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Hera enters the Bar, holding a slender metal box between her hands. She blinks around, her grip on the box growing a little tighter, maybe deciding whether or not she wants to stay this time.

In the end, she does, moving through the room until she takes a seat at a table near the Bar. She sets the box down and aside, and then orders red leaf tea from a waitrat. It's served cold, and very bitter, and she sips at it while watching the room, and maybe purposefully not glancing down to the box.

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Thrawn waits for her to no longer be touching it, and for it to be still.

Then he reaches out and pulls it closer to himself.

"And what is this, General?"

Hera takes a deep breath, so as to keep her voice even.

"It's what you stole from me."

"Ah."

He pushes it away again, sitting back and returning his hands to his lap.

"I see."

"What's wrong?"

Hera reaches out, and flips open the lid. She understands why it came to her like this, the process it must have gone through in being found, indexed, searched, stored, and eventually, delivered. But she also hates it; it makes her feel as though her family's legacy was returned to her in a coffin.

"You don't want it anymore?"

"It has little use as a weapon in my hand, now, lovely though it is."

His voice remains very calm, his expression composed.

Internally he is reminding himself of the role of a warrior, and what happens when two warriors meet.

(And, of course, what happens when one can no longer make war on a battlefield.)

"Aren't you supposed to know all about me from this?"

Her voice is controlled, but she does not sound calm.

"You had it for long enough."

Thrawn merely raises his eyebrows.

"Taken in aggregate with other artworks and writing from the Twi'lek, I can confidently say I know a great deal about your people. You, however, have had many influences besides those in your life, and about the Jedi I know little, for instance. They were not much for creating art, that I could find."

"Then tell me about my people."

"Very well."

He leaves his hands in his lap, though his posture straightens slightly, as someone used to giving reports to superior officers might do without thinking about it.

“They are prone to searching for deceptive methods of combat, preferring misdirection and ambush when given the ability to choose their own ground. They evince great loyalty, and can frequently be lured out against better judgment if other Twi’lek are in danger. Damaged ships or shuttles, or even the correct type of distress signal can be used to bait such traps. Infiltrating Twi’lek communities is difficult but not impossible, one needs only find a former slave, or one who has suffered a great deal of life’s misfortune, and arrange for them to convincingly stumble upon a community of Twi’lek. This includes enclaves in cities far from Ryloth, though it is easier when said communities contain a large proportion of freed or escaped slaves. Abolitionists who like the money are also a useful route into Twi’lek’s inner circles.”

A pause.

“Shall I go on?”

"Thrawn -"

She speaks slowly and, albeit, a little more calmly now.

"Do you think someone from a world overrun by slavers for centuries would think all people in the galaxy 'share their understanding?' Of anything?"

Thrawn purses his lips, thinking this over.

"An idealist might, or they might equally as well believe that anyone right thinking could be brought to share such an understanding. Very few cultures cultivate a fondness for dissonance."

Hera looks down again, her eyes falling to the kalikori.

"Demanding your life isn't the same as expecting it."

He again inclines his head, just a fraction.

"From the outside they do often look similar, but no, those are two different mindsets."

Without looking up -

"Have you ever met a real idealist?"

"Not one that lasted through adversity, no. Certainly not here."

Even he himself, who might have been called idealistic by Eli Vanto so long ago, when first he came to the Empire --

No. He no longer expects better, particularly not from those who choose to play politics in this portion of the galaxy.

"I have."

Hera reaches out again, wrapping her fingers around the center piece of the kalikori, and lifting it from its little metal tomb. The outer pieces sway slightly as she moves it.

"When I first left Ryloth. I fell in with a group of activists who were trying to change the Empire through peaceful means."

"Ah."

His mouth presses into a flat line.

"Did it eat them alive, or kill them first?"

"The Empire killed them."

She gently turns the kalikori over in her hands. "One by one, until I was the only one left."

Edited 2017-07-13 03:27 (UTC)

"It's an effective method of torture," Thrawn says mildly.

"One that does not necessitate much effort at capture and holding."

Edited 2017-07-13 12:13 (UTC)

Hera looks up.

"It convinced me that anything besides a rebellion was pointless."

Her eyes fall again, and she carefully places the kalikori back in the box. "And that I was safer as an outlaw."

So, not that effective.

Edited 2017-07-13 12:26 (UTC)

Perhaps not in Hera's case.

But then, not everyone in the galaxy is like Hera.

"Not an unworthy lesson, certainly. It seems to have served you well."

Hera carefully straightens the hanging pieces of the kalikori, before lifting her hand, and reaching for her glass.

"You turned that around fast."

Thrawn exhales.

"I have never been particularly gifted at conversation."

"I don't think that's your problem," Hera mutters, lifting her glass.

"That is also true."

He keeps his hands folded in his lap. Waiting.