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Birth name Fenrys Voronova
Meaning
Fenrys; a large wolf in scandinavian folklore
Voronova; a russian surname meaning 'raven' or 'crow' the prince of birds
Nicknames | Alias | Other: None. He goes by his full forename, although some people call him 'rys' at times as well.

Age 24
Date of birth July 11st; 12:00 am midnight.
Zodiac Cancer

Gender Male [ transgender; afab ]
Species Shaliz'Na

Sexuality Demisexual
Status Single; has not yet sought out a relationship.

Force allegiance Light.
Sworn fealty The rebellion.

Appearance

Upon first glance, Fenrys is a character that just exudes a solar glow, as if he was the one chosen from birth to embody the sun. He naturally possesses a graceful, collected demeanor, and he is built attractively in a way that doesn't compromise the light-weight and athletic build associated with the shaliz'na. Fenrys is a tall male, coming in at 6'1 and with large, razor-sharp talons crowning his hands, he can seem seriously intimidating. His claws are very similar to an avian's talons, and they possess an unnatural dexterity, even surpassing those of his breed. Scary as he may seem, however, it doesn't take long for this illusion to be dismissed, because unless he feels threatened, he usually has a very warm and open demeanor. Ryn is easy on the eyes, with fair skin, a shy, casual smile, and messy ebony hair. Unlike most of the Shaliz'na, he has not grown his hair to his shoulders, rather cutting it short to his chin.

Despite standing in a rather humanoid manner on two feet, he possesses striking alien traits, beyond those of his talons. Notably; deep golden raptor-like eyes, which grant him unnaturally sharp vision compared to humans, a thin layer of russet/mahogany down on most of his body and his massive wings are prime indications of his shaliz'na ancestry. Fenrys's wingspan is colossal, around twenty five feet when fully extended. As expected, his wings can be a huge hassle at times. Not only do they require constant preening so as to remain neat and fit for flight, but it makes it very difficult to get into small spaces without getting torn or ruffled. Moreover, he has to stretch them constantly to avoid pins and needles. But they do add another layer of emotion, and are a lovely sight regardless. In earthen terms, his wings can be compared to those of a northern harrier hawk, a white ghost among birds. His wings are broad and narrow, perfect for flying at high speeds. On the inside, his wings are mostly a very pale grey, they do have a form of dark cinnamon speckling/mottling. There are muted auburn/tawny speckling along the marginal coverts that are similar to his hair color. His secondaries, primaries, and tertials have a dark black-coffee base. On the outside, his wings are a subdued silvery color, with lovely darker grey-brown banding that start along the middle and extend right down along to the tips of each feather. Fenrys has made special adjustments to his gear in order to compensate for his wings. Undoubtedly, Ryn is especially proud of how 'beautiful' his wings have become, and prefers flight over long distance walking or running in many cases. He is very expressive with his wings, and uses a menagerie of gestures to convey emotions. In addition to that, Ryn has a large russet-inked tattoo along his arms resembling wings in nature, symbolizing his pride of his flight. His avian traits grants him a rather hollow and brittle skeleton structure, and as such, he weighs a lot less than what is expected.

No one can go into an Imperial prison and come out unscathed; and Fenrys is really no different. Apart from the emotional scars, which he keeps to himself for the most part, he has quite a few ruthlessly honest physical scars. There isn't a reason to hide them. His wings have patches where the feathers look irregular, mostly because guards have attempted to rip out the feathers there. Healing and new bruises are on his back and sides.

Fenrys is not the most extravagant character when it comes to apparel, but he too has his fair share of keepsakes and trinkets. In particular, he has a necklace with one half of a starbird crest, that dangles from his neck. The other half of a crest used to belong to his sister, although since her death, he has not been able to retrieve the other half. His clothing tends to be loose and open, with short sleeves and slits in the back for wings. Most of these trinkets have been removed by the Imperials; the starbird necklace is the only thing Fenrys has because he hid it in his boot whenever he has visitors. He refuses to be separated with the thing, especially since it's the only tie to his home that he has left. It goes against the Jedi principle of having no attachments, but no one, Jedi or Imperial, will ever take it from him.

Personality

Fenrys is someone who - though formerly shining brightly and warmly - has dimmed the lights, drawn the shades to clad himself in an eclipsed light. He isn't the male he once was, though not many people even know what that is. He's become aloof, a quiet presence, if not slightly brooding. He watches the day go by without stating his opinion - at least not out loud - in a surprisingly apathetic manner. Fenrys tends to be very upfront and honest with his opinions, even if his words come across as rather...harsh at times.

Known Family

[ Father ] Mazen Voronva
[ Mother ] Kura-Okami Voronova
[ Siblings ] Alouette Voronova

Voice Ben Barnes as The Darkling - (xxx)

Wow look at this. I don't know what to say.

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( solemn, contemplative )
art eases the mind and captivates the soul.

it's at once complex and simple, colorful and un-pretentious, sublime and imperfect. the prisoner considered it a fine and succinct form of expression. but most of all, the prisoner considered it a rare privilege to be able to draw at all, given the less-than-stellar conditions of his incarceration. the imperials were not subtle nor were they lenient in their methods of interrogation - if they wanted information they would get it at all costs, consequences be damned. but fenrys held on to very little, which of course posed a struggle to his captors because there was no leverage. sometimes fenrys wondered what exactly he had to give. he knew, or at least he pretended he knew, very little. his interrogators asked him questions that he simply didn't know how to answer, and proceeded to take out their frustration out on him. it must take them a while to realize it, but they thought the prisoner was playing this game on purpose. playing a game that was costing him dearly, albeit. but no, not really. feigning ignorance is a difficult game. it's only a hair step away from rebelliousness. and that wasn't what he was looking for right now. just stamina and grit.

the prisoner had seen better days, and fenrys knew it. his lips pursed at the very thought - even as he tried to turn his attention to ... well, his latest distraction it seemed. scratches and marks engraved into stone. there had been no true intent behind the carvings when he first started - and fenrys was careful not to do anything related to home - but a practiced eye (of which there were none) could see that he was engraving old mythological carvings. the shaliz'na had tales about old cloud demons and all sorts of wondrous little creatures in the sky. his skill was fading however. the wind-folk prized their artistry and music over their own lives on occasion. to lose ones art was to lose a little bit of yourself. fenrys traced the outlines, his violet visionaries narrowed in scrutiny, but not taking away from his miraculously calm visage. art was a true lifesaver when it came to coping. it seemed to draw his very being inward, to grant him a composed, momentary catharsis. there was no one listening - no one to scorn his actions - no one to beat him if he answered a question wrong. just. peace. his sharp claws gracefully carved his art into the stone, the scratching sounds painfully reminiscent of the sound a brush makes when it moves across the canvas. that was a sound he missed. a sound of home. there were no paints to be offered, but fenrys discovered (morbidly) that his own blood made a fine substitute. a disturbing version of monochrome.

it's only a matter of time before you break. no one can last forever. least of all an alien. thus fenrys had been warned - by fellow prisoners and scorned by guards alike. and they did have a point. fenrys figured himself clever, but an active mind, with no outlet, would only begin to degrade. soon, his mental bastion, his resistance, if he had any to begin with, would shatter and fade. so that was why he was turning to carving. easy to hide yet equally at effective at keeping the shaliz'na from plunging off the cliff into insanity. but only just. it was his single candle against an overwhelming darkness.

unfortunately, his reverie was cut short when he heard voices - and the door whooshing open. almost immediately, fenrys's hackles were up, his claws bared and wings half-way raised, prepared to deliver a hard blow if necessary. fenrys hated strangers. through narrowed cinnamon optics that was brimming with icy suspicion, he watched the stranger and the officer. what manner of alien was this man. blue skinned with vivid crimson eyes the color of a sith blade. his wings prickled with discomfort the longer he had to tolerate this man's presence. handsome, in a terrible cold way. high ranking if the epaulets were anything to go by. and vaguely predatory, like looking at a fair-haired jungle cat right in the eye. he schooled his facial features into a mask of cold neutrality, seemingly feigning a fake interest as those ruby eyes fastened on him. he'd never seen a shade of red like that before.

"are you here to give me another survey?" fenrys asked testily. he picked at his claws, feeling only slightly reassured by their sharpness as he waited for a response to his snarky jab. his new interrogator looked uncomfortable and out of place, strangely enough. maybe a challenging remark would bring his spirits back up to par.
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Csapla'antho'yed found himself frustrated. He had been torn away from his past assignment -a rather intriguing one he had to admit- just to be sent to an Imperial prison off on some backwater planet just to assist interrogations on the more rebellious prisoners. He could hardly understand why he had to drop what he was doing simply because of the incompetence of others. Silently breathing in a deep breath he relaxed the growing tension in his limbs. The chiss was lightly jostled in his seat as the Lambda shuttle touched down on the Imperial prison, and he nearly grimaced.

Standing on his feet, the blue alien exited the shuttle, silently relieved to stretch out his legs. His red eyes scanned the surrounding area, purposefully avoiding the other Imperials scattered about the hangar.

"Commodore Anthony."

Csapla'antho'yed looked up, hearing his core name. The shortening of his name was different from most others, as even that was difficult to pronounce. The result was a left out A and an added N.

"I am to show you your first assignment. If you would follow me." The officer continued, and Anthony finally caught the one speaking. With simply a nod in response, the two were off. Truthfully the chiss was left with a dry taste in his mouth and anger rearing inside of him. There seemingly was no explanation on what he was doing other than the information he recieved before being shipped off to the prison. It was like he was being set up for failure. A reccurring issue unfortunately.

A door was opened, the officer gesturing Anthony inside. Red eyes began to analyze the cell the moment he entered, settling on an alien, a pair of wings pressed against their back. They seemed like they would have held a rather elegant appearance if not for the ruffled and torn look. His eyes were slowly drawn from the shaliz'na towards the officer, awaiting instructions. All he recieved was a datapad being pushed into his hands with less than helpful information and a list of questions needing answers. He pressed his lips together as his concerns were proved valid. He was being set up to fail.

Anthony was a little shocked at the shocked at the prisoner's words. He hadn't expected the shaliz'na to speak to him. Then the words spoken seemed to finat register in his brain and a flash of anger roared through him, though he kept his expression blank. "It would appear so." Was the chiss' reply. As he was about to ask the first question on the 'survey's he paused, his eyes finding themselves drawn towards a carving on the wall. It appeared to have been painted in with blood, the lightly browned color giving him a rough estimate of how long it had been there. Looking around the cell once more he found more carvings, each colored with blood. It was morbid but almost poetic.

"You are an artist." It was less of a question and more of a statement, and certainly not on the datapad.

---

( wary, very nearly sarcastic )
oh boy, the chiss never knew how close he came.

it takes an artist's eye to notice the faint nuances when it came to reading someone. even a master of hiding his facial expression, the shaliz'na knew from the way he tensed that he'd definitely struck a nerve-ending. shock came first, and then such a tide of anger that (fenrys was very glad was not expressed openly.) hackles raising in a very similar manner to how fenrys's had when the stranger had first entered the cell. this was a strange, strange individual. fenrys watched him from behind the oak tips of his wings, dismissing the nearly bored reply as he waited for the first question. why on earth did the officer look so confused? had he not been briefed? fenrys's patience was oddly rewarded when he found the topic shifting towards his carvings on the wall. here, it seemed that the being had finally found something in his league. the prickling in his wings increased. he felt a strange mixture of suspicion and pride as the blue-skinned male fastened his visionaries on the blood-hued lines. you're an artist. was he dreaming or was that surprise. fenrys doubted then that this was on the datapad, mostly because if it was, then the officers would have taken more precautionary measures to ensure he couldn't draw. the light brown hue made him cringe inwardly. this could easily be a good place for slipping up, fenrys realized ruefully. a ploy to get him to talk. he took his time thinking over his words, humming quietly to himself.

"those carvings are supposed to be drabble. nothing serious." and that was honestly speaking. art had used to be ... something more but just as one closes a door on a chapter of their life, he'd closed a door on his art. what was once vibrant was rusty, it's former iridescence shorn of its glow. fenrys found it interesting how the male relaxed just upon seeing the carvings - he must have something special with it in general. he was confined here in this cage, but maybe a new viewport was opening here? the shaliz'na kept one raptor-like optic on the chiss, waiting to see where he wanted to take this conversation. "aimless doodling." fenrys said softly, his tone almost mournful as he stared fixatedly on the ceiling.
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Anthony only gave a quick glance to the prisoner as they spoke, catching the melancholic tone. He also hadn't missed how closely the shaliz'na watched him, leaving the chiss wary. The Imperial officer took pride in his indifferent appearance, and he knew artists held a strong attention to even the smallest of details. He would have to watch himself closely if he wanted to effectively hide his emotions. The chiss could only hope the avian-like humanoid hadn't noticed earlier.

Moving closer to one of the carvings he noticed a similar figure throughout the room. They each seemed to vary in appearance but looked as if they were part of the same species. Anthony studied it for a moment longer. It didn't appear to be anything he had seen before, and he had a reason to doubt it was a real species. Straightening up he turned back to the prisoner.

"It would appear so." The words seemed to stick together as he spoke, leaving the chiss frustrated once more. He supposed it didn't matter if the prisoner clearly heard his words or not, it held to importance. Anthony finally took a look at the first question on the datapad, mentally grumbling as he saw the first question. It seemed pointless to him, a true sign of the narrow minded nature of the Imperials. Holding back a sigh he finally asked the question.

"Are you part of, or have ever sympathized with the rebellion?"

A question asked even before any important and more basic questions such as identification or prior crimes. It truly appeared like the higher ranked officers cared only about threats to their power.

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( male ) - ( shaliz'na - avian ) - ( amused, sardonic, confused )
the avian humanoid easily quirked an eyebrow upwards upon hearing the first question. that couldn't be the first question. are. you. a. rebel? seriously, it took little to no brains to put that one down. either the chiss was making something up - or the imperials were truthfully being that dumb. perhaps they fancied this one as an icebreaker, a way to break the uncomfortable silence between captor and captured. with which it was doing a terrible job. the chiss seemed as if he would rather be somewhere else entirely - a mutual sentiment. he didn't have the arrogant air of most of the imperials. guess he was just winging it on the spot. sheepishly, fenrys drew his gaze away before his staring became odd and he focused his gaze on a carving on the right wall, the dark hue an indication that it had been among the first he drew. it was old now - and since the blood crusted, he could easily sweep it off the wall.

it seemed that the conversation would be moving away from art, since fenrys watched the mysterious alien give it one last look, very nearly reluctant in nature, before focusing all his attention on him. he sighed quietly, though the shaliz'na was very nearly amused by the chiss's reaction to the questions, almost sniggering to himself. he resisted the urge because it wouldn't do for him to laugh. he was so awkward that the shaliz'na almost felt bad for him. and with these feelings rose the sudden impulse to tease the blue-skinned male to ribbons and see his reaction. his lips tugged upwards with sudden mischief, but just as quickly his eyes lost their interest and became distant.

"that question is a poor excuse for an icebreaker." the shaliz'na tutted softly, his scorn and distaste made evident in his low voice. but he wasn't without a tug of mirth in his voice. how was he supposed to put this. yes, he was a rebel. yes he sympathized with the rebellion. unable to come up with a suitable answer that bounced around the truth enough, he merely blinked twice, giving the chiss a suggestive glance. what do you think. if that wasn't good enough, then this chiss seriously had zero clue what to do.

which of course, would add onto the tension.
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Anthony caught the look thrown towards him by the captive, holding back a resigned sigh. He could only hope nonverbal answers were fine. His eyes flicked down to the next question, finding questions more along the lines he was expecting. Name, date of birth, planet of origin, etc. Of course the chiss could tell this session would be a struggle, the shaliz'na already showing signs of resistance. He quickly tapped in an affirmative under the first question, asking the second.

"Name?"

He kept a close eye on the alien, it could be safely assumed that the wings could be used to show emotion similarly to the twitch of fingers. He kept the images on the wall in his mind as he watched the winged sentient for any tells of a lie, or an attack if the being became angered enough.

Similarly to art, small details in one's posture could be used to identify emotions and intentions, able to be read only by those mastered in the art. In many ways, people were art. The shaliz-na, he could tell, defended himself in the form of snarky retorts and excessive sarcasm. He could see how closely the prisoner watched him, noticed how their limbs would tense and relax. Anthony noticed how he cautious the shaliz-na became when he noticed their art. Removing the artist's ability to create would likely serve to further break them down, whether they would respond to further questioning or not after that point, the chiss could not tell. He slipped the information away for later, a small smile pulling at his lips.

---

( male ) - ( shaliz'na - avian ) - ( deep in thought, distrustful )
the prisoner was split between trying to figure out the pattern or meaning behind the questions, and keeping an eye on the strange captor. why was his name necessary? and what was the next question going to be; where he came from? he wouldn't be surprised if that was it, in fact. one of the tips that the older resistance members had mentioned to him in passing when dealing with interrogation was to somehow predict what the questions were going to be. it made dealing with them a lot easier, and it would help to keep one step ahead of the captors. his wings subconsciously dropped to his sides, despite the fact that the alien's vivid scarlet gaze made his insides churn when it passed over him - and then the carvings on the wall. fenrys wasn't sure what this alien's fascination with art was — had he never seen a damn painting in his life — but if it was coming from an imperial, it usually didn't mean anything good for him. his little smile, which disappeared in a flash, only confirmed this. the shaliz'na better watch what he was painting.

"fenrys." the male said carefully, taking the opportunity to carefully stretch his wings in the confined space given to him. the cell was rather small, and he sadly didn't have the space to extend all glorious twenty-five feet of his wingspan. but considering he had been curled up in a ball all this time, stretching even a little bit felt like a relief. even if it tickled. it would be a while before he was in the skies again, fenrys thought bitterly. provided he found some way to get out of this place. he eyed the male carefully, trying to see if he could piece any sort of identity together. big news didn't usually make its way into the pilot's quarters, so he wouldn't be surprised if he carried his ignorance of this man's identity to his grave. for now, he'd keep his mouth shut and his eyes open.
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Anthony quickly filled put the name, catching to lie from the shaliz'na. The chiss noticed the alien's distrust, it was well-deserved. Looking down at the list of questions Anthony skipped through the less important ones. He could always come back to them later. He stopped at one he found himself personally wanting to know the answer to. Looking up he caught the avian-being stretching out his wings, and the chiss felt a slight bristle of discomfort. He supposed it couldn't be comfortable keeping those things close at all times, though he supposed that was the point.

Slowly blinking, the Imperial officer chased away the thought, looking back at shaliz'na. "You were left behind in an attack by the Rebellion, you have also confirmed that you were a member of this Rebellion." Anthony skipped over the fact it wasn't necessarily a verbal response. "What was the intention of the attack? The factory destroyed by your weapons was simply a refinery. It did not build weapons or transports. Why did your Rebel friends attack it?"

The chiss brought a hand to his chin as he mused over potential answers and he asked the question. It couldn't have even been assumed that the refined metals would be used for Imperial purposes, and the documentations were all destroyed in the attack.

---

( bitter, vengeful )

finally, it seemed that things were getting serious. without doing much change to his posture to indicate his change of mood, fenrys allowed his eyes - sharper than those of a normal humans and dully honed by years of studying an artistic background. no more beating around the bush, the male took a few deep breaths to hone his thinking. the type of questions being asked now meant that the slightest slip up of information could be catastrophic. the fact that he was a rebel was easy enough to put together when you filled in the blanks, but this...this wasn't as obvious. he fixated calm eyes on the chiss, making sure to watch every fiber of his being. enough beating around the bush.

"you were left behind in an attack by the rebellion, you have also confirmed that you were a member of this rebellion." - fenrys didn't allow the barb of this to sting, although inwardly his stomach did an uncomfortable summersault. it was just so typical of the imperials to rub salt in the wound. the dispatch ... had not gone the way it should have. long story short, the casualties were high. the only blessing was that most of the rebels were either dead or they had escaped. they weren't suffering in a too-small cell the way he was now. what was the intention of the attack? the factory destroyed by your weapons was simply a refinery. it did not build weapons or transports. why did your rebel friends attack it? this man didn't play around, that much was clear, and fenrys let the silence drag a bit (respectfully) while he formulated an answer. he was glad that the man was allowing him time to reply, instead of being pushy the way some of his colleagues were. there was a pretty damn good reason the rebellion had taken interest, in fact, one that had driven the final nail into the coffin for the empire's hypocrisy. crime syndicates, their henchmen like locusts over freshly ripe crops. he hadn't been able to believe his ears when he was present at the briefing, nor his eyes when he arrived. because why would an empire who preached order and prosperity let those monsters roam free. anger flooded fenrys at the thought of how the empire had damn near wiped out his entire squadron, just to let a 'little bit of metal' get through. no weapons or fighters produced, well, the empire is pretty powerless to control what the syndicates did with the materials right? didn't they realize they were digging a deeper hole for themselves. or did they want the syndicates on their side? theres more to this that im not seeing.

a question for a question. "because of the empire's transactions with the pikes. how do you want to explain promoting a galaxy of peace and order when you have to deal with criminals to make ends meet?" fenrys asked, his voice bitter and filled with scorn.
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Anthony watched with a sense of satisfaction as the shaliz'na began to mull over the question. That was good, they were actually considering answering, truth or lie he could care less. Lies were easy to work with, to break down into a simple intention meant by the untruthful words. The chiss was expecting a lie, not the passionate words coming from the rebel.

"because of the empire's transactions with the pikes."

Anthony felt his grip tighten on he datapad, hearing the rebel's answer. The pikes... that couldn't have been right. Yet he found no trace of a lie within the winged-sentient's words. His throat felt dry as he quickly exited the list of questions, pulling up a reference on both the pikes and the destroyed factory. It was harder to find any connections between the two with the factory's records destroyed, but he found small details that could have easily been missed, ones that just so happened to line up.

He had no knowledge that these exchanges had even been occurring. Where were the obtained funds even going towards? As his brain wracked for answers, Anthony slowly shook his head.

"I'm afraid there must be some sort of mistake." The chiss struggled to push the words out, and he was positive he might've switched to Sy Bisti at some point as he tried to sort out the tangled thoughts and emotions inside his brain. "The Empire has no business with the pikes, or any criminal syndicate."

---

( derisive, scornful, cynical )
the moment that the shaliz'na noticed that the chiss's grip tightened on the datapad, he knew he'd definitely hit a nerve. a sensitive one too. it takes one to know one - and since his people placed such a high premium on art, even the the slightest of nuances was a glaring error. that's why you had to watch yourself in an interrogation. the signs of panic were a little too obvious in this case, unfortunately, and saran found himself both infuriated and disappointed in equal measure when he caught the chiss lying. his eyes became harder than flint, wings rustling uncomfortably. there wasn't...concrete proof, more like a very easy estimation or inference of what was going on. the explosions from his squadron, convor squadron, had pretty much made sure of that. they'd left the factory in smoking ruin even before they landed for a ground assault. so, if someone wanted to make the argument that there was no proof of these hidden dealings, go ahead. it was partially valid. but not when talking to saran. he had intel, and better than that, proof of this. if only it could have been delivered - the data-pad must have fallen into imperial hands again, confiscated upon the destruction of convor two's ship. it would be destroyed, no doubt, if it hadn't been already.

for a moment their positions were reversed; himself the captor and this chiss the captured. he tried to blink away the illusion, the delusion of power. it would be wrong for him to savor it. but power wants a vacuum, and hot anger seared through him, his wings opening as much as possible, arching up on his shoulders. i'm afraid there must be some sort of mistake.- the chiss stuttered, or swallowed, or muttered the words. his voice didn't have the confidence that he had before, and he visibly looked confused. or maybe this was another ploy to get saran to let down his guard? "the empire —." saran didn't catch the last part of what the chiss said, since it appeared he was speaking in a different language. it didn't matter. saran had heard enough. this session was going all wrong, for all the wrong reasons.

to lie is to admit your cowardice. the voice of his father echoed through his head, his voice as strong as his words. the shaliz'na stifled a laugh as he imagined what his father might have said to that.

'it seems the empire is being consistently undermined by its people's ability to cause problems.' the winged avian sneered to himself. fully aware that he lacked the words currently to fully convey his scorn, (and leave him intact with the consequences) the winged sentient conveyed it in a different way. namely, wings came pretty damn close to knocking his interrogator over when they beat hard against stagnant air. twice. loud whooshing sounds hissed threateningly through the air, but remarkably the two remained grounded. even in the small space, saran's wings were a sight to behold in size alone. saran had known, but truly underestimated, how deep the corrupt roots of the empire reached, like leeches burrowed deep in the soil.

