𝔓relude.
· 𖥸 ·

❪ 0 BBY · the Imperial Senate building · Coruscant ❫

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

IN THESE SACRED moments, chaos reigned supreme. Snaking around each being in lights of the brightest gold, fingers clenching bone and sinew and muscle alike, bedlam roamed free. Unfiltered, unaltered, undiluted. Free to feel each thumping heartbeat. Free to watch each pair of widened eyes. Free to hear each gasp of alarm. Panic was something one could taste in the air of the Imperial Senate building, as sharp and sour as curdled milk. The senators, mouths open and knuckles clenching the railings of their podiums until their skin turned ashen, could do nothing but watch as the holographic form of Grand Moff Tarkin enveloped the debate chamber. The silver-haired man, shimmering azure and coveted by a certain ice in his piercing blue eyes, seemed to own every charged particle in the air; they bowed for him in his wake.

"Senators of the Galactic Empire," he began, accent as crisp and cutting as the perfect lines of his military uniform, "the time has come for change. The galaxy is not what it once was—the might of the Empire is carving it into a sculpture of dignity. Of uniformity. Of order." The sharp-angled planes of Tarkin's face cut an imposing figure as he regarded the senators before him, hands behind his back and shoulders straight. "Our esteemed emperor has a vision—a vision which we will make reality. Senators, I am not one for speeches; I will make this short." A breath. "The Imperial Senate is to be dissolved, effective immediately."

The senators shattered.

There were gasps and whimpers and cries of rage. Where she stood, jade-brown eyes glittering with astounded shock, Senator Elarra Vel of Naboo's throat hitched, the golden column of her neck bobbing as she swallowed in horror. Her heart was hammering a relentless melody into her ribs, wailing and screaming and calling out—because none of this was right. The senate, dissolved? It couldn't be true. Surely the Empire wouldn't strip thousands of star systems of their rights to democracy. Surely they wouldn't deny countless worlds their voices. Surely—

"The regional governors will now have direct control over their territories," Tarkin continued. Elarra felt rage spark somewhere in the pit of her stomach, sending gasconading towers of filthy smoke into the soft cavities of her lungs, and she battled off the growl threatening to rip itself from between her ruby-painted lips. "The last remnants of the Old Republic are gone. Finished, are the ways of the old. We are entering a new era, senators. A new beginning."

"This is outrageous!" exclaimed Senator Burtoni of Kamino. The elderly humanoid clenched her ivory fist in front of her, huge, orb-like eyes narrowed, and several other senators did the same. "How dare they—"

"First they destroyed the Republic," shouted the Senator of Mon Cala, "and now the Empire wishes to destroy democracy, too?"

In the center of the huge space, Tarkin's image disappeared.

Elarra shook her head, and her cloaked bodyguards, standing behind her, shifted, as if ready to catch her should she faint. The young woman's chestnut hair cascaded in grandiose waves around her shoulders, swaying with her movements. Suddenly she felt too hot in the heavily-layered dress adorning her body. She was weighed down by her attire, suffocating—

"My lady, are you all right?" asked the guard on her left—Jes.

Elarra felt, somewhere beneath the layers of silk and satin and boiling rage brewing in her gut, a tendril of embarrassment snake through her core for appearing so obviously rattled. Her voice came out decisive. "I'm okay, Jes, thank you," she replied, trying to give him a smile. Her lips quivered, though, hazel eyes unfocused and alight with the unknown. Mosaics of moonlit terror were tearing her apart, scattering her strained resolve like petals ripped from the luscious head of a flower. If Jes noticed the way Elarra's tanned hands shook underneath the cage of her heavy jewelry, he didn't comment, simply offering the young woman an assured nod.

The air was stifled with tension. All Elarra could hear were voices: they lit up the atmosphere in hues of ruby and emerald. Something akin to sobs floated through the babble of sounds surrounding each senator, but they were gone before anyone could spot their source. Elarra swallowed once more and leaned over the railing of her hovering platform, searching for the guidance of one of the only other senators whom she trusted.

"Riyo," she whispered, waving off Jes and his colleague—Kacen, if she remembered correctly—when they lurched for her, afraid that she'd tumble from the platform spectacularly. Elarra shifted, raising her voice just a touch. "Riyo!"

Beneath her, Riyo Chuchi of Pantora's amber eyes flicked to Elarra's as the older woman turned. Where Riyo was usually kind and knowing, her painted lips were now pursed in worry, eyebrows furrowed. "Elarra," she breathed, her accent curling the syllables elegantly. "Gods above, this is like something out of a bad dream!"

Elarra's jaw clenched in fear. "Riyo, what do we do? How can the Empire do this? How is any of this possible?"

The cerulean-skinned Pantoran shook her head, a few violet locks straying from their coils at the sides of her face. "I don't know," she confessed. "I've seen some astounding things during my time in the Senate, but nothing like this." Riyo's words were mere breaths of cool winter wind. "Nothing like this."

"This is becoming a dictatorship!" cried Senator Orn Free Taa. "The Republic never would have—"

"The Republic," boomed Mas Amedda from the central platform, "is no more! The Emperor's word is final: the Imperial Senate is dissolved!"

"None of this makes any sense," the holographic form of Bail Organa announced. The soft-spoken man and dear friend of Elarra's was strung rigid with tension as his platform was shifted towards Amedda's. "The Empire has no logical reason to disband the Senate. How are they to remain in control of the local systems?"

"Through fear," Riyo answered quietly, eyes closing for a moment. "That's all the Empire has ever known."

"This discussion, senators, is becoming highly treasonous!" Amedda warned, gritting his teeth.

Elarra's blood was boiling, simmering melodiously in her veins. She reached for the control panel to her left, eyes blazing with fury. As her platform glided forwards, joining Bail's, she felt each pair of eyes in the debate chamber fixated on her, and for a few precious moments of normality, she revelled in the spotlight. This was what she knew. This was what she was used to: speaking up. Giving others a voice. Elarra raised her chin and declared, "Naboo won't stand for this. Alderaan won't stand for this. Pantora won't stand for this." In front of her, