A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted Dec. 17, 2018, 8:03 p.m. by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) (Trinity Fister)

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Darius Zar (Head of Mining Operations) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home

Posted by Civilian Isaria zh’Thavos (Head of Education and Culture) in A Lonesome Night at Home
OOC: My character development thread. :)

Thavos had always seemed one of the more composed of creatures that walked the streets. Her characteristic calm emanating form her body like the air of authority many others possessed. However, her aura did not command attention and it was not remotely an intention to turn all eyes upon her.

Instead, it was the constant flow of a serene calm. A plague ravaging every sense of emotional discontent within her mind, forcing forwards the ambient cool that was so peculiar for a creature which bore the disposition of an Andorian, in appearance, and whose blood ran through her veins with the imperialism of her people. Yet, that same nature never once met her eyes; it did not fill her smile; it did not find itself upon an ice laden heart. It was a quality to often submereged beneath a facade she held quite well. A skilled act intended to thwart what people saw and perceived of her. In all meaning of the word, she was a lair.. but not with the same intentions as those who were classified with such a demeaning name.

Yet, for what reason did she have for this act? What did an Andorian with a supposedly rudimentary background have to hide? A gentle giant with an air for pacifism, with a secret behind those grey eyes? Perhaps.. anything was possible.

A lazy evening called her home, her body unwilling to remove itself from the motionlessness it had assumed. Shoeless feet propped onto a stained glass table, she relished the feeling of the cold against the heels of her blue feet, which appeared almost violet in the calm haze of the darkening evening. Her back rested into the cushion of the couch, its comfort wrapping her in its gentle embrace, begging her never to stray from its companionship, wishing nothing more than her company, when she left for such long hours in the day.

Isaria was not exactly one of those women who enjoyed being a home body. She did not find joy in remaining plastered to her couch, as if some kind of immobile creature, whose attention was intended only for the moving rays of light upon the holographic projection of some drama-filled show. The sedentary life did not call to her, it did not fill her ears with the warm and happiness of a certain willingness. Instead, it only pushed her away, its inviting arms appearing nothing more than a prison for her body, where she would fall prey to its lazy and ineffectual ways.

Isaria imagined herself, even in dreams, roaming the universe. A vagabond without anything to tie her to a specific place or a certain person. The feeedom to do as she pleased without the boundaries of life weighing her down, seemed nothing more than an impossibility to the woman who had devoted her life to order and the constant routine of a colony whose nature was anything but mundane. Yet, even in the chaos of this small world, outside of reality, she could not help but find the world around her to be nothing but the same routine, each and everyday.

The words might change and the people might be strange, but the roads and the buildings, with each passing morning, always looked the same. Their lonesome faces glimmering in the sun to hide their depression for the fact they never had the chance to venture beyond that horizon, the one they were forced to stare at, without any comprehension of what might be possibly beyond it. Of course, it was absurd to describe a building in such away. But its metaphorical depression was a reflection of her how disaatisfaction.

Isaria wanted more with her life than to sit behind a desk, making certain the historical archives remained intact. She wanted more than to type away at a computer, her sly hands going raw with the pressure of a twelve hour shift, a sin of her own commitment. They said, if you wanted something, you were going to have to search for it. Yet, Isaria loved her job, it pleased her to be able to contribute to the government of this colony- an amazing one at that, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t think anything would ever be enough.

Perhaps one day, her wild heart would be tamed by the simpler things in life, such as the prospect of children and having a family of her own. However, in these days where she was still considered young for her species, she could not find herself wanting to settle down. The thought scared her, in every essence, to have to remain put with a single person for a single reason, for the remainder of her life. She wanted to experience the universe first hand, wanted to explore and test the limits of not only the environment around her, but also herself.

She, however, was her biggest enemy. Even in all of these dreams, she knew she could never bring herself to leave this place. With every hope and every will to head beyond this planet and travel into the expanse of the Stars, she could never bring herself to act upon them. For once they were created, they were destroyed by an entity as equally powerful as their creator: fear.

Fear for what, exactly? A dutiful question to ask.

Fear for the very thing that kept her grounded that evening, instead of roaming the world at her fingertips, searching for something new. Fear for something she had never the courage to say aloud. Fear for something she did not believe she could ever come. Fear.. fear.. fear. It was a demeaning creature, a face plastered with a melevolent smile, its clothes drenched in the fabled lies of good deeds and noble intentions. Fear was her controller. But why?

A sigh escaped her lips, produced from her chest which bore the weight of a secret she barely understood, herself. Pulling her feet from the table, she placed them before herself, her arms wrapping around them, until they were against her chest, her chin atop her knees. This position allowed her to feel security as heinous things plagued her mind, ridding it of its happiness. The event these shifts in emotion were leading to, happened to be rare. But when they did come, Thavos had learned to sit back and let it happen. There was nothing she could do in this battle against fear, this battle that had left her paralyzed before. There was nothing to say against something you could only remember as much as your doctor wanted you to.

Isaria Thavos

Black. That was what she had expected— hoped to see the moment her eyes closed, her world shifting from reality to that of her own incredibly heinous mind. She pondered of the toxic information her brain might feed her, once more begging her to take her conscience between her hands and murder it, as a method of escape from the horrid hell she so often found herself with. Yet, she had not been met with the gracious void of limitless black, a perhaps scary notion to those who were not ravaged by the lucid claws of a notably vicious beast. Claws which had become the consequence of a past she did not even know.

‘I told you, Mariana. How many times must I prove to you that’s she is ready?’ Bits and pieces of a conversation she could not fully remember in a cognitive stance, played through her mind, as it had several times before. It was a continuous loop of words and phrases she could never put to faces, information she could never put to data, nor the events they had been intended for. A portion of her wondered, truly, what she had been before the awakening, a time period she had classified as the moment she awoke without a recollection of anything beyond those blinding white lights that had hung above her.

‘You are certain?’ The woman had asked. Yet, certain of what? Of what did she question? Of what did she need? Of who was this for? When could already answer one of those questions, subconsciously knowing the conversation had regarded her. ’I cannot have my prized steed be let from her containment, until I am certain her skills have been honed to perfection.’

’This “steed” has been genetically modified to suit what you require of her. We have finally shed her of whatever personality she had before.’ This was when her memory grew hazy, as if who ever had robbed her of these thoughts had intentionally left the recollection of her eavesdropping on this fateful day. As if it were a painful reminder to the truth that rested within her bones. The truth that proved Thavos wasn’t not so lovely as she tried to seem. ’She is superior to our other subjects, the only one not to face vast side effects from the drug. Of course, she has not yet been introduced to the outside world.. but the best is always saved.. for last.’

Isaria rubbed her forehead against her knees, trying to rid herself of the looping memory. What had they done to her? What had she been trained for? What additional genes did she possess? What kind of monster was she?

These existential questions weighed heavily upon her mind. She wished to know the answers to these fateful inquiries.. no.. she needed to know. But as much as her heard needed the restitution, her mind screamed in silence, begging her to leave the past where it belonged, behind her. Yet, a part of her could not let that happen. A part of her needed this, needed to know who she was, needed to know what she was.

But even in this need, she was afraid. Afraid of the truth breaking her far more than these demeaning lies had.


OOC: Great writing! It looks like they have more in common than we thought. If you want a hint, read the security thread with Longstreet. I’m now even more looking forward to her meeting Darius Zar. If somebody understands a split mind, then apparently Isaria does :-)

OOC: Really? I’ll have to look into that! Two people with akin understanding can either be dangerous together or remain completely calm. It will be interesting to see what happens!


“How many times am I going to ask the same damn questions before they grow too boring to ask again? Or perhaps too painful?” Isaria didn’t really wish to know which of those would come first. She did not wish to be plagued by questions that would only harm her existence, but the only way to get rid of them, was to answer them. But how was she supposed to answer inquiries to a past she could only remember bits and pieces of? What kind of puzzle was this? She didn’t have the inner pieces, only the flat edges of the outer shell, shedding only the faintest amount of light on what rested inside. It wasn’t enough! It never would be. How was she supposed to figure or a mystery, with a single strand of bloodied hair?

Sighing, Thavos pressed her fingers against her temples, dark eyes narrowed until they had become hooded by her eyelids, casting a deep shadow over the pool of emotionless grey. How much did it take for one person to break? Or could she even ask that question? That conversation, the one she never got to the end of, it must have the information that she needed, by it was never given. Obviously, she was not completely an Andorian, and perhaps that meant she could not ask the same inquiries that might come of someone who was. But, still.. what was she?

Isaria had never felt any different to anyone else, she did not find herself with remotely better vision or even superior strength. Then again, Andorians were already superior in strength to several alternative species. Regardless of the fact, there was nothing that she could find that even hinted towards any genetic modifications. With that being said, Isaria also hadn’t bothered to have any in-depth testing done on herself, either. Hell, she hadn’t even had a DNA test to figure out who the hell her parents were.. if she had parents. For all she knew, she was just some test-tube child conjured by the brains of some madman in a lab lightyears away.

She shivered.

‘Maybe I should go get testing done?’ She mentioned, mentally, to herself. However, there were so many risks she would be taking. Both unnecessary and truly vital. If she were to go have her blood tested for her true DNA, what would that information come out as? And if the doctor determined it out-of-the-ordinary, what would they do? Would they send her in for further testing? Report any differences to the command of the colony? Penalize her or even dare to question of a past she couldn’t tell? No! She couldn’t. She could not get her blood tested. No matter how much she wanted to know the truth, Isaria knew it would be only a greater damnation to her word.

If she wanted to know what was in those blue stained veins of hers, she was going to have to do her damndest to figure it out, herself. But did she possess that strength? She would soon find out.


Fingers tapping against the base of her leg, drilling metaphorical holes into the depths of her sky tainted skin. A color both a gift and a curse by the realm of this reality; both worthy of respect and degradation, depending on the person and their species. However, she remained unimpacted by the peculiar tinge of her otherworldly skin, and whatever impact it might have on a daily life. After all, it seemed that Oed people held no particular care towards the pigmentation of one’s skin, and instead their trustworthiness, on the legal side; or their ability to light up a room, on the social.

In thought, the fingers stopped.

Isaria had an idea.

She knew that many of her efforts would be futile, specifically if whoever was responsible for this alter in her genetic code, had every wish to maintain secrecy about their experimentation and scientific altercations. Thus, it would make t quite difficult to locate any viable information on a general search. Although, Isaria had always been fascinated with culture and education.. which contained lines upon lines of encrypted archives, to ensure the information would not be lost. Thus, she did know her way around search engines, if anything at all. Perhaps that would prove itself useful in this daring predicament.

She pulled out her PaDD. Taking a deep breath, she calmed her heart rate, which had been skyrocketing at the feeling of helplessness that had previously washed over her. Getting her leg to stop fidgeting, she pulled them into the couch, crossing them beneath her body, for stability and for comfort. Raising the PaDD, she rested it atop her knees, her sight strong enough to recognize the petite lettering from where she sat. Pulling up the first search engine she could think of, she drew a blank. What was she supposed to type in?

‘Scientific experimentation on gene altercation..’
no. Several backspaces.

‘Studies in the last eight years around..’
no. Another cleared box.

That vexing cursor blinked before her, willing her to put something into that small box at the top of the page. However, she could not seem to think of anything that would satisfy the cursor and her own high-standard mind. Rolling her lip inwards, she bit gently into it, as if it would offer her food for thought. Assuming that whatever had been done to her probably wasn’t legal, she decided to branch off of there.

‘Recently uncovered illegal experimentation.’

Several results came up, ranging from historical discoveries revolving around the twenty first century, to unearthings of a week merely passed. Icon upon icon found its way to the screen. Isaria was now to be Horton, searching for the only living flower in the stacks upon stacks of dead ones.

Isaria Thavos

Hours seemed to pass, small eyes narrowed agaisnt the weening light of the outdoors. She was not sure how far into her research she was forced to set the PaDD down, and turn on the light, but she knew it had to have been at least a few hours. Her stylus partially chewed at the end, a result of her concentration on what she had been reading, Isaria was hardly aware of her frazzled hair, something she had run her hand through more than a few times, in order to release some tension from her body.

Sighing, she knew she had to take a break from it, if only for a few moments. A ball of fur curewnr up at her hip, rose his head to stare at her with piercing, feisty green eyes. He blinked, ridding the sleep of those huge irises, rising to his feet where he liberated his spine, stretching to escape every ounce of drowsiness. Pulling back his lips in a long, he narrowed those eyes at Isaria, snipping at her with a quick, audible meow.

“I know you’re hungry,” She responded to the feline, as if she knew exactly what he was saying. When she had yet to put the device down, he maneuvered over to her, reaching his paw into the air. Hesitating for a moment, he tapped her shoulder.. More so, pawed at her should, gently and without his claws. “Give me a second.”

