Stargazer

Sotiris Councilwoman   Highgold   Crescent Goldsign

[amala-thevar]

sotiris-rp​:

Amala Thevar (she/her) is a 77 year old Leoran who works as a member of the Sotiris Council, and looks a lot like Deepika Padukone. She is a Highgold with the crescent goldsign.

Biography

While her kin and countrymen focused their attentions down into the deepest crevices of their planet, Amala had always found herself looking up– into the stars. The glittering night sky had always dazzled her; inspired her. Too often, her mothers would spend their evenings searching for their daughter– only to find her splayed out on a chair or in a lush patch of grass looking up at the sky. Wondering what secrets each pin-prick of light held, and wondering if she’d ever find out. It was a habit that Amala carried with her into adulthood: the stargazing, and the questions. And when her goldsign first manifested, all of her loved ones agreed that the crescent shape just made sense, for one reason or another. Her mothers each had their own varying theories.

Though they always, without hesitation, supported their daughter’s interests and ambitions, as two of the top scientists in the city’s university-sponsored team of marine biologists– Sathya and Vivi Thevar simply never quite understood any of it. Not that they ever really tried to. Sure, they’d listen to Amala’s impassioned ramblings about what little science had been done or theorized about what could exist beyond the moon and stars; indulged her as she eventually drifted away from her dreaming and took a more serious interest in civic duties and politics. But then– and even now, as a leading member of the Sotiris Council– their indulgences and attention always have a time limit. They’ll listen for a good twenty to thirty minutes, but then, as it’s always been, Amala’s enthusiasm would be brushed over; sweetly dismissed in favor of whatever new discovery or theory their team had made that week.

But ever the easy child, Amala never minded being her mothers’ second priority. There was a freedom in being forgotten for a spell. In fact, living within their time limits proved to be invaluable practice once she ascended to the Council. Every chance she was given, Amala pleaded her case: presenting her arguments in the allotted time frame offered to her on why she believed Leorans as a whole could benefit from devoting a few resources and research teams to looking up instead of down. Hours spent explaining what they could learn, what could be waiting for them beyond what little they already knew.

And each time, once her time limit was reached, she was met with the same opposition:

There’s nothing out there. Leora is isolated, alone. The focus should be on our own planet, our people, first.

Or the more optimistic: Maybe once we’ve finished exploring all of our home first.

And time and time again, Amala relented. Rejected, but not undeterred. She wasn’t in a hurry– the stars have waited this long, she had no doubts that they’d continue to wait. She had the time for patience, and patient she was. Never pushing her own agenda, never rocking such a delicate boat. Her people were content searching the oceans and keeping their planet so perfect? Then that’s what she lobbied for. Sustainability was good for everyone, present and future. Leorans had proven that long ago.

But those little dreams were always there, glittering like stars in the back of her mind.

And when visitors from the ‘nothing’ beyond the stars descended upon them, proving to her peers that she’d been right all along– Amala stopped accepting the given time limits. The Collective found a quick friend in Amala Thevar, who took it upon herself to be their advocate to the various councils they seemed to want to appease. She spoke out of turn, demanded action instead of empty promises. And unlike her peers or her otherwise loving mothers, The Collective saw her. They listened.

The first in line to upgrade her implants so that she could understand these newcomers, Amala is excited to see what The Collective can teach them, and in return, what slices of perfection Leora can share with their galactic neighbors.

Personality

A professional people pleaser, Amala is always quick with a kind word and an encouraging smile. And for most of her career, she was content to simply float along her duties to her people; her own interests taking second place. But her days of simply being a squeaky wheel to the Sotirian Council are over. Amala thrives in the new, if not-quite-official, authoritative roles that The Collective devised for them. In the attention that she’s deserved for so long. Everyday brings something new to learn or experience with their new friends, and she wears her excitement on her sleeve. She has so many questions, collected over years of nights spent staring at the sky, and she truly believes that these outworlders just might be able to answer them all.  

Welcome home @amala-thevar! We’re happy to have you in Sotiris.

[amala-thevar]

tiagoixora​:

The nearness of her was, as always, truly intoxicating; Tiago had spent many an idle moment trying to suss out the particular notes of Amala’s scent, had given up many a time with the conclusion that it was, simply, the woman herself. Her warm voice against his ear was like cream and honey, but it was the affectionate diminutive – auggie – that sent an agreeable shiver down between his shoulder blades. 

“Privilege indeed,” Tiago said, smiling at her coquettishness. Amala did that better than she did anything else. He didn’t mean that as a criticism; in her line of work, knowing how to tempt and tease and draw somebody in was a skill just as important as being up-to-date on the most recent developments in trade agreements and restricted transport zones. “I don’t mind if you make me earn it, Mala. I like being put through my paces. I always come out with a good showing.”

He would’ve taken the liberty of letting his fingertips across some of her enticingly exposed skin, but the tempo of the music that the band launched into was more upbeat than that and Amala, of course, knew exactly the dance for it. Tiago obliged, smiling at her pertness, encouraged by her fingers winding in his hair. Their steps falling into pace as they began to move, the floor filling in around them.

“Now why would I tell you about my plans, hmm?” Tiago lifted his chin slightly, so he could slant a dark-eyed, steady gaze down the beak of his nose at her. “Much more fun to let them spool out naturally and watch you adjust. You do switch gambits beautifully.” Tiago moved to spin her, trailing his touch along her upper arm as they assumed their base stance again. “But since you asked so nicely…”

They were still surrounded by the other dancers, so Tiago took that as a convenient excuse to pull Amala in closer, his hand against her back turning, so he could stroke the backs of his knuckles along the line of her posture. “The plan, beautiful creature, is to use all my many wiles to coax you into wanting to feel my hands all over you. Whether that means your constellation of pearls, or the curve of your hip, or the pulse of your throat.” 

It was a fascinating proposition, really. Not even so much any expectation that Amala might be interested in that sort of heated encounter, but seeing how she’d counter Tiago’s forwardness. He was a man who savoured experiences; how you got somewhere was often much more fun than whether or not you actually arrived. 

Her own chin lowered from the defiant angle she’d used to meet his initial challenge. Before he caved, thanks to those ‘good manners’ that her mothers had insisted she use all these years. 