"i don't see how you're denying it when the evidence is right in front of you." saran said in a clipped tone, his voice flinty and with a distinct bite, "do you really think you can lie your way out of this?" he was teetering precariously on this new foothold that he'd made for himself. he'd probably already screwed himself up. saran knew better than to think this concern was on moral grounds. the empire was so hated because it used the galaxy for its own aggrandizement. maybe he'd have to wait for further questions to see. the empire has done terrible things to stay in power, but their money never ran out. now, saran knew why. in war there are sacrifices.

a short huff and saran settled down, tucking his wings back against himself as he sat down for the next question, quiet and stoic once more.
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Anthony watched as the shaliz'na's wings ruffled, and the chiss found himself bracing for whatever came next. Signs of agitation in a figure usually proving to be well-controlled were never a sign one wanted to see, the Imperial officer could speak from personal experiences. He briefly debated calling in some security to subdue the prisoner if they did end up striking. A sour taste entered his mouth as he cynically wondered if they would actually help. His death would result in one less alien in the Imperial ranks.

Anthony stumbled back as a gust rushed past him, a hand reaching out to steady himself on a wall. Feeling no other form of attack coming, the chiss looked up at the prisoner, his red eyes narrowing in of the shaliz'na in a sharp glare. "I do not believe I can convincingly lie to a being I hold no knowledge on." His voice was sharp, though he tried to level it out. He couldn't have himself losing his temper. "You assume I hold evidence in front of me yet all I see is rumors and speculations sourcing from less than truthful media."

He took another breath before continuing.

"Perhaps if your rebellion were truly concerned with this issue they would have focused on recovering production and transaction logs rather than destroy a factory with thousands of innocent civilians still inside." The chiss narrowed his eyes, his head tilting in a form of superiority. This is where Anthony truly shone.

---

( apprehensive, haunted, brooding )
when saran thought that this conversation was going to be turning unpleasant real fast, he was quite right. the chiss stood tall against saran's barbed words, despite stumbling back into the wall from the gust. the shaliz'na didn't want to believe that the officer was lying, but he did have a good point. you can't really lie to someone you don't know. a rush of unease stabbed him like a thorn when he again - remembered his position. captured, and at this man's mercy. not that the chiss had raised a hand against him yet. he found it a bit surprising that the chiss was actually bracing himself, as if beating his wings could be considered highly unpleasant. he frowned right back at the chiss's glare, anger still simmering in a different place.

saran shifted his position, fidgeting, gaze still sour as he pondered what the chiss was saying. however, what the chiss said hit him in a significantly different way. his eyes became distant, as if his consciousness had been pulled to a different place. nausea clamped tightly onto his stomach and wormed up his neck. in fact, it wouldn't have been surprising if he'd gone slack, or stiff. light as a feather stiff as a board.

the stagnant air of the cell soon morphed into ... flames and smoke-choked air that stabbed at his lungs. the cold dark grey floor turned into that platform floor. the air was screaming with bombers, and soldiers, rebellion and imperial alike, the wounded, the fighting and the deceased. the imperials had gotten wind of saran's mission, somehow, and decided to send stormtroopers to get rid of him. fine. stormtroopers he could handle. but then, alliance fighters and more ties got involved, and things went south. fast. ash, soot and grime stained the floor. the events thus transpired that had landed him in a imperial cell only happened a month ago; his induction was fairly recent. but he could remember it keenly. the way that fear, alarm, and adrenaline nearly overrode his common sense, leaving him blasting at anything that resembled stormtrooper armor. pyke or imperial, it didn't matter. if it shot at him, he shot back. the flames grew to monstrous proportions, but his terror didn't last long, ruefully. the rebellion bombers came to reinforce the ones the x-wings that were shot down, and without intending to, stray blasts hit the platform. explosions blossomed like orange flowers. half-crazed with delirium and knocked out by the concussive force and the smoke, the last thing the shaliz'na remembered was seeing the platform consumed by flames, and that one lone x-wing, convor three, escaping the ruins into the sky.

