captivity.

He studies her approach, watchful. Her guard hasn't dropped, and his won't, either. He can see her clearly, now. Her appearance doesn't surprise him in any way, it's simply of interest.]

I am pleased to hear it.

[He regards her hand. This is a moment of trust. He knows something of her powers, after all, and what she might do to him. Fortunately, she seems relatively rational, and he is her last chance of escape. He reaches out to clasp her arm, in the Galra manner. He thinks of how deeply this would displease his father, and he is glad.]

It is done.

[After a firm clasp, he releases her again.]

We can discuss the details later. We have more pressing matters to attend to.

[Escaping this moon intact, for instance.]

[thenameofscreen]

[ She is reminded of a saying that her Desperate times, desperate measures. This certainly qualifies, though admittedly she's feeling just a touch less worried than she had been before. At this point all she can do is take the future as it comes. The first steps have been taken to finally distance herself from the life of servitude she'd expected to endure, and it's... liberating to finally have some say in her fate once again.

And now it is his turn to return her show of trust. For a moment she isn't sure that he will, but once he does there comes a modicum of relief. She clasps his arm in turn, mindful not to grip too hard, but firmly all the same, nodding once in answer. It's time to go. ]

Then you have my thanks. Let us leave, quickly.

[ Thank X'hal that the communication device they had forced onto her still functioned. It had been damaged in the fighting and it's difficult to imagine how this might have gone had it stopped working before he found her, or during their discussion. If it holds out just a while longer she'll be grateful. ]