The antagonization continued. Aaron Purr knew every way to irk his owner, or in his apparent thoughts: his slave. He would rub up agaisnt her ribcage, sticking his head under her arm. He would pad across her lap, kneading her thighs, slowly ripping into the material covering them. Rubbing his chin against the PaDD, he would knock the stylus from her hands, forcing her to bend over and retrieve it.. Then he would come to sit behind her, do she couldn’t sit back again. Alas, she gave in.

“Okay! You win.” She sighed, setting the PaDS down, pulling herself to her feet. Adjusting her disheveled clothes, she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t think I would ever be bossed around by a cat, of all creatures.”

Annoyed with how the feline had managed to control her, yet again, she made her way to the kitchen, pulling a can of his food from the fridge, where she spooned a small scoop into the bowl. Sliding it down the counter, towards his usual eating place (just beside her vase of flowers– never filled with flowers), Purr quickly came to retrieve his tasty meal, gobbling it up like a kitten having gone on strike.

Rolling her eyes, Thavos went to go consider her own dinner, barely realizing her own hunger.

  • Isaria

The evening passed without any luck towards sleep, something she had become almost accustomed to, all of these years. It wasn’t uncommon for the Andorian to experience bouts where sleep was as prevalent a thing as the pst she could not seem to remember. It haunted her, haunted her memories with its foreboding, inky face. A sable she could never escape, a gaze always staring back at her, whenever she dared to close her eyes. She doubted most offered reasons behind her insomnia, choosing it were merely a matter of prominence to her mind and to her body. However, she was, deep down, well aware of the underlying cause for her inability to rest her head.


“Miss Isaria, you’re looking quite—.” One of her assistants, a young Bolian man, whose polished head and clean uniform was tidied to fit his formal needs, took a second to consider what he was trying to say. He studied the woman, his eyes traveling from the tip of her antennas to the base of her foot, a gaze that left her near writhing in discomfort. It was obvious he was at a loss of words, searching her for any indication of the proper thing to say. In defeat, he managed only a sweet lie, which Isaria saw right through. “Chipper, today.”

“I appreciate your flattery, Jenizzan, but I know I look dreadful.” Thavos chuckled, or managed what she could of one. “I never noticed you come in so early before, Jenizzan. Is this a normal occurrence of yours?”

“Not at all, ma’am.” The Bolian man pipped up to be able to talk about his life, a subject he quite enjoyed. “In fact, my husband had an early shift today, so I figured I would show up an hour or so early and get some work done.”

“Well, I appreciate your drive.” Isaria hummed, listening carefully to his words, allowing them to be a distraction from the looming shadow that dared to encase her thoughts in its obsidian embrace. “How are the adoption files going through with your soon-to-be daughter?”

“Son, actually.” He brimmed with a sense of pride, his chest puffing out, his eyes glittering in the dim light of the room. “And we are allowed to pick him up from the Outpost, this Friday!”

“Son! My deepest apologies,” But her apology flew right over his head, making no difference in his cadence nor mood. “That is wonderful, Jenizzan—.”

Isaria’s gaze was stolen from her assistant, casting over to the door of her office, where she found a strange creature observing the lettering of her name, embedded into a small plague. He moved then to fiddle with the entranceway to her office, as if searching for a way into the room. Narrowing her eyes, in clear suspicion, she glanced back at the man. “I apologize, Jenizzan, but I must be getting to work.”

“No problem..” His voice faded into silence, the further she left him out of earshot. Making her way over to the enigmatic man, she rose an eyebrow.

“May I help you?” Her voice was filled with the false politeness of a trained professional. Her eyes, now painted with a kindness she could not authentically achieve in this moment, glimmered at him. “You seemed to be looking for something.”

“Someone, actually.” He seemed skittish, as if uncertain as to whether or not he should make any remark. “Although, it does not seem she is here. I must be going now!”

When he turned to depart, Isaria moved to intercept his pathway. “Please, stay for a moment. I would love to understand your infatuation with my name plaque.”

A gulp.

  • Isaria

“It is.. Merely a matter of infatuation with your name, ma’am. I..” He struggled to find words to fill his tongue whose silver lining was beginning to fade. “Found it curious, how rare of a name you have here..”

“I have a rather common name for an Andorian, sir.” Isaria was not buying the bullsh*t falling from his lips, finding that his claims were absurd and otherwise difficult to find any sense of belief within. “Do you mind, perhaps, telling me the truth?”