cynically, saran wondered if his capture was punishment for his failure. not that the rebellion had a lot of that. he'd managed to use his droid, R1 to get a signal out. he'd only gotten half-way through his recital of what he saw before things went to hell. (literally in his opinion.) drawing himself back to the present, the winged avian shook himself out, his eyes recovering some semblance of consciousness. what was that? he hadn't cracked like that...since, well, ever. he took a deep breath to answer, "i'm not exactly sure of the motives of the bombing, so i guess i don't have much else to say on the subject." his voice was much steadier than he was feeling right now, and the room was spinning. don't go back. he pulled his wings closer to himself, as if sensing a threat before turning away, fixing his shaken glance upon a life-like sketch of flora from his world. that wasn't supposed to happen. nothing was going the way he thought it would. the metal of the bench groaned in agony as his talons dug into slab beneath him, leaving visible dents.

which, of course, was very very bad.
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Anthony watched with cold interest as the prisoner seemed to leave their body. Many a time he'd heard of the ailment, it was something each officer was warned of considering their line of work, yet until now the chiss had never seen it take effect. He watched for roughly a minute or two before he noticed the shaliz'na's eyes return into focus.

They seemed to recover rather quickly, answering his question, though Anthony could tell they were still shaken. He lifted a hand to rest against his chin to hide a small smile. "I see."

No longer feeling the need to be quite as careful towards how he addressed his questions the blue alien moved closer, standing roughly two feet from the avian-sentient. "Where did your ships take off? Where is your base located?"

His eyes watched every minute detail like a ravenous predator, if he could obtain this information he could likely get reassigned and away from the prison faster. The carvings swam in his kind for a second, and the chiss frowned. He supposed it would be a shame he didn't get to observe the art works much longer, but he had to think about the great need of the Empire.

---

( tired, depressed, wary. )
the imperial in front of him was about as sympathetic as a starving nexu. which was to say, not sympathetic at all.

his cold scarlet eyes, which had somehow grown even more vivid and intense since the last time, glittered like rubies - yet they were colder than the planet of hoth. yes he had definitely been right when he'd mentioned that the chiss was predatory. it was like coming face to face with a stalking corellian sand panther. and speaking of the devil, saran felt his feathers ruffling again, a tremor running down his cinnamon speckling. pardon, shivering was a better description, it happened a lot when he was nervous or antsy - when he saw the officer closing the distance between them. mind you, they were about the same height, but the shaliz'na was sitting down, and therefore shorter. he gave the chiss a sour look, golden raptor optics staring into scarlet ones.

"where did your ships take off? where is your base located?" "well, i was ... taking a nap, courtesy of a rock. i apologize. i think all the smoke has eroded my memory" saran shrugged, forcing an uncertain tone into his voice. he even lowered his wings, the tips falling onto the floor to help with the act. still, he kept an eye on the chiss, monitoring his reaction. the question about the factory was still unanswered, predictably, but he'd let it sit for a while.

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notes: for koiboi
xxxxx- anthony is a jerk.
xxxxx- oh well i guess being knocked unconscious had its benefits.
xxxxx- maybe an officer (konstantine or someone else) went behind anthony's back?

Anthony felt a flash or irritation run through him, a scowl slowly working it's way onto his face. It appears he had underestimated the rebel. "At the moment your wellbeing is entirely in Imperial hands. I suggest you answer questions truthfully and efficiently, lest you find yourself in a less than desirable position." The chiss hissed.

"You assumed the Empire has been working with the pykes, why? What evidence did you have?"

He had to know, some terrible feeling twisted in his gut and all he knew was that he had to discover what was going on. There was something he did not know, and it irked him. It was like the truth was dangling just out of reach, taunting him.

Before he could even get an answer from the prisoner he heard the cell door slide open. Letting the signs of anger drop from his face he turned to face the Imperial standing by the door. "Time to move on."

Anthony gave a small nod, crossing his palms behind his back and marching out of the cell, throwing one last glance at a carving on the wall before the door shut behind him. The chiss found himself caught up in his thoughts as he sat alone. He doubted it was a coincidence. Anthony's ship was stationed over Kellux when the bombing of the factory occurred, and now here he was, interrogating one of the rebels behind the attack. He hadn't been made aware of any prisoners.

He supposed he would have to wait and see where things went from here. And maybe, perhaps... the rebel could help him uncover what was happening here.

---

end of day one