Breaking Dawn

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

It was raining. Oh, Lords of Kolthis, it was raining. As he tipped his eyes skywards, and let the water flow through the fur of his face, his muzzled mouth split into the Bothan approximation of a smile. His jaw cracked open further, tongue protruding to collect the taste of his homeworld.

For some, perhaps, the confines of space were something easily adjusted to. He knew that Corellians in particular relished their time in space. Some species loathed the unpredicable conditions - and the weather - that the surface of a planet had to offer, and felt more comfortable in the climate controlled conditions aboard their starships and starfighters.

General Oruo'rel was not one of those people. For one, he was a soldier: a man of action, and motion, and the cramped confines aboard a starship made him feel trapped. Worse though, he was a Bothan: a canine, born to run, and to hunt; and aboard a starship, he was caged, like an animal.

He had served the Alliance loyally - and without complaint - since Borsk Fey'lya had pledged the services of himself and his men. He fought with distinction, for General Madine and for SpecForce; and since Endor, he had stepped into the Corellians shoes and helped to lead the Alliance's campain against the Empire. Never once did he question his orders, or his cause. Never once did he expect undue thanks or reward.

But deep down, he had pined for home; pined to escape the confines of the ships that carried the Alliance High Command from world to world; pined to feel solid ground beneath his paws; pined to feel the sun, and the wind, and the rain on his fur.

It was morning. He was late. And it was raining.

A laugh escaped him. It was good to be home.

* * *

A Lieutenant met him by the door, as he strode into the Intergalactic Trade Mission: a grand facade used by the Bothan Spynet, and leant to Alliance Intelligence and SpecForce until permanent arrangements could be settled upon. A vaulted chamber, clad inside by warm woods and fronted by a panoramic wall of glass, rose above a polished marble floor, symbols and writings that conjured references to Bothan history and myth overlayed in grey and gold.

Forethought preparing the Lieutenant with a towel in hand to pass to the General; alas, Torrsk knew him only by rank, rather than by name. He determined to make the effort: to turn his next expression of gratitude into something personal, rather than mere formality. For now however, he offered the best he could.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." His voice was a purr, low and rumbling like the idling repulsorlifts of a waiting speeder. He relished that: the quiet calm of it; the absense of threat. It lulled those around him into security, and soothed their nerves and fears. It also made it all the more dramatic when, in anger, a crechendo turned his voice from a rumble into the roar of a Republic Gunship.

He briefly eyed the hands of the Lieutenant: not empty as he had expected, but instead clutching a military-issue datapad. With another nod to nonverbally repeat his thanks, he exchanged his towel for the datapad, thumbing the display into life. "Military communiques?" he guessed.

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant confirmed, hovering beside the General until he gently eased himself into motion.

Torrsk modulated his pace carefully, ensuring that their speed would form reasonably comfortable strides for what he estimated to be the length of the young Lieutenant's legs. His stature meant his own strides had to lengthen of course, but that was a minor concession: the Lieutenant looked like he'd already consumed too much caf this morning, and the sun was barely half-way to noon, lurking behind the clouds as it was.

"Anything important?" he asked, skimming the subject titles.

Slightly taken aback at the request to make a priority assessment, the Lieutenant stumbled over the first few syllables of his response. "I- I- uh-" He paused, drawing a breath; calming himself. "There was a message from the Spaceport, sir. A shuttle transporting -" He hesitated briefly, searching his memory for the designation. "- Dorn Company landed twenty minutes ago; they're being transported here by LAAT/i, as we speak."

"Dorn Force," Torrsk corrected, absently, lips drawing into a thin line. A paw rose to his jaw, scrubbing at the slightly whispier fur that adorned his chin. The unit - an experiment, by one of the Colonels of the Fighting Fifth - filled him with questions and concerns, and given the outcome of their last mission, those reservations needed to be addressed, if only to salve his peers among the High Command.

"Find them a conference room in which to wait," he instructed, handing the datapad back to the Lieutenant; any other business today would have to wait. "I will meet with them individually in my office; please escort Lieutenant Tur'enne there first."

The Lieutenant halted, ready to double back and comply; a curt nod accompanied his confirmation. "Lieutenant Tur'enne - yes, sir."

[John Glayde]

Glayde didn't know quite how to describe the sound of the engines on this Clone Wars bucket of vintage bolts. His instinct was to describe it as unnatural, but on the contrary: that was the exact opposite of correct. It sounded more like the roar of a wild animal than the thrum of technology.

Like a constipated, underwater Acklay.

Glayde had no idea where that particularly odd string of associated concepts had come from, and frowned as he tried to concieve just what that might sound like, which was probably not a wise thing to be doing: nor was it indicative of mental stability. But then, given what had happened lately - on top of everything else - it probably made sense that he was going a little crazy.

He glanced up, gaze scanning the members of Dorn Force who'd made the trip with him - Charlotte; Mara; Alex; Kyran; Oran; even Maren was there, though by councidence rather than design: just hitching a ride on a ship that happened to be going in the right direction. Each of them bore expressions that ranged from merely somber and subdued to downright harrowed; Glayde wondered where on that scale the look in his own eyes fell. As units went they were young, and fledgeling: but despite that, a string of early successes had vindicated their superiors' confidence in establishing them, and had made them confident; cocky.

That bubble had burst, and what had rained down on the team as a result stung, furiously. There was nothing quite so disheartening as knowing that they'd failed, and knowing just how much their mistakes had cost.

The gunship touched down, and Glayde rose, stepping onto the Bothan surface without enthusiasm. An officer - a Lieutenant, Glayde vaguely identified, counting the spots on the badge on his chest - stepped forward, and Glayde responded in kind to the salute, though it was reflex; autopilot.

"The Sergeant will take you somewhere to wait, and relax," the Lieutenant informed them; Glayde bit down a snort of laughter. Relax. Yeah, right. The Lieutenant seemed to comprehend his poor choice of words either, flashing a briefly appologetic wince. It lingered, eyes flicking first to Glayde, and then to Charlotte. "I'm to escort the Lieutenant to see the General, immediately."

Glayde offered a curt nod. "Thank you Lieutenant," he added, dismissing him. The Lieutenant beckoned to Charlotte, and dutifully she followed; Glayde caught her arm gently as he passed however, and her gaze. He didn't need to say be careful, or be safe; didn't need to warn her - don't let them break you; don't let them blame you. His eyes conveyed that message far more accurately than his mouth could ever have managed to.

"See you soon," was all he said.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Failure was thankfully something Charles hadn't been too accustomed to since her joining the Rebellion SpecForce. Though, when it happened, she couldn't help but wonder if when it did occur, it would sting less if you actually were used to it. Over all, it left her feeling somewhat hollow, with a need to recharge somehow.

So the fact there was some suited up Lieutenant that wanted to drag her off to meet the General obviously didn't sit well, but she was too tired to make an issue of it.

One last glance was given to the Major before she left, mustering a half-hearted smirk that followed with a childish. "I'll behave."

Of course her mind meanwhile was attempting to dredge up all the reasons as to why the General would want to see her. Of course, the Lieutenant hadn't exactly been too exact on which General...and her thought turned to the one she had once called an "Inept Old Bastard". Nah, couldn't be the same guy. Odds were, unfortunately given their location, that she would be seeing General Oruo'rel himself. That was a rather amusing and distressing thought all in one go.

The name on the office confirmed the suspicion and in typical Charlotte form, the formalities were lost on her. She did manage to hold back on saying This better be good, I haven't even gotten to unpack yet and settled on: "You wished to see me?"

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Wished?

Torrsk was not a critic of language, nor an expert; but he did find mild interest in the phrasing certain individuals chose to use, and the times that they chose to use them. Many words could have been submitted in it's place, and Torrsk conceded that it might have been a random selection. But he chose to think other wise; analysed it's possible meanings. A want was carnal, essential, and impulsive. But a wish, while still a desire over which an individual had scant control, implied that said individual had chosen to indulge it: chosen to manifest it as such a wish, and had perhaps even challenged the universe to make it so.

Torrsk had wished to speak to Lieutenant Tur'enne, and his aide had made it so.

"Indeed I did," he responded, beckoning her inside. He chose his words carefully; recyling hers where he could. "I wish to interview all of the members of Dorn Force concerning your last mission. Having familiarised myself with your personel file, I have come to the conclusion that you would likely prefer to complete this process as swiftly as possible; to 'get it over with', as it were."

His eyes narrowed, not with agression or judgement, but merely with expectant curiosity and scrutiny. "Would I be correct in that assumption?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"Pretty much." It was only after she had spoken that Charles realized that she probably should have responded with a yes sir. Oh well, too late to go back and fix it and adding any sort of sir now would only seem just tacky, or make it look like she actually really gave a damn about that sort of thing.

Not that she honestly didn't care. You basically had to when you were being addressed by a General after you had just experienced a major frak-up. Not that it was entirely her fault, or even the fault of Dorn Force itself, but it still held true.

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

"Excellent."

The Bothan's fingers swept back through the mane of golden hair atop his head, smoothing it down against the back of his neck. "Have a seat," he said with a casual gesture, pacing carefully across the room; he reached a cupboard, which opened, a bottle of Corellian Whiskey and two glasses emerging.

"I would ask," he said, as he stepped back towards his desk, placing the glasses down, and pouring a healthy measure into the first. "If you wanted a drink. However, after browsing your record, I believe that would be what you Corellians call -" He poured the same into the second glass before setting down the bottle, carefully picking up one of the glasses, and extending it out towards Charlotte. "- a 'stupid question', yes?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

It had to be some kind of trap, but only an idiot went and refused a free drink. Especially if came from a General. It wasn't like some sort of creed or anything, and it certainly didn't come as a sign of respect. Nope, the reason was far more simple: bragging rights. Not every junior officer got to say they had a General, maybe even The General pour them a glass of fine whiskey from the homelands.

The seat across from the General wasn't the most comfortable, not that she expected it would be, but the whiskey... oh the whiskey. It had been sampled almost as fast as it had come her way and it was nothing short of amazing. It reminded her keenly of the same vintage that her and a lot of others had saved and sprung for as a gift for Lt. Col. Rask for his birthday one time. Old bastard had shared it with the entire Task Force too. It was a good memory and the liquid in the glass she now held couldn't help but bring it back.

A small smile formed on her lips and she nodded her head slightly. "You are certainly right about that one, General."

His continuing allusions to her records kept her from drifting into complete bliss though. Great Corellian stock or not, she was still sitting in front of the head of SpecForce and although the taste of defeat was dwindling, begging to be washed away by the drink, it was still fresh.

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Torrsk flashed her a smile, settling down behind his desk with his own glass. In truth, he never really had a taste for the Corellian stuff; he found it's flavour a little too blunt and simplistic for his liking. It was very like the Corellian people, in a way: brash, a little rough around the edges, and unappologetically honest to a fault about what it intended. It was odd, Torrsk mused, to find a drink with so many admirable personality traits.

Of course, having served under Crix Madine, Torrsk had learned to 'love' the stuff; or at least to consume it without feeling the urge to wince or complain. And so, in silence for now, he allowed a mouthful to wash over his tongue, and disappear down the back of his throat.

Glass still in hand, he reached across the table and retrieved her file, clawed paws tapping the screen into life. "Lieutenant Charlotte Tur'enne," he said, musing aloud through the details as he worked his way towards the more important information. "Though I hear you prefer to go by Charles." He glanced up, canine eyes bearing no judgement. "Any particular reason?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"Nope."

Of course there were reasons, but frankly she didn't see what the point of that particular little question was. She guessed that it was some sort of attempt at easing into the others he wanted to actually ask. Everything had a reason. She had her own for keeping her answer rigidly short too... and that went back to that whole 'Get this over with' thing.

Then again, there were side effects to be had from being too curt, and to be honest Charlotte didn't want to see just how quickly the General's mood could go from accommodating to well... mad dog.

"Was something that just kinda got picked up when I was younger. Wanted to be one of the boys or something like that. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a preference." ...even if it was. The last thing she wanted was the General to try and actually call her anything but Lieutenant, it would just be way too weird.

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Torrsk could tell that she was being evasive. That was... unfortunate.