“I haven’t the foggiest what you mean, Madam.” He pushed his hands together, rubbing his wrists against each other, an antic Isaria recognized to be one of anxiety. She could see the slight perspiration against his forehead, where nervous sweat had begun to accumulate. His chest, it was moving far more rapidly than before, his breathing becoming choppy and ragged. “I said my piece, and I meant it.”

Isaria was not certain how she recognized these traits, when observation was not something she recalled being taught. “Then do explain your obvious markers of anxiety, sir. If you are so certain of yourself, why are you shaking?”

“I.. Uh..” Another bout of struggling to find words for a tongue try of all potential. “I have never really seen an Andorian before, you are quite intimidating.. If I don’t say so myself. I mean, you’re much larger than I– height wise, I don’t mean your weight. And.. You’re blue– but that isn’t a bad thing–.”

“Please,” Isaria rose a hand to stop him, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just shut up.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, he nodded.

“Now, come with me. I want to have a little chat with you, Mister..” Her eyes scaled his attire, before finding a faded nametag upon his chest, as if he worked for a utility company. For a few moments, she found it difficult to read, before raising her gaze. “Carinthos. If, that is your name.”

“Ma’am, I really do have a lot to attend to, I.. Don’t have much time to waste.” He tried to get away from her, but found himself cowering beneath a glare he had not seen before.

“No,” Isaria offered a darling smile, but her eyes did not change. “Please, step into my office and enjoy a cup of coffee. My treat.

-Isaria Thavos

Isaria’s gaze, so narrowed it made a stand of hair seem large, focussed strictly upon the enigmatic and evasive man before her. Hardly waiting for much an answer from his side of the party, she stepped into the room. Surveying the interior, she looked for any differences that may of come prior to his arrival. Catching sight of her desk, she stalked over, bending over, as she tugged a single paper from the drawer. Holding it up to her vision range, Thavos held back a snarl. She was not accustomed to this feeling of displeasure, and she questioned, deeply, where its root was.

Setting the paper down, where it was visble to the eye, she shot her gaze towards her guest. When she spoke, her voice assumed a new level of displeasure. “What do you want with me?” She questioned, her tone low albeit still easily audible to anyone listening in. “Obviously, this wasn’t the first time you were pursuing about my office, unless I have another person taking things from where they belong.”


“Don’t play coy with me, Mister Corinthos. I don’t have the time nor the patience to deal with infancy, at the moment.” Isaria met his gaze, her own burning a steel fire. “Get this over now, and we can move on with our days just like nothing was happening.”

“I have nothing to say,” The man assured, holding this story of his, close to his chest. This earned him a raised eyebrow from his female counterpart, but it did not seem to faze him in any way.

“Then tell me, why were you messing with the entryway, as if trying to get into my office? Or are you going to blame that on simple curosity, as well?” Isaria asked, her annoyance breaching her calm facade.

“I was simply checking the systems around here. I didn’t wish for you to come over and find your door hardly working. It was a kind gesture, i swear.”

“Right.. And so was the expression you have when you saw me. As if you had seen some kind of ghost.” Thavos lowered herself into her seat, leaning against the desk, where her hands came to clasp before her, a gaze never leaving him.

“You simply looked like someone I knew.. Or one knew,” This man was good at whatever he was doing, and Isaria was going to have to step up her game, to get what she wanted.. But she hardly knew what that was.

“I daresay you don’t know many Andorians,” Isaria hummed, tapping her fingers against the back of her hand, keeping her stance somewhat aloof. “Where did you say you worked, Mister Corinthos?”

“Engineering department,” He responded, his voice vague and cryptic. As if testing this, she asked the computer to search up anyone with the last name: ‘Corinthos,’ on Oed. Alas, three people showed up, none of them working for the Engineering Department. At least, judging by the basics of their information.

“You want to try that again, Mister Corinthos?” She inquired, growing fed up with his act.

“I was recently assigned to Oed, my file might not be uploaded.”

“Right. I would be glad to talk to your Department Advisor, about your little excursion to the Department of Education. I’m sure they would have knowledge on your file, now wouldn’t they?”

“I doubt it. I haven’t yet had the time to report to them. I reported to a senior staff member, instead.”

“Right..” Isara trailed off in a manner of skepticism. “Cut the crap, Corinthos. Either you tell me what in the hell is going on here, or I’m going to call the Police station about a breach of privacy.”

That seemed to strike a nerve.

“That won’t be necessary.” He waved his hand, clearly not wishing to be caught by someone of the law. Even in his calm, it did not escape Isaria, the way he flinched at the name. Thus, she knew there was something up about this man.