“All of them?” She asked, careful and aware enough of the game to rein in her already wide smile-- a difficult enough task with the softness of his knuckles on the exposed part of her back. “I’m flattered, truly.” In more ways than one, judging by the flush to her cheeks that she’ll deny ever exist. “But I wonder-- is that because you want to make a good impression..” Amala paused as she shifted them into the next move of the dance: 

She stepped out of tandem with him, out of the distracting embrace of the arm at her waist, and spun in a full circle around him, their clasped hands still resting together. She didn’t counter his forwardness so much as called it, as came back to their base stance closer to him than she’d left it. “Or because you think I’m some sort of challenge?”

If there was a correct answer to her question, Amala surely didn’t know it. A small, whispering part of her had a favored answer, but she wasn’t listening to it. Not really. At least-- not here, where her every move would no doubt be dissected and picked apart to be used for someone else’s narrative. After the ups and the-- truly awful-- downs that had been the Food and Wine festival (not to mention all the online discourse and commentary, that Gloria was sure to point out to her at every possible opportunity), all she wanted was to have fun. 

Something the gala was supposed to provide. Something that a top priority message she’d received earlier had threatened to ruin. 

But with well poured Collective drinks and enough coverage from the others gracing the dancefloor-- fun was something that she knew for a fact that Tiago could provide. 

[amala-thevar]

msgallo​:

being left alone by tiago was both a blessing and a curse, given that she now felt like shark food thrown off a boat in the middle of the ocean. it wasn’t that she disliked connecting with new collective members, he just protected her from every conversation she really didn’t want to have. celia was having one of them right now - of course he had been invited. he just had to be. doomed to meet not one, but two of her ex-boyfriends in one evening, she currently suffers through everything professor henry maccay has to say to her after not speaking a word with her for twenty years. when he finally leaves after picking up on her disinterest, she’s not happy to hear her name again, but when she turns, the expression on her face kind, but fake, it quickly turns into a real, wide smile.

“amala?! oh my, it’s really you!” the woman turns to hand her empty glass of champagne she was just holding to a bypassing waitress, thanks her with the smile still on her lips and turns back to amala to pull her in for a gentle but tight hug. she’s not sure if it’s appropriate, but it feels righter than an awkward and professional greeting. “me, a vision? have you seen yourself?”, she asks as she slowly lets go of her, “i’m literally about to ask you for your hand in marriage with you looking like that.” celia makes no secret of checking her out, though she’s not obscenely doing so. 

what amala doesn’t see is the guilty conscience that pops up inside of her chest as soon as they talk to each other - reminding her of why they haven’t seen each other in so long when they once where good friends, best friends even. 

“you’re truly gorgeous, honey. how are you? what have you been up to all these years? asides from hopefully getting on my aunts nerves, obviously.”

Celia turned around and there it was, that thing she’d missed most in her old friend. She didn’t know what to call it, or how to really describe it. But it was there, in the lines of her wide smile; in the bright recognition deep inside of Celia’s eyes: a familiar sort of warmth. And like mana through her veins, that warmth spread through Amala’s own soul, and her mirroring grin. It was like no time had passed. Like they weren’t completely different people from the last time they’d met. 

From the outside, it might look like the two women were finally reconnecting after mere days or weeks-- not the decades that it had been; the lifetime they’d missed. 

Amala gladly accepted the hug, her own arms tightening the embrace even more. Would every eye appreciate such a display of familiarity in what some took as a formal setting? No, probably not. But what did she care? Either of them. It’s not in any Leoran nature to be stuffy and stiff at a party. Especially not when that too-strong wine was being served. 

It’s a little shameless, but as Celia’s eyes wander the waves of fabric and pearls that is her dress, Amala sets one hand on her hip and briefly strikes a more flattering pose-- before devolving into a flurry of soft laughter. “Wait until we can commandeer the stage before proposing.” She counters with a mischievous edge. “It’ll be much more fun if everyone can see it.” She throws in a wink for good measure, though she’s sure that Celia’s picked up the tease Amala levels at her aunt by now.

Amala threads her arm through one of Celia’s and nods, leading her away from a group of on-lookers making no efforts to hide their eavesdropping. “No worries on that front, I think my very presence in the general assembly,” the large room they and the rest of council convene in everyday. “annoys her more often than not.” There’s a smidge of pride tucked into the (half) joke. It’s her job to get under people’s skin, in a way-- and it’s always fun to notice her own success. 

“But other than that,” the mischief fades for a moment, and she offers her old friend a sweet, genuine smile. “I’ve been well, Cece. So very well.” She doesn’t elaborate much, but only because she’s not sure where to begin. And at least half of her life has been public enough-- she’s sure Celia’s already heard everything she’d have to say. “I’m so glad to see you,” Her free hand squeezes Celia’s arm lightly and stays put, maintaining the contact there. “How have you been, hm? Spare me no details, darling. If we’re to be married, I must know everything.” Amala grins again, that mischievous spark coming back to life.

[amala-thevar]

credinaa​:

signaling for her to wait, the pilot activated the rolling main landing gear, the starship started to move forward as the hangar doors opened under siren noises and hazard lights. “takeoff in twenty.”, she announced both into the microphone and to amala, still focused on pushing a few buttons. “ten. five.” enabling the safety catch on a third handle to her left, sasha pushed it upwards. the rumbling got louder, the whole ship jerked and then they were flying out of the hangar, with the rumbling immediately transitioning to a soft buzz. “takeoff successful, flying route 5-3-9.” the next thing she did was enabling the communication that would only allow amala to hear what she said into the microphone. 

“we’re going to breach the leoran atmosphere in about five minutes.”, she explained, taking a deep breath herself. sasha wasn’t exactly nervous, but amala still was a councilwoman, after all. “thank you for trusting me with this. it’s an honor to be chosen for this flight.” the venpalan gifts her a honest smile in a minute where she’s not occupied with operating the ship. the atmospheric breach runs smoothly, and they’re greeted by silence and many stars. for a while she doesn’t talk while flying, then she lets the shuttle turn and through the large windshield they can look down on leora as a whole planet. “i’ll give you a minute to look at your planet, and then i’ll enable hyperdrive.” a minute really isn’t enough to grasp the beauty of the view of a planet, but if amala really wants to see it all, they can’t stay at one point for too long.

“we will see a meteorite field, a pink planet and many more things. it’s the typical sightseeing route some rich parents pay for to fly with their children, with some special twists done by me - for example, we will pass by a spaceport, the largest one near leora. and if you’re lucky, we will see starfighters, other shuttles or capital ships, which are starships with a length over a 100 meters.”

preparing the hyperdrive, she had to reach over to amala’s side of the cockpit again. “okay, preparing hyperdrive. enabling..three, two, one.” a jolt went through the whole shuttle and suddenly all the stars and darkness of space morphed around them, forming a tunnel they were speeding through. “now flying at hyperspeed.”, she continued to explain, “we’ll be far away from your home planet within seconds.”

leaning back to relax, she put on autopilot while flying with hyperspeed, now able to fully focus on amala.

“now i’m able to answer any question you might have, co-pilot sea star.”

She felt it instantly, the starship’s force and power– just like the preparation courses said that she would. As soon as Sasha completed her countdown, as the rumbling of the engine reached it’s climax and the plane began to move at it’s breakneck speed– Amala’s shoulders were pinned back by a force she couldn’t see. 

It wasn’t a new sensation, not really. Leora had plenty of technology that was capable of creating similar levels of overbearing, invisible pressure. Amala herself could easily, though rarely voluntarily, recall any number of trips with her mothers that saw her in one of those plush, meant-for-visitors seats in a deep water vessel smaller than the ship she was currently strapped into.

No: the feeling of something pushing against her, squishing her organs, weighing her very skin down, wasn’t a new sensation. But the promise within that terribly loud, invisible force was. The answer to a question she stopped asking many, many moons ago. 

Then, all of a sudden, something changed. That force pinning her to her seat, tugging at whatever skin it could move– just stopped. As did the roaring of the engine and wind outside the cockpit. She wasn’t sure if a system had simply kicked in and allowed the inside of the ship to equalize or if they’d simply leveled out of their steep climb through the atmosphere. Maybe some combination of both. It didn’t matter, the science was beyond her. All that mattered now, as they came to something that felt like a stop, were the stars.

Billions upon billions of stars.

Raw emotion welled in her eyes as she sat perfectly in place, unable to respond to her pilot. How was it that here she was, finally out among the stars like she’d always dreamed of– and yet somehow she still felt so far away? Her eyes darted from one pin-prick of light to another, and then another, until they land on the great orb that was her home. A beautiful blue brightness, dotted with chunks of green and brown, covered with swirls of white. 

“I’ve always known Leora was beautiful, but.. this?” Her small voice cracked, though the smile only grew. Amala shook her head, unable to form the words, and wiped at a stray tear. “Thank you,” she whispered, only tearing her eyes away from her home as Sasha reached towards her. “Thank you.” It was all she could think of to say.

The itinerary sounded perfect– exciting, though far more extensive than she’d thought. The pink planet sounded promising, though it was the spaceport tease that brought the most questions to her mind. Questions that would need to be asked later, as Sasha started another countdown she sure as hell wasn’t about to interrupt. 

‘Hyperdrive’, she decided, was her new favorite way to travel. How was she expected to go back to anything less than a bright, multicolored tunnel made up of passing stars and planets and whatever else those streaks of blues and greens and pinks were? Amala’s awed expression turned to a wide grin, and she followed her pilot’s lead in relaxing her still tense shoulders; though she didn’t risk moving beyond only turning her head. 

“Sea Star!” She exclaimed, very obviously pleased with the name. “Can that be my callsign?” The name held a ring of nostalgia, though this didn’t feel like the time to share it. “How often do you get to do this?” Maybe a dumb question, but she couldn’t imagine the luck of getting to it more than one her single time.

[amala-thevar]

general-indso​:

Laeponia’s lips pressed into a hard, thin line, but the look she leveled at Amala wasn’t necessarily for her. Not entirely, anyway; it was borne of frustration, a lack of control where that control was wrested from her without her knowledge or consent.

A lack of control that… honestly wasn’t that bad. Maybe that was what Laeponia was most upset about. Amala looked beautiful and the world looked beautiful, and as upset as the General was to be put in this situation, she was finding it increasingly difficult to hold onto that anger — it kept slipping through her fingers like water, and she found she didn’t even mind.

For that reason, she wasn’t as irritated at Amala’s ‘oh, Laeponia’ as she absolutely would’ve been normally. She frowned, but there wasn’t a lot of weigh behind it, still soft around the edges. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” Laeponia admitted, figuring it was easiest to keep her attention fixed on Amala rather than try to keep an eye on their paint-stained, swirling surroundings. “I just- need to wait, and hope that the med team has been working on some counter-measures.” A pipe dream, the General knew. Anything they’d been working on would still be highly experimental at this point, and Laeponia was struggling to weigh if being an early-stages guinea pig would be worth the potential risks.

“Please, focus your attention on the civilians. I can handle myself.” A bold claim, as Laeponia’s significant stature swayed slightly in a cool, westerly breeze.

One of Amala’s brows arched at the general’s claim of being able to handle herself, as she gave into the gentle push of the breeze. Normally, the tall, formidable woman was an immovable as a mountain-- never once in their short time together had Amala witnessed the general move an inch outside of her own accord unless ordered to. But now? Now Laeponia had been reduced to something.. flimsier-- like kelp floating at the mercy of the tides. 

“Normally I’d believe you,” She started, softly but with a firmness she rarely used outside of her leadership role. “but right now I don’t think you’re in any position to be making such declarations.” 

Still, the good general was right: there were others that were in obvious need of observation. But, this drug wasn’t dangerous right? And with the stalls already shutting down, and the perimeter of the festival already blocked off-- Surely observation is all that was really required from her. At least until the rest of the council and whomever Laeponia called arrived.  

Amala looked around them, peering into the mass of happy revelers. Too happy, she thought as a shrill laugh rose above the noise of the crowd. But better to be unnaturally happy than end up crushed in a swell of panic. She spied one of the several water fountains dotted around markets not far from the pair stood. It’d have to do. 

Turning back, Amala gave the general’s arm a soft, comforting pat. “Wait here, alright? I’m going to go get you some water, I’ll be right back.” Her dark eyes met the general’s beautifully bright ones with an expecting look as she waited for confirmation that her words were heard. Confirmation received, she made her way to the watering station; carefully picking her steps along the edge of the crowd. 

She met the eyes of a stall owner as they turned away someone’s request for a drink, as politely as they could. They lied and said they were out of whatever drink they’d been advertising. Amala gave them a sympathetic smile, and nodded her appreciation as she walked by. The fountain had a small service bot next to it, routinely there to maintain the fountain for all to use. It also served a duel purpose and provided small cups to those who needed them (a place to properly recycle them). The cups were meant more for children and the elderly, but they’d do here too. 

She filled the cup and quickly made her way back to the general to present the offering. “Here, drink this. It’s just water, I promise.” The assurance came with a small smile. “The fountains have so many filters-- I doubt anyone would actually go through the trouble of trying to taint them.” 

[amala-thevar]

Copy and paste this into your own post. Bold what applies to your muse and cross out things they never do. This task is optional.

DEFENSIVENESS.    arms  crossed  on  chest  /   crossing  legs  /  fist-like  gestures   /  pointing  index  finger  /   karate  chops   /   stiffening  of  shoulders /   tense  posture  /  curling  of  lip    /  baring  of  teeth

REFLECTIVE.    hand  to  face  gestures   /   head  tilted   /   stroking chin   /  peering  over   glasses   /   taking  glasses  off —  cleaning   /   putting  earpiece  of  glasses  in  mouth   /   pipe smoker  gestures   /   putting  hand  to  the  bridge  of  nose   /   pursed  lips /   knitted  brows  .

SUSPICION.     arms  crossed   /   sideways  glance   /   touching  or  rubbing  nose   /  rubbing  eyes   /   hands  resting  on  weapon   /  brows  rising  /   lips  pressing  into  a  thin  line   /   strict  unwavering  eye  contact   /   wrinkling  of  nose

OPENNESS  +  COOPERATION.    open  hands   /   upper  body  in  sprinters  position  /   sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  /   hand-to-face gestures   /   unbuttoned  coat   /   tilted  head   /   slacked  shoulders  /   droopy  posture   /   feet  pointed  outward /   palms  flat  and  facing  outward

CONFIDENCE.    hands  behind  back   /   hands  on  lapels  of  coat   /   steepled  hands   /   barring  teeth  in  a  grin  /   rolling  shoulders   /   tipping  head  back  but  maintaining  eye   contact   /   chest  puffed  up   /   shoulders  back /   arms  folded   just  above  navel

INSECURITY  +  ANXIETY.    chewing  pen  or  pencil  /   rubbing  thumb  over  opposite  thumb   /   biting  fingernails   /   hands  in  pockets   /   elbow  bent   /   closed  gestures   /   clearing  throat   /   pacing    /    “ whew ”  sound   /  picking  or  pinching  flesh   /   fidgeting  in  chair  /   hand  covering  mouth  whilst  speaking   /   poor  eye  contact   /   tugging  at  pants  whilst  seated   /   jingling  money  in  pockets   /   tugging  at  ear  /   perspiring  hands /   playing  with  hair    /  swaying   /   playing  with  pointer   /   smacking  lips   /   sighing   /   rocking  on  balls  of  feet  /   flexing  fingers  sporadically

FRUSTRATION.    short  breaths   /   “ tsk ”  sounds /   tightly  clenched  hands  /   fist-like  gestures   /   pointing  index  finger   /   running  hand  through  hair   /   rubbing  back  of  neck   /   snarling   /   revealing  teeth   /   grimacing   /    sharp-eyed   glowers  with  notable  tension  in  brows   /   shoulders  back  ,   head  up   /   defensive  posturing   /   clenching  of  jaw   /   grinding  of  teeth  /   nostrils  flaring  /   heavy  exhales

[amala-thevar]

tiagoixora​:

november 24th, the allies gala the last chime of dinner @amala-thevar​

It had been a splendid meal. Tiago was a confident man and he was certain of the quality of what was produced at flagship Jaffa, but part of being at the top of his game was recognizing other talented chefs. The banquet furnished by Facilia Drumont was, he’d freely admit, unmatchable.

But then, Chef Drumont had been able to access offword techniques and components in a way that Tiago’d never had. He’d get there. He would.

The faintly sour, beautifully balanced taste of the fruit gelee that had rounded off the meal was still lingering at the roof of his mouth when the floor opened to dancers, every last plate whisked away. Tiago took Celia’s hand, pressed a kiss to the back of her wrist, and then rose from his seat, strewing his napkin carelessly so that he could move quickly to intercept Amala as she stood as well. He had to dash in front of some tall creature in an appallingly-cut uniform to get there first, but Tiago had no compunctions about that.

“I’ve been looking at you all night,” he said, coming up behind her and slipping one hand smoothly along the small of Amala’s back to curve against her hip, his other hand taking her wrist as he fitted her neatly against him on the way out to the dancefloor. “I want to run my fingertips all over these stunning pearls. Find out for myself if they’re warm from you wearing them.”

“Tiago..!” The sound was light and breathy, her body not yet back to it’s normal rhythm from his sudden appearance. Relief washed over her, and she squeezed the hand at her hip; the familiar touch suddenly not so unwelcome. Her feet didn’t fight his guidance. 

She’d known that he’d been looking at her. In fact, since somewhere between the middle and bottom of her second glass of wine (a special blend from some special collective planet that she’d been warned was double the potency of Leoran varieties. But it’d tasted like a jam straight out of a fairytale, so she hadn’t listened), she’d been very aware of every eye that fell on her. But his she’d noticed ever since she’d seen him arrive-- on the arm of someone whom she’d known a lifetime ago.

He looked dashing; perfect for the occasion. Smelled even better, though that thought might have been the wine’s influence. All the same, she wouldn’t be saying anything like that to his face anytime soon. That would be too easy. 

“I’m glad you like it, but..” The sentence trailed off as she leaned into him, craning her neck to press her cheek to his.

“..you want a privilege that must first be earned, Auggie.” She cooed softly into his ear, a cheeky smirk on her lips as she pulled back.

It was a challenge that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to offer; even less sure of whether or not she actually was offering, considering how visible this particular event was and the fact that he hadn’t arrived alone. 

But it was too late for that: the words were already said, Amala couldn’t take them back, not now that they were already floating in the small space between them. And she’d had just enough of that too-strong wine. 

The band started with something just lively enough to warrant more than a simple sway, and Amala turned in his arms the instant they reached the dancefloor, assuming the spot in front of him. While one hand rested comfortably palm-to-palm in Tiago’s, the once-captive hand slid along the length of his well-toned shoulder, and then up; her fingers curling gently into the hair they found at the nape of his neck. 

Soon, most of the room was coupled off, the dancing officially underway. “But I suppose you already have a plan for that, hm?” Amala asked with the same teasing lilt, her focus steadily on him. “Some sort of strategy?” She bit her lip in a failed attempt at preventing her smile from spreading. “Tell me what it is-- the plan. Please?”

[amala-thevar]

collective date: november 24th, 2022 the allies gala; arrival @russovito​

Her smile faded only a fraction as she crossed the tall, formal threshold of the embassy building. While normally the buildings large, solid doors seemed cold and formidable-- unwelcomingly so, when compared with the swooping, inviting Leoran designs surrounding it-- tonight, the grand entrance had a certain warmth to it. A little more color, a little more life-- something worthy of being the grand focal point that it needed to be. 

The good councilwoman had posed outside the doors, smiled and waved in the way that was expected of her. She made sure that a wide smile and sense of unity was indeed seen, as it needed to be. Pretended that there wasn’t a NEW MESSAGE: URGENT alert flashing in the middle of her line of sight as reporters and their robots captured her arrival for the galaxy to see. 

Once passed the door, however, she excused herself from the aide she’d brought with her-- encouraged them to go mingle and network before dinner started-- and turned down a small, dim hallway. Amala’s smile dropped completely as the shadows engulfed her; her fingertips running along either wall, searching for a door. It was clear by the lack of light and decoration that this hallway wasn’t meant to be part of the party, but it hadn’t been roped off either, and if this message was what she thought it was-- she’d need all the privacy she could find. 

She rounded a tight corner and found herself face to face with a... wall? A dead end. It was two feet in front of her, without even a window or a plant to give it a purpose. Though come to think of it, there’d been no doors or windows all along that strange stretch of thin hallway. Later, the questions would cross her mind more than once: What was the purpose of that hallway? Why waste all that space? 

But now, she had other, more pressing concerns: an ill-timed message sent on a secure line. She might not have found a room, but a dark corner far enough away from the main flow of attendees would have to be good enough. In an instant, she engaged her implants and opened the message, her vision narrowing in on the small text. She gasped softly as she read it, a hand lifting to cover her mouth as she read it again. 

“Fuck--” She breathed out before a tall figure stepped around the corner, blocking out what light managed to reach this far back, and cutting off her only exit. “Oh! I--!” Her words stumbled as she tried to quickly close the message and re-focus her vision. 

“If you’re looking for the restroom, I’m afraid we’ve both made the wrong--” Amala stopped mid-sentence as her eyes adjusted to the dimmed light, and she could finally make out the figure before her. “..Vito? Vito.. Russo, right?” She questioned, their first meeting slowly coming back to her. 

[amala-thevar]

collective date: november 24th, 2022 the allies gala, after dinner @msgallo​

The councilwoman clapped, along with most of the rest of the room, as the band finished their song and this round of dancing came to an end; her smile wide. She added an extra round of applause as the wife of her current conversation partner-- a diplomat wearing a smart looking Collective pin on her lapel-- came to rejoin their little group. 

Amala had wasted no time since arriving to the gala earlier that evening in making sure that she surrounded herself with a mix of faces that she knew, and ones that she didn’t. Yet. Networking had always one of her strong suits, and this show of friendship and unity was like a gift from the gods of old. But as she turned to complete the circle, she caught eye of a face she had only once known, many moons ago, and only barely recognized now. She wasn’t surprised to see her here, not exactly. As the niece of a sitting councilor-- practically a daughter, really-- she had more than every right to attend. Some might have even expected it. Judging by the surprised element to her smile, Amala wasn’t one of those people-- certainly not with the woman looking like that.

She politely excused herself from the small group of diplomats, and crossed the room. The approach was slow as Amala allowed herself the time to properly admire the dark dress the other was wearing (and the form beneath it); her eyes following the thin crisscross of fabric cutting across her otherwise bare back. 

“Celia Gallo.” She started with a nostalgic lilt, her eyes darting back up and settling on the gathering of curls instead. Her smile grew as she waited for Celia to turn around. “Seas, it’s been ages! Look at you; you’re a vision!”

[amala-thevar]

THE SPIRIT OF UNITY || amala thevar at the allies gala

Working in conjunction with her favorite designer, the councilwoman arrives to the gala in a gown that she feels compliments both her culture and that of their new friends. 

The monochromatic look beautifully captures the Collective’s simpler, less vibrant social standard while still placing Leoran whimsy on full display. And though we’re not sure of the exact weight of the gown, Councilwoman Thevar assures us that it won’t keep her from taking a few spins on the dance floor.

[amala-thevar]

credinaa​:

“what do you mean, would it be alright?” sasha tilts her head a little, confused smile on her lips, left from the little laugh she had after her joke. “did you expect that i would seat you here?” she points towards all the seats for the passengers. “with all due respect, m’am, you’re flying with me, not some 180-year old that doesn’t consider this an absolute honor. of course you’re sitting next to me. we’ll see about the touching as well.” a subtle wink follows her words, but she doesn’t add any more words. instead she starts to show the councilwoman all the safety measures, explains what to do in case of an emergency and tells her about the turbulences they might experience if they fly through rougher areas - which the sergeant will make sure to avoid, anyways. she sympathizes with the woman, she’s so kind and sweet and amazed by stars - there’s not much more she would ask for.

after she has talked through all the rough and boring stuff, she makes her take a seat next to the chair of the first pilot, explaining the seatbelt to her, before sitting down next to her, where she takes her headset from where it was playing and puts it on, fixing the microphone. 

“this is an ambassadorial shuttle. it’s 14.2 meters long, with a hyperdrive class 2 and 12 system. the weapons are limited to laser canons and sensors are short-ranged since it’s only used for transport. maximum atmospheric speed is 750 meters per hour. talking atmospheric speed, though. i’ll enable hyperdrive once we’re in space and we’ll slow down a few times for some sceneries and sights. compared to the starfighter jets you could fly in..my starfighter’s maximum atmospheric speed is 3000 meters per hour. hyperdrive classes are 0 and the  backup class is 1.” fastening her seatbelt and turning towards the front of the ship, she switched her microphone on.

“sergeant dive here. booting system, please make room on the runway.” watching carefully as the workers and starfleet members stepped aside after finishing up their work. “preparing sublight engines. powering vision system and meteorite shields. make sure to bring enough distance between you and the ship, starting egine one in three..” sasha leaned over to amalas side to push a combination of buttons. “two..” she then put her fingers around one of the two handles, releasing the safety catch. “one..active.” pulling the handle all the way down, she felt her heart skip a few satisfactory beats as soon as the low rumble of the booting engine made the ship vibrate slightly. focused on pushing several buttons, she only paused for a second to tap the display, choosing a route. a gentle smile on her lips, she pointed towards a round button in front of amala. “could you push this button to prepare engine two? and announce it into your microphone while you’re at it. we can think of a callsign for you when we’re up there.”

turning her head around again, she focused on the steering wheel. “starting engine two, ready for takeoff as soon as miss thevar starts her countdown.” sasha showed amala the handle she had to pull down in order for the engine to start. 

“start at your word, miss, so i can show you the everything you asked for..”

Though Amala listened and absorbed the safety information (as if she hadn’t already done her level best to memorize it all already, through any media she could find), the numbers and various systems meant nothing to her. Sure, she could feel at home when presented with chemical equations or the various, smaller instruments her mothers used during the course of their explorations and research, she wasn’t what anyone would call adept to the mathematical side of any science-- space, marine, or otherwise. But still, she listened and nodded her head as if the jargon her pilot used were common place in her own vocabulary. 

All too happily, she took her seat next to the sergeant, following her lead in sliding the headset on over her ears-- though with much less confidence Sasha had used just half a moment earlier. Her heart pounded with excitement as the surprisingly clear sound of Sasha’s routine filled her ears. True to her word, she kept her hands in her lap; her fingers gripping the fabric of her jumpsuit lightly while her eyes followed the sergeant’s hands. 

She moved so expertly-- so sure. Logically, Amala knew that level of confidence and knowledge was a requirement for Sasha to even have this job. Leora was hardly different-- tests and proof of knowledge and ability were required of all Leorans in order for them operate any number of heavy machinery without robotic assistance. 

But there was something about seeing it in practice. That skill. That calm, collectedness. It was just so damn cool. 

They may have only just met, but Amala felt secure in entrusting this pilot with her life.

‘Could you push this button to prepare engine two?’ 

Wide eyes looked at Sasha, silently asking for confirmation that she’d heard her correctly. She could start up an engine? She didn’t hide the smile as she adjusted the microphone in front of her, eyes returning to where the sergeant had instructed. 

“Preparing engine two.” She announced as coolly as she could, the pad of her thumb pressing down on the flat surface of the button. With a nod and another excitedly anxious smile, she adds, “On my mark. Five,” A hand grips the handle, with a surprisingly limited amount of shaking.

“Four, three,” Her heart beats faster in anticipation, and it takes all of her self-discipline to keep her voice and her pace steady. 

“Two,” She can’t keep the tremble out of her tone now, so close to the end; to going up. “One.” Amala yanks the handle down, almost surprised by how much resistance she finds. Just as with the other engine, there’s a sudden, dull roar as the machine comes to life; the resulting light tremors contributing to the goosebumps puckering up her skin. 

She looks back to Sasha, for confirmation before announcing, as she had a moment ago, “Engine two, active.” All pretense of calm and cool melted, and she released the handle from her white-knuckled grip. “What comes next?”

[amala-thevar]

general-indso​:

local time: 30 october 2022. noon. location: city center. leoran market. continuing from here. @amala-thevar​

“General Indso!” She called out after finally spotting the towering woman, tucked in a corner, away from the main mass of revelers. It was an effort to keep her own tone from drawing too much attention. She wasn’t trying to incite any sort of panic– not yet, anyway. “General, oh I’m glad I’ve found you!” Her voice lowered, and she glanced around at the too friendly merriment surrounding them. How many of these people were currently being dosed? Far too many, she guessed, watching as an outworlder bit into some sort of filled pastry. “I don’t know if you know this already, but we’ve got a problem on our hands.”

Godsdamnit, Laepona thought to herself the moment she recognized the voice in question. The General’s commanding height and presence were usually to her benefit; not so much when she was doing her best to remain unassuming.

“Councilwoman Thevar,” Laepona greeted curtly, more curtly than really intended, her gaze tripping over a beautiful mosaic of a million different shades of green in the nearest tree before settling on Amala.

The woman appeared stunning, cloaked in broad brush strokes of warm browns and yellows. Laeponia could only stare for a moment, blinking fiercely. Finally, she managed to reply. “I am aware of the situation, yes.” A pause. “I have contacted Starfleet. They’re bringing medical personnel, and…” Another pause, this one far more hesitant. Laeponia admitted without admitting: “My Lieutenant General is en route to handle the situation.”

It was the sharpness in the Venpalan’s tone that brought Amala’s eyes abruptly back to the woman, still cloaked in the softness of the shade. She’d heard many different tones and inflections from the outworlders, mostly from the Starfleet officers and Collective envoys that she interacted with during her normal day-to-day goings on-- she knew not all of them were meant as positives. But the General had only ever gone so far as to sound mildly annoyed with her, and then only when their conversations had been largely sentimental.

She’d have felt, and expressed, some kind of hurt right then if she hadn’t noticed the uncharacteristically soft edge to her angular face. And the blinking. “General, I-- You--” She started, then started again, processing what she’d read. The nuances involved in ‘reading between the lines’ felt a little to literal in that moment. Still, her voice lowered as the understanding came to her, and the urgency in her tone melted into a more localized concern. “Oh, Laeponia. You too?”

Amala sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “The elders of the hunter’s warren and the other council members should be here soon, too. I’ve already given the order to close off all entrances to the festival.” She hoped that bit of information would at least ease the general’s mind, though it dons on her that she likely already saw the emergency message that she’d sent out through the official channels. “You’ll have to talk me through this, General.” She adds softly, meeting Laeponia’s dreamy, drug-induced expression. “I don’t know nearly enough about this substance. What do you need, hm? What can I do?”

[amala-thevar]

Closet Monsters » Does your muse hide aspects of their life from others?