He had hoped that he would be able to cause her to relax sufficiently for her to surrender the desired answers without any undue force. Her actions were unfortunately counter-productive to his efforts; he would have to adopt a more blunt approach than he had been intending. He almost sighed: playing the bad guy was hardly his favourite role.

"Your team was deployed to the city of Mvita, to retrieve an undercover operative, and bring him back to headquarters to be debriefed. It should have been a fairly routine operation, by the standards of your unit." His eyes fixed hers with a solid, unwavering stare. "Clearly it was not."

Though still seated behind his desk, all of the relaxed posture had been shed, and despite his diminutive height he seemed to tower over the office from his position of power. Much of the warmth had dropped away from his words, leaving behind only crisp, analytical tones.

"The preliminary after-action report states that you were assigned to provide sniper cover for the ground team, and that your brother - Alexander Tur'enne - was with you, providing comms support." He paused, a hand smoothing through the fur on his chin. "You have completed numerous assignments that have also incorporated your brother, but this was one of the first - discounting his rescue, of course - where you worked together with him closely in the field."

"How well do you and your brother work together?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Finally, even if the question asked wasn't exactly what Charles had been expecting, at least it was moving towards...well, something. The fact that Alexander was the subject of choice seemed a bit strange though. No matter...

"Honestly Sir, I can't see how I'm expected to truthfully answer that question. As you just pointed out, this was our first real assignment working closely together and I would say it's pretty hard to get a real accurate assessment from just one mission."

Charlotte allowed herself another sip of the whiskey before she placed it down on the edge of General's desk and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Though if you want to base it on that alone, then I guess all I can say is that we worked decently enough together, we communicated clearly to one another and he followed what minimal orders I gave to him. Though considering he technically isn't my subordinate, I suppose they were more of suggestions that he should follow if he didn't want to get shot in the face."

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Shot in the face.

A colourful description, admittedly; perhaps a little too frank for his liking, but at least she was being open and honest, to a degree. However, it was indicative of just one aspect of the concerns he had regarding the Lieutenant, and unfortunately he could not simply allow the comment to rest as it was.

"Given your brother's medical records," he stated cooly, taking another casual sip from his drink, "And the corresponding disciplinary notes in your own file, one would expect him to be more concerned about getting punched in the face for not complying with your 'suggestions', Lieutenant; not shot."

His tone remained light and conversational as he set the glass down again, and steepling his fingers together over his chest. "I will evade the vagueness, Charles. It appears to me that your brother has a history of serving as a source for aggression and violence in you. My concern is that placing such a potential source in close proximity to you in critical situations may be unwise."

He cocked his head to one side ever so slightly, and made an inquisitive open-hand gesture towards her. "What would you say to that?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"I'd say that's a load of bantha skrag, sir." Charlotte shot the answer back so quickly it may have left the General wondering if she had actually fully understood what he was getting at.

In an act of pure confidence she followed it, she allowed herself to finish off the remaining amount of whiskey in the glass before setting it back down onto the General's desk.

"I'm not sure if you have siblings, sir, but I'm guessing you don't, or that you might get along with yours. The incident in question was a single time offense as far as The Alliance is concerned and it was dealt with as my Commanding Officer saw necessary. It won't be repeated and despite that moment of poor decision making on my part, it did not negatively affect any mission we have conducted."

Her hand waved in the air dismissively as she leaned back in the chair more.

"Besides, it was more or less off-duty time when it happened. Xander and I both know when we can get away with stupid dren like that and when we can't. If we're on assignment, that is where our heads are at. It's probably worse to stick me next to Captain Tallen than my brother any day."

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Ah, yes. Captain Tallen.

The General's muzzle drew into a thin line. The Lieutenant's comments regarding the existance and relation of his litter not withstanding, her adamance was at least slightly reassuring. That she so aggressively adhered to the same story provided in Major Glayde's reports was a good sign; from what he'd read about Charles' temper, the likelihood of her managing to maintain a falsified version of events in the midsts of it was unlikely. Glayde was then - as best as he could tell for now, at least, - being honest about what he fed back to SpecForce Command.

There is more to being an effective leader than putting out brushfires though, the General mused. And if the Lieutenant's reaction was anything to go by, there were still a fair few embers that needed stamping out.

