Post by Bobbi on Jul 6, 2022 16:30:35 GMT -5
It was said that peace was a lie, that it was a lifelong journey to achieve it.
When she had first been found, scooped out of the gutter with blood on her hands, saved from the scum that lined the streets of Bastion Lotus Gi had been nothing. A slave. She’d had no name, no rights. She’d had no body of her own, no life to live it. All it had taken to change that was one night, one that had started out as insignificant as any slave’s could. Oh, but she had lost her temper that night. She'd had enough of the beatings, the fondling, and the rape. She’d had enough of someone eying her up like a piece of meat. So, in the darkness of an alley on Bastion, crowded in by buildings on both sides, she’d let him believe he was going to get what he wanted only to prove him wrong.
Barbarically, she’d taken his eyes and ripped his heart from his chest with her bare hands as it still beat. His dying screams were still music to her ears, even after all these years. She could still hear him begging for mercy. The last image he ever saw was her standing over him, covered in his blood.
Where had that night taken her? Into the hands of someone who could have been great, someone who could have reached the pinnacle. But he, just like all the rest, fell before potential could be realized. It had seemed like such a waste.
He had taught her, though, how to work better from the shadows. He had helped her find the abilities within that made her light touch flourish in the darkness. He showed her what it was to have the power she needed at her fingertips, and all the while those around them fought and battled for supremacy. But not Lotus, no. Gi was able to sit back and watch them destroy themselves while shouting with full lungs that they were the best, the most evil, the most wicked and therefore they were the ones on top.
How they burned themselves out so quickly. How they consumed one another like wild dogs fighting in the street.
For years it had been so easy to be overlooked. For years, Mercy had been given the ability to continue fanning the flames of her own power, her own alliances, her own following. It helped that Lang had abandoned his Empire. It helped that the Jedi had been thrown into turmoil. It helped that there had been war. Yes, there was pain for the Daimon Republic but it didn't last long. Now, with diplomatic wounds healing and the people’s voices being heard, Lotus had reason to celebrate.
The Republic wanted her. They chose to elect her to keep the seat she was sitting in.
The sky lit up beyond the view window she was standing before. The wide cityscape of Gerrenthuum spread out for her to see clearly. Fireworks were painting the darkened heavens above while those within the city celebrated.
“Happy birthday, Daimon Republic.” She spoke, a small smile spreading across her deep red painted lips.
Behind her on the bed that sat in the middle of the room lay a lightsaber, one she’d been keeping to herself for ages now. “I think I’m finally beginning to understand what you’d told me all those years ago.” She spoke to the air, and then turned toward the bed to eye it where she stood. “But I’d like to correct you on one thing: there’s more than one way to come to power.”
It had been said that a Sith chose a name, or rather was given a name by their Masters on completion of their training. Funny thing, that. She’d had her’s since the day she was born.
Making her way toward the bed, she stopped mid room and raised the wine glass she held high, toasting to the unseen sky above while from behind her the flashes of light painted the room in varying colors of the rainbow, “To the lost souls who came before,” She spoke to the room around her, bringing the wine down to her lips for a sip, “May they never be forgotten.”
She was the last one standing, a lowly slave risen to power, and who was there to take it from her? Why would they even try? The Republic she’d had a hand in building was starting to thrive. It was finding its feet. There were those who had come after her, and there were those who had fallen -- taken down by their own efforts to get their hands on beloved Mercy Trang. The galaxy knew what she was, and they loved her for it. Her influence was not just within the affluent, no. Her influence rested with those that really mattered: the poor, the destitute, those who felt stepped on and squashed by those above them. Her vengeance was for the long haul.
And how sweet it was.
The Dark Lady couldn’t help but smile.
When she had first been found, scooped out of the gutter with blood on her hands, saved from the scum that lined the streets of Bastion Lotus Gi had been nothing. A slave. She’d had no name, no rights. She’d had no body of her own, no life to live it. All it had taken to change that was one night, one that had started out as insignificant as any slave’s could. Oh, but she had lost her temper that night. She'd had enough of the beatings, the fondling, and the rape. She’d had enough of someone eying her up like a piece of meat. So, in the darkness of an alley on Bastion, crowded in by buildings on both sides, she’d let him believe he was going to get what he wanted only to prove him wrong.
Barbarically, she’d taken his eyes and ripped his heart from his chest with her bare hands as it still beat. His dying screams were still music to her ears, even after all these years. She could still hear him begging for mercy. The last image he ever saw was her standing over him, covered in his blood.
Where had that night taken her? Into the hands of someone who could have been great, someone who could have reached the pinnacle. But he, just like all the rest, fell before potential could be realized. It had seemed like such a waste.
He had taught her, though, how to work better from the shadows. He had helped her find the abilities within that made her light touch flourish in the darkness. He showed her what it was to have the power she needed at her fingertips, and all the while those around them fought and battled for supremacy. But not Lotus, no. Gi was able to sit back and watch them destroy themselves while shouting with full lungs that they were the best, the most evil, the most wicked and therefore they were the ones on top.
How they burned themselves out so quickly. How they consumed one another like wild dogs fighting in the street.
For years it had been so easy to be overlooked. For years, Mercy had been given the ability to continue fanning the flames of her own power, her own alliances, her own following. It helped that Lang had abandoned his Empire. It helped that the Jedi had been thrown into turmoil. It helped that there had been war. Yes, there was pain for the Daimon Republic but it didn't last long. Now, with diplomatic wounds healing and the people’s voices being heard, Lotus had reason to celebrate.
The Republic wanted her. They chose to elect her to keep the seat she was sitting in.
The sky lit up beyond the view window she was standing before. The wide cityscape of Gerrenthuum spread out for her to see clearly. Fireworks were painting the darkened heavens above while those within the city celebrated.
“Happy birthday, Daimon Republic.” She spoke, a small smile spreading across her deep red painted lips.
Behind her on the bed that sat in the middle of the room lay a lightsaber, one she’d been keeping to herself for ages now. “I think I’m finally beginning to understand what you’d told me all those years ago.” She spoke to the air, and then turned toward the bed to eye it where she stood. “But I’d like to correct you on one thing: there’s more than one way to come to power.”
It had been said that a Sith chose a name, or rather was given a name by their Masters on completion of their training. Funny thing, that. She’d had her’s since the day she was born.
Making her way toward the bed, she stopped mid room and raised the wine glass she held high, toasting to the unseen sky above while from behind her the flashes of light painted the room in varying colors of the rainbow, “To the lost souls who came before,” She spoke to the room around her, bringing the wine down to her lips for a sip, “May they never be forgotten.”
She was the last one standing, a lowly slave risen to power, and who was there to take it from her? Why would they even try? The Republic she’d had a hand in building was starting to thrive. It was finding its feet. There were those who had come after her, and there were those who had fallen -- taken down by their own efforts to get their hands on beloved Mercy Trang. The galaxy knew what she was, and they loved her for it. Her influence was not just within the affluent, no. Her influence rested with those that really mattered: the poor, the destitute, those who felt stepped on and squashed by those above them. Her vengeance was for the long haul.
And how sweet it was.
The Dark Lady couldn’t help but smile.