Yes and no.

Very few people-- a handful, maybe-- have seen the complete version of Amala Thevar. The vast majority of people that she knows personally, and all of whom she doesn't, aren't given the opportunity to know every aspect of her life or every facet of her personality and being.

Simply put: not everyone is deemed as 'safe' for certain areas of her life. Her mothers, for example, don't get to know their daughter's dreams or aspirations anymore. Not after years of setting her aside. And those that she knows strictly in a professional setting don't get to know what she gets up to on her days off; only that, in theory, it won't affect her ability to do her job.

Of course, there are some people who she trusts more than anything: her closest friends. Where there are no boundaries to worry about. Where she's safe and free to be her truest self. And though it's rare, the group of people that truly know her, has been known to grow.

[amala-thevar]

sotirisdeleora​:

@amala-thevar​​

local time: monday 31 october 2022, 11:00 location: city center. leoran consulate. referencing: @tiagoixora​‘s post

One of the city’s white robots arrives with a package for the Leoran Council. This, in and of itself, is not unusual; though the amount of time it takes to reach Gloria Gallo is. Thanks to prying from the Collective under the guise of checking for bombs (Gloria does not believe for a single solitary second that anyone would bother to bomb the Leoran Council, no matter what happened yesterday), it is hours after she first learns of the package that it finally arrives on her desk.

Already irritated that the co-investigation headed by Starfleet and the Hunters has gotten absolutely nowhere, she is in a foul mood when she unwraps a painting of a woman. Snorting, she props it up in one of the plush blue chairs in her office and takes a step back to scrutinize the piece. Is that supposed to be Amala Thevar? 

Emotions duel within Gloria. On one hand, Amala has long been a vocal mouthpiece for the Collective. She has no sense when it comes to politics on an interplanetary playing field, and has been starstruck by the Collective’s fancy gadgets and shining promises. Gloria may not be familiar with the particular brand of bullshit the Collective weaves, but she’s headed political movements since long before the other councilor was born, and she knows a venomous snake when she sees one.

Yet, recently, Thevar had shown much more sense than Gallo had given her credit for. Faced with a drugged population, including that spriteling of a nepotic Starfleet General, she’d had the wherewithal to immediately alert the rest of the council so they could showcase a united front. Leora was strong-armed into the alliance with the Council, but showing their population they could get along was more important now than ever. They had decided months ago peaceful incorporation was better than brutal war. That decision had to be right, so they needed to showcase their cooperation.

No matter how much it grated.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Councilor Gallo snatches the painting off her chair and strides out of the office. Her slippered feet are silent against the Consulate’s reclaimed wooden floors, but her presence alone is enough to send anyone in the hallways scurrying out of the way with bows of respect. When she arrives at Councilor Thevar’s door she knocks twice before entering, hardly bothering to listen for a reply before the door is swinging open.

Plopping the painting down upon Amala’s desk, Gloria begins. “Well, I imagine you’ve seen the complaints about you pouring in over the feeds. They’re a little much but I think venting online is healthier than sending deranged caricatures to the council through our robots.”

She pauses, eyeing the painting again as she smiles. “Though I suppose you can take solace in the fact that even though most people want your head on a spike, there’s at least one person who wants to fuck you.”

The shambles that was the Food & Wine Festival is a blot on our Leoran culture! It's clear that there's only one person responsible for this and it's Councilwoman Thevar. Does she know the effects of Dorian? Does she care? No! She only wants to advance her own Collective bias. This cannot stand. - citizen F.B., highgold

Amala rolls her eyes. “The only people that sign things with their cultivation levels are Fucking Bastards, citizen F.B.” She mutters to herself in annoyance, a finger swiping on her tablet further down the forum. She knows that she shouldn’t be reading the messages, even if some aren’t as hateful as others. 

I'm not a native but I feel honour-bound compelled to tell you that not only is it a disgrace that the Council (and in particular Councilwoman Thevar) allowed this to happen on a planet that prides itself on being well-nigh-perfect, but the response was shameful! You could stand to take some lessons from other species. This is a public relations DISASTER. - One Who Knows

“Public relations disaster my ass.” On paper, and video recording, Leora and the Collective were more unified than ever. Even if the bonds were still made of wet paper. “One Who Knows nothing, apparently.” A snort and she shakes her head, scrolling past that statement too.

WE HAVE RECEIVED YOUR MESSAGE SISTER AMALA! WE STAND READY TO RESPOND! WE MUST NOT LET THE MOMENTUM OF YOUR DORIAN INITIATIVE FALL FALLOW! GIVE US YOUR SIGN AND WE WILL MOVE! [xx*flP]

Amala’s previously amused smile fades as she reads the message. “Well that’s concerning..” For one, she’s an only child; sister to no one. Secondly, and more importantly, it’s been years since they’ve seen hints of extreme rhetoric like this. And the timing for it now is cause enough for concern. Her fingers tap on the tablet, sending a linked copy and a clip of what information she’s able to pull from the account to both the council’s own cyber security team and to Starfleet’s. It’s only one message, and it’s likely nothing, she knows. But there are enough mentions of a ‘we’ in it to give her pause. Extremist groups are never just one person. And she doesn’t love the idea of one setting it’s sights on her, no matter their intention. 

Two firm knocks sound at her office door, and she barely gets through her answering call of “Come in.” before the door swings open and Gloria Gallo waltzes in. She sets the tablet down on her desk just in time for it to be covered by whatever it is that Gloria’s brought with her on this unexpected visit. 

Mildly taken aback by the sudden.. gift? Delivery? Amala sighs as she squints at the artwork; lifting it after a moment to give it a proper look. “This got sent to you? Strange.” She offers in lieu of the proper greeting that she had yet to receive. 

Art may not be her strong suit, but she’d hardly call the piece a ‘deranged caricature’-- truth be told, she thought it was lovely. There’s an undeniable essence in the wildness of the brush strokes, the vibrancy and depth to the colors-- she’s flattered, but she knows better than to tell Gloria that. Nor will she tell Gloria that, lately, scoring an invite to her bed hardly required this much effort. 

“Careful, Gloria.” Amala turns her own saccharine smile up to her colleague, leaning back in her chair as she does. “A weaker mind might think you were jealous.”