“Care to talk, then?” She asked, making her way over to the phone.


He stared at her for a few seconds, watching her as if a hawk studying his prey. When her hand graced the handle, he clammed a bit, before speaking up in as lesiure a manner as possible.

“Fine.” He breathed, shaking his head. Silently, he leaned back, his body tense and unmoving, as she drew her hand from the device.

“I’m listening.”


“I was looking for you.. I didn’t lie when I told you that. I also didn’t lie that I had found who I was looking for..” The man began, the hesitation lacing his voice in a thick sheath of its derogatory slime. He seemed to be tentative with his words, as if dancing around the wick of TNT, waving his hands, in brash attempt never to light the flame. A flame that would cause an explosion.. and explosion that was Isaria Thavos.

“Please don’t dance around the problem, Corinthos. I really don’t have the time to play hookey with a man who could he squished like a pea, but almost anyone in this building.” It was true, Corinthos was strikingly small for his gender, but it seemed natural for him, despite the obvious disproportion that led to the inevitable assumption of dwarfism.

“I know.. and I don’t mean to waste your time, I swear!” He insisted, the glimmer about his face proving he thought twice about the words that were coming out of his mouth. They were clearly getting him nowhere, and made no avail. “I..”

“Tell me, before I have I use a real reason to call security on your *ss. I’m sure that cell is nice and warm, waiting for you to be in it.” Isaria grumbled. She was not used to this side of herself, the agitation and the anger. She was used to be unimpacted by the seige of words streaming towards her. Accustomed to the indifference and the apathy to every insult made because of her unusual mannerisms for a person of her species. This.. this made her feel as though the azure blood that ran through her veins finally had a purpose. It reminded her of the illmanner of her people, the striking irritability that struck several as rude, the force that had the many running with their tail between their legs. In some ways, it was refreshing— exhilarating even. In others.. she hated it.

“I was sent here to check up on you..” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze broke, studying the floor as if it had suddenly become the most intriguing aspect of her office. This uncertainty, the way he prolonged the last syllable of his sentence, his unwillingness to meet her gaze, his fidgeting. It was enough to tell her that this man, no matter how sly he was trying to be, was lying to her. It was like a sore thumb, obvious in every way of the book.

“Corinthos, that communique is looking awfully appealing to me,” Her voice has dropped an octave, odd for someone who already spoke with such a sonorous tone, unnatural already— for a woman.

“Fine! Fine! I was sent here to see into you, to understand what you have been up to, to—!”

“Spy on me.” Isaria finished the sentence for him, narrowing her gaze to small slits. She leaned forwards, across the table she had come to be sitting at, an action she could not fully recall. Bracing her fingers against the chilled surface of the mahogany wood, she hissed her following word, “Why?”

“I.. I cannot tell you that.” He shook his head, fear crossing his gaze. He bit into his lip, dark eyes growing cowardly and tentative to every move he made. As if one glance could set off her flame, he tread carefully in these tumultuous moments.

”Why!?” Her voice was held with a force she did not know herself capable. Slamming her hands against the table, one could have likely heard it outside of the walls that confined them to her office. There was an anger in her eyes that had not previously come to light. “Tell me now, or so help me—!”

“Because you’re a liability. You’re a threat! My commanding officers needed to know you weren’t going to be a threat to them!”

“A threat?” She seethed. “How the hell would I be a threat to them? The most I can do here is make someone quiver in fake fear because of how pathetic my Andorian tendencies are!”

“You know that isn’t true! You must know that isn’t true! They gave me you’re name! You’re a threat to them! I have to make sure the threat to neutralized.”

“You’re sounding like vermin right now, kid. And people around here don’t usually like vermin. So why don’t you get up and move on. I’m no threat to you or your people. Not unless you make me one.” She hissed, “I have never hurt anyone and I don’t plan on it, anytime soon.”

The man gave a nod of his head, his body quivering as he got up. “You have hurt a lot of people Isaria. You’re lying! I know you are.”

“You have the wrong Isaria. Get out of my office.” She turned away from him, studying the monitor before her. When he didn’t move, she glared over. “That means now, Corinthos.”

With brief hesitation, he nodded.. quickly leaving the room as he had left it. Only this time, his tail was between his legs.