"That was my next subject of inquiry," he stated, frowning ever so slightly. "A separate disciplinary action for damaging Alliance property was filed on the same day as the incident with your brother, but no mention was made regarding whether or not the incidents were related. It seems clear however that there is more to this situation than was reported; and I suspect the incident was not entirely isolated."

His eyes narrowed, a piercing gaze fired at Charles, the edge in his voice making it clear that though pleantiful, his patience was not infinate. "Ellaborate."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

When Charlotte had been assigned to Dorn Force, she had reluctantly made a mental shift in her mind to encompass the men within it into the group of people she would always watch, always have their back. If someone had mouthed off about Glayde, Onashi, O'Hurn or even Jsorra and Elgrin who she rarely saw, Charles would have quite possibly come back with anything to make the person regret having ever done so. Her brother had easily moved into that group, even the new spook she had no real arguments against. But Tallen? Well...she was another subject entirely and Charles had almost longed for the day when she could throw the Captain under the bus.

But now that it presented itself... she just wasn't sure how to go about her wording.

"She too made some bad decisions that day, made some rather clear non verbal threats against me after she implied an incestuous relationship between me and my brother. Apparently she wasn't fond of my retaliation in speaking my mind about how she earned her rank."

There was a surge that was being held back, barely, by some sort of dam that was present only because of the General. But as the scene played through her head...followed by one of her brother coming out of the Captain's quarters... well the dam began to have little cracks in it.

Charles eyed the empty glass in front of her. She wasn't going to get another shot at this... and that mental dam had sprung a leak, seeping the loathing into her.

"If I may be forthright, General... I believe somewhere there's a little list you all are keeping on individuals who find themselves as Officers who have no right in being so. Now, I'm sure I fall somewhere on there and so I'm not really surprised I haven't exactly excelled. And while I claim to make no judgments on what the Captain was like prior to her being assigned to Dorn Force, her time with the Force has shown me nothing but her tendency to be petty, lewd, and overall lacking in any form of leadership skills."

A glance at her file sitting on the General's desk made her wonder just how detailed it was... and whether her next words would carry the weight she felt they should.

"I'll be honest. I'd rather go and join the Empire than ever place my life in Captain Tallen's claws."

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

The Lieutenant's file warned that she had an overbearing lack of respect for authority, and Torrsk had prepared himself for that. Aside from Colonel Rask, it seemed that she regarded almost everyone senior to her with a varying degree of contempt; and apparently everyone else with poorly veiled distain, it seemed.

And yet, he hadn't readied himself for the harshness of her words. There was venom in her voice as she spoke, and despite the genetic heritage of both the Bothan General and the Caitian Captain, it was clear who was the greater predator in this particular context.

It unsettled him to see so much aggression displayed by something that otherwise seemed so young and innocent and, a moment of consideration spared to recall everything that her life had put her through thus far, it only served to strengthen his resolve to bring the Empire to justice for all the evils it had wrought upon the galaxy and it's inhabitants.

He let the statement hang for a few moments; there was no comment he could possibly make to follow her outburst. Besides, there was no point asking Charles to evaluate Captain Tallen's performance during the mission in question: not if he expected an unbiased assessment.

Instead, he let his frown return, and considered his words for a minute more. "And what of Major Glayde?" he asked, his question blunt. "Does he fall onto this list of yours as well?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

The hate that could clearly be seen in her eyes suddenly vanished as Charles' shoulders slumped just slightly, the rest of her body following suit as it relaxed from the tense state that she had brought upon herself.

Finally she was able to look back at the General, her head cocking to one side ever-so-slightly as she almost looked questioning and amused in the same moment.

"You're kidding right?" The sound that left her as she eased entirely back into the seat wasn't quite a laugh, but not entirely a scoff either.

"I've come across plenty of people in his position, someone whose been saddled with more responsibility than they expected. Something tells me that when Dorn Force was developed, no one told the Major just what he was in for. Commanding a well organized troop is one thing, commanding well... us, is another."

Another one of those not-quite-laughs left her.

"The Major may not be what most would consider a typical leader, but he does just fine. Keeps us in line when we have to be without going over the top. Probably one of the best damn Commanding Officers I've met, that's for sure."

It wasn't until after she spoke that Charles realized what had exactly come out of her mouth. A slight blush rose in her cheeks, enough to make her wonder if the warmth she felt was from the whiskey she'd downed finally hitting its mark or if she honestly was embarrassed by the fact she had fully admitted her respect for the man. There had to be a follow up... something to not make it sound like she was just singing his praises.

"Pushes my buttons at times, though. But someone's got to. Rask did the same thing at times. Annoying as all hells, but sometimes it's necessary. Fine line between doing it to just be an ass and doing it because you know it'll have the right effect."

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Someone's got to, indeed.

In truth, Tur'enne's answers filled him with relief. That there was someone - anyone - in this blasted Rebellion for whom she had even a modicome of respect was a blessing, not just for her but for them as well.

Not only a General, Torrsk was also the senior representative of his people amongst the Rebel Alliance, and unfortunately that forced him to strike an uncomfortable balance between military and political objectives. While it might be essential to discipline to make examples of problem soldiers, and while the threat of expulsion was a valuable tool towards that end in any military, the simple fact was, the Rebel Alliance couldn't afford to throw away any soldiers, let alone ones as skilled and experience as Lieutenant Tur'enne was, even at her age.

The best he could do was push problems off on less critical units, but in the case of individuals like Tur'enne in particular, that presented a problem. To be an effective weapon it seemed, Charles needed a leader for whom she had respect; and the mediocre commander of some backwater battalion was hardly going to earn that.

For now at least, Major Glayde seemed to have things under control. Lets hope he can keep you tame.

He glanced briefly at his notes, but only one more question came readily to mind: the one that he had been angling towards since she had entered the room; the one for which all the other questions were merely preliminaries and context. Unfortunately, it was the most difficult to ask; and the most difficult, potentially, to answer.

"In your assessment," he asked, choosing his words carefully, "What went wrong? Which link in the chain failed; who was responsible?"

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

Charles didn't want to reply. Her mind knew where to place the blame, the real blame. As much as she could have smirked and spouted off more about the failures of Captain Tallen, there was a distinct truth to it all: The information they had been given on the mission had been wrong. While SpecForce, SpecOps, and Intel in general had a delightful little rivalry that some people took too seriously, Charlotte had always been one of the first to voice up about the quality of the other areas. Especially when it came to Intel. She knew it was because of her work as an Infiltrator, perhaps the only regiment to really understand what it took to really get into the enemy's heads at times. But that was an aside, her knowledge there was going to play second-fiddle to more recent actions: her missions accompanying Dashiel Starborn. It could get personal real fast... but blame needed to put where it belonged. After all, it wasn't Dash that had gotten them in that mix, it was his peers. Still, even before she spoke, Charlotte knew that the General was going to take what she said and point fingers where it didn't really belong.

"The information contained in the mission briefing was false. It's as simple as that. You can't expect a successful mission when the basics are beyond frakked up."

[Torrsk Oruo'rel]

Torrsk's jaw clenched, grimly. As a General, and the leader of SpecForce, the notion that responsibility and blame could be handed off to another agency - and more importantly, could be deflected away from his men and women - came as a relief, and was a concept he relished. As a Bothan however, he felt a defensive stab of racial pride: for while the Bothan Spynet was far from the sum total of the Alliance's intelligence-gathering network, the species had somewhat adopted such clandestine operations as an integral part of their culture; after the events that had transpired surrounding the Battle of Endor, any accusation of problematic intelligence stung with any Bothan.

The General allowed a silence to linger before he finally spoke. The pressure was on him to scutinise the team intently, and find some sort of scapegoat that the politicians could make an example of in order to save face. It was far better from their perspective for a single individual to have failed the Alliance, rather than for the Alliance to fail itself. He almost sighed at the futility, and at his loathing of politics.

"I believe those are all the questions I have," he stated, slowly, offering the slightest of smiles. "You have been most -" He searched for a polite way of phrasing it. "- honest and enlightening Lieutenant, thank you."

He rose, a hand smoothing down the front of his uniform as he did. "I would appreciate it if you'd be so kind as to send your brother in next."