“We know better of course.” What Amala does take solace in is: if this painting truly is some sort of public declaration of lust-- it’s probably been so long since Gloria Gallo seen such a thing that one of her aides had to be the one to tell her so. Though that thought too, is left unsaid. 

“Besides,” She starts again, gently setting the painting aside for the moment. “You clearly haven’t seen some of the latest messages to come in.” Once again, she lifts her tablet in one hand while the other taps away; sending a screen shot of the last text she was looking at to Gloria. She can tell by the way the elder’s eyes loose focus that she received the image. “It appears as though I’ve inspired some sort of cult. And we all know what those can entail.” The tablet is set back down onto her desk, and Amala folds her hands over her stomach, casually leaning back into her chair again. With a shrug of her shoulders she adds, “There’s bound to be at least a few people who want to fuck me.”

Sensing that she’s poked the beast too many times, Amala changes gears. “I’ve already sent Starfleet and our own analysts the original message. Hopefully between the lot of them, they can pull enough information from it to find out who sent it and if we really do have a cult or some new group to deal with. Don’t worry.”

[amala-thevar]

Tight Space » Does your muse fear they’re not living up to their own potential?

More often than she'll ever fully admit to-- and never in public. There's a certain image that someone of her position must maintain with the public that she serves, and admitting to any lapses in confidence could irrevocably alter that image for the council at large, not just for herself.

It's worth noting, however, that Amala has had far fewer instances of feeling like an imposter since the first Collective ship descended from the sky. Something about the validation that came with the outworlders changed the way she analyzes her own thoughts and decisions.

That idea of 'she was right when everyone thought she was out of her mind' has really bolstered her ego-- though whether that's a good thing or not has yet to be determined.

[amala-thevar]

credinaa​:

being chosen for a demonstration flight was both a honor and a horror. a honor because she got deemed best of the eligible collective members (better than taylor, a fellow sergeant she had an ongoing bicker with), a horror because she had no idea what to expect of the woman she was going to fly with. from what she’s heard, she’s supposed to be kind and lovely, but appearances and rumors are deceptive. 

the morning of the flight she wasn’t nervous, though, she simply put on her flying suit, fixed her insignia and put her hair up in a tight bun, to keep it out of her face. she didn’t get any more nervous when she made it to the hanger and got the ship ready for the flight, just to then wait in front of the open door. as soon as she saw the councilwoman approach, she straightened her posture, wiped the visibility of the slightest agitation from her face and got ready for the appropriate greeting. 

“ma’am.” the venpalan took a deep breath, “i’m sergeant sasha soverall, callsign ‘dive’. originally, i’m from palaven and to cut it short, i teach the kids at the academy how to not crash into something .. or each other.”

the slightest hint of a grin rushed over her face, before she turned to look at the ship. “it’s a speeder meant for transport of about ten people. the inside is a bit smaller, the engine and weapons take up some space, too. we thought this might be a bit more comfortable for your first flight. usually, i fly fighter jet singles and tandems and rarely jets that require three pilots, but these flights are a little less steady - and we don’t want to risk you throwing up and having your experience ruined. if you ever do feel like a tandem flight, though, it would be an honor to take you on one.”

the sergeant’s eyes started to sparkle at the thought. “plans can look deceptive, especially if you have never been that close to a ship of this size.” taking a step back, she made an inviting hand gesture towards the stairs. “mylady. we will take off in approximately fifteen minutes - after i have you seated down and explained security measures. it will just be us too - feel free to ask me anything you would like to know. is there anything in specific you would like to see?”

It was fascinating, all of it. Everything that fell out of this wonderful woman’s-- no, wonderful pilot’s mouth was instantly memorized; Amala’s already wide eyes opened wider partly due to her own natural excitement, but mostly so that she didn’t miss a word that her implants populated before her. The small bits of information soaked in and filed away for safekeeping. For dreaming. 

Though a part of her (admittedly too small to give much real recognition to) reeled at the thought of being already declared too fragile or delicate to handle the faster, less cushioned flights by people who didn’t know her or her life, she knew there was a logic to the decision. The short, far from extensive, preparation courses delegates from the Collective had graciously provided for her had been somewhat of a nightmare. She had vomited, more than once. And had woken up with various aches and stiffness for three days afterwards, a side effect that had seen her rely more on her mana than she usually did to get her through her workday. 

But simulations weren’t the real thing. Perhaps her stomach wouldn’t have a chance to betray her again, not as they left the ground and the buildings and the clouds behind them. Even if it would be slower than what Starfleet would deem more exciting. 

And besides-- the decision hadn’t been a ‘no’, it’d only been a ‘not first’. And that, she could work with. 

Assuming she didn’t completely embarrass herself today.

Her heart begins to pound as Sasha asks a question that the Leoran isn’t capable of fully answering: What does she want to see? The answer comes in the form of a single word, uttered with a hushed, awed enthusiasm: “Everything.” 

“Thank you, Sergeant.” The sincerity wasn’t hidden in Amala’s voice, still tinged with a hint of laughter. “Truly, I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to take me up.” Another laugh, though this time the sound is full of nerves. 

Still, her smile is wide as she follows the sergeant’s lead, her steps careful but far from slow as she ascends the stairs up into the spacecraft. There’s small lights and tempting buttons everywhere, not unlike the helms of the ships her people are so proud of. She eyes the seats, neatly lined, clearly meant for passengers; but her eyes, and heart, stop as they gaze over the cockpit. Amala turns to face her pilot, hands clasped to avoid looking too desperate. “If I promise not to touch anything, would it be alright if I sat up front with you? I’d love to see how it all works-- and,” A brief pause as her heartbeat quickens, “your point of view.”

[amala-thevar]

Curses  »  Does your muse believe in luck? How about karma?

Does your muse believe in luck?

Yes. But in the sense that some people are simply lucky.

Lucky to have been born to the parents that gave them all of what they needed growing up. Lucky to have escaped with just a slap to the face after too many unwanted advances. Lucky to have felt the warmth of an unyielding, unconditional love at least once in their life. Lucky to have been given the opportunity to explore beyond every horizon.

Engineered luck is fleeting and easy to make, if you're willing to be creative. And too easy to corrupt.

Does your muse believe in karma?

She doesn't usually give it much thought but, yes. If pressed, she'd admit to seeing the logic behind it. Though she thinks that the tradeoff's are far too often unfair.