Isaria sighed, brushing her hands against her forehead. She wasn’t sure what the man had meant by her being dangerous. Certainly, someone had to have the same name as she did. There had to be a rational explanation for all of this. Her? Dangerous? That seemed about as likely as a Borg being friendly. Sighing, she tried to brush it away, returning to her work. The emotions still surged through her, something she despised, but it wasn’t anything a few hours of silence couldn’t fix.

Isaria Thavos

Silence didn’t fix the issue.
If anything, it amplified it until it was screamining in her ears and across her consciousness to do something about it. Yet, what was there to do? How could she attack an enemy she couldn’t see? Something she couldn’t remember? Better yet, didn’t even know whether or not it existed, or if someone was playing a serious joke on the unsuspecting Andorian?

A soft grumbled escaped her lips, eyes narrowed to small slits. Why would someone want to play such a game on her, of all people? She did her best to stay clear of most people, and when she did speak, it was as respectful as she could possibly go with. That was, considering the fact her species had her lurching at disrespect and reeling at any discrimination.. But still as respectful as an Andorian could manage. Regardless, why? Why her? Clearly they were getting something out of this. Clearly there was some kind of reward!

Why was she getting so angry about this? She could feel her blood boiling as it surged through her veins. Her heart beat faster and faster with each passing minute, perspiration growing against her temple, and beginning to spill down her skin, whose tone was kissed with the iciness of her homemoon. It was foolish! All of it! And she knew it. Why was she falling for some trick played by a man who could have easily been snapped by a twig? She should have taught him a lesson. Done something more than just send him off without any repercussion! Oh, how she was stupid!

Calm it, Thavos.

The rage was something she had not felt in such a long time. And for a woman of her serenity, that was saying something. She had not felt the blood rushing through her body as quickly as it was today, in more years than she could count on her left hand. It was infuriating.. But it was equally exhilirating. She almost enjoyed it, the energy that came of this anger. Although, she had no idea what to do with it. In that regard, she wished to wash it away. Yet somehow, the anger felt natural, it felt real, and that was a feeling she had not felt in a long time.

She was so used to feeling like a robot, with a mild temper. Sure, she would grow angry about certain things, but it took several incidents just to elicit a simple roll of her eyes. It made her feel weak, as if she were not worthy of her title as an Andorian. She was a pacifist, for crying out loud! She couldn’t hurt a fly! And where was that confidence? Where was that honour? That desire to defend her honour, even if she was wrong? Where as it? She was as poor an excuse for an Andorian, as one without their antennae. Worthless to her people, for she couldn’t even act on her anger.

Some might say this made her strong, it would have made her mentally superior to her peers. For she could control the rage, while they would go haywire on it. But that was the problem, there was no rage to control! It was as if she were numb, indifferent the world, completely blocked out from any sebse of anger. Yet she could still feel the overwhelming sense of sadness. She could still understand the butterflies in her stomach when someone complimented her. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and knot her intestines when someone said they were disappointed in her. But she could not feel the boiling of her blood, when someone pissed her off.

It was pathetic, and she knew it! Where was the blue blood that was supposed to be ao reactive it could send someone for a whim? Where was the strength in her arms that had humans running for their money? Where was the valiance in her bones that left her standing with a sense of worth before anyone who defied her? Where was her sense of purpose? Had it fled with the remainder of the memories she had lost that night? The night the doctor’s claimed her disease had struck for its last straw? Had it fled with the recollection of her parents? With the knowledge of the colour of eyes that danced across her brother’s face? If.. If she even had a brother.

And now, as she felt the rage as it courses through her body, empowering every part of her she had thought lost its potential. Especially that Andorian heart. It brought her back to life, but it painfully remindered her of the truth of herself. Of how pitiful she was in comparison to her kin.. The kin she didn’t even know. The kin she that could have easily passed her every day of her volitile life, waving in her face.. And she wouldn’t know. The pain was immense, as it washed over her, sending a chill through her body, freezing over the vehement anger that once stood in its place.

Slamming her fists upon the surface of her desk, the table shaking in protest, she wanted to scream. But when she opened her mouth to speak, she could only manage a soft whimper. Tears.. They welled behind her eyes, burning into their back as she tried to ward them off. But she was weak, even at holding her tears back. Without her consent, they rolled down her cheeks, staining her skin a darker shade of blue, in their wake. Lowering her head to the table, her forehead pressing against the cold surface of her workarea, she cried.

And Isaria never cried.

Isaria Thavos
The Andorian

Notes on Oed V

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