for_everyone | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

The advantage of Hera's typical technique is that it's controlled, and understated. She draws as little attention as possible to the act while she's carrying it out, giving her time to plant evidence and leave the area before most have even realized what has happened. But, once in a while, a particular job calls for a little more showmanship than this. Her work is never supposed to leave any uncertainty as to what it means, and who is behind it. But sometimes, there can also be value in sheer brazenness.

Which means that Hera's most recent target, Captain Orfanidis, was stabbed in the chest in his own quarters aboard the ISS Laran. At least the follow-up requires slightly less work – Hera doesn't even bother hiding her weapon. She hopes they find it. She hopes they find her DNA on it. She hopes they know exactly who did this, and that they walk in fear of when she'll do it again.

But if she plans to do it again, it also means she has to get away. Which is why she waits just long enough to ensure Orfanidis is dead before she drops her blade, and checks her time, before she steps back out into the hall. The moment she does is just as the ship's assigned cleaning "staff" is passing through. They're all wearing shock collars, so that they don't need a monitor, and are dutifully keeping their eyes down. Already disguised accordingly, it's easy enough for Hera to step in among them, and walk with them as they pass through the staff quarters.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We have leaders," she answers. "We don't need masters."

"What's the difference?"

This comes out bitterly, and perhaps that is no surprise.

Well, for one -

Hera reaches up to toward her neck. She's no longer wearing one of the collars used on the Laran, she was ready to have that disguise off her as soon as possible. But she tugs aside her neckline, revealing the scar where her implant had been as a child.

As she covers it again, "But you've proved they don't always need such measures, do they?

He flinches, looking away from her and shrinking into himself.

In this moment he stays silent.

(It's true.)

Her eyes follow Kanan's motion, but she it's a few seconds before she speaks. She considers her words, and that Thrawn is watching her.

"In that case, I'd like to think the difference is respect."

He snorts again, though he doesn't look up.

"I'm half-Betazoid, so the Terrans don't respect me. And I'm half-Terran, so I can't see how you'd respect me, so -- "

"A Terran can go back to their Empire."

Before respect comes some level of trust, and Hera can't imagine she could ever have that with a Terran. But -

"You can't."

Now Kanan does look back at her, bitterness still curling one half of his mouth.

"Maybe if I wanted to be tortured to death."

That's pretty much the only outcome of that idea.

Like a reminder,

"You don't."

"No," Kanan agrees, because there's no point in not doing it now. He's shown his hand.

"So what's the deal?"

Thrawn smiles very faintly, studying Kanan without looking toward Hera.

"Well done," he says, once more in Sy Bisti. "Shall we ask him to help ferret out informants to the opposition, do you think? A trial position in data analysis? I imagine he would be suspicious if we didn't immediately wish to make use of his psionic talents."

Edited 2018-07-18 23:33 (UTC)

Hera also watches Kanan, not looking back to Thrawn as she answers, "I'm not so sure."

In fact, she imagines rushing him to work it, seeming eager to use him like a shining new tool, would be more likely to close him off again.

Instead, she only asks, "Will you help us?"

He does his best not to look toward Thrawn, and it's easier than he thought it might be.

Which troubles him, a little, but --

"What kind of help do you need?"

"What you know about the Empire's operations could be useful."

She'd sidestepped it before, but now, she figures there's no use pretending otherwise.

"And if you could use your Betazoid senses, there are many ways that could help us."

He flinches again, but this time doesn't look away.

"Isn't that going to upset a lot of people? If your plan's to get me murdered as a suspected spy on this ship . . . "

"Kanan."

It's the first time she says that name. She leans forward in her seat, and speaks slowly, and clearly.

"If I want you dead, I will kill you myself."

He doesn't smile, but the left side of his mouth tenses, almost as if he wants to.

"That's . . . actually comforting. I'm going to hold you to that."

It won't help him, but it feels like it might be a nice change, to know where the blade will come from.

She tilts her head, and asks, "You should know whether I'm lying, right?"

And right now, there's not even the barest flicker to suggest she's being anything but truthful.

"Circumstances change."

He means it to be flippant, but . . . it's not.

She shakes her head.

"Not for this."

He's silent for a moment.

Then --

"Let's say I believe you."

(Because he does. Honesty is very convincing, to a Betazoid.)

"What do you want me to do first?"

Hera leans back in her chair, then turns, looking to Thrawn.

"I think he should eat first."

Thrawn nods once, sharply, and moves to sit behind his desk.

"You seem to have this well in hand. Have him back here tomorrow morning, after the late shift breakfast. Locating quarters is up to you, of course, as is wardrobe. You'll know what best fits in with the crew."

He steeples his fingers once he finishes speaking in Sy Bisti, gaze fixed on Kanan for another long moment.

"We'll talk about that tomorrow. For now, let's see that you have your basic necessities taken care of. Hera, if you would?"

Hera nods, rising from her chair before looking back to Kanan.

This time, at least, she's not so openly bracing for an attack as she waits for Kanan to stand.

He hesitates, waiting until Hera is on her feet before slowly getting to his own.

"I'm going to have to learn another language, aren't I?"

Because speaking Terran seems . . . unwise.

"Betazoid is mostly telepathic, and I don't have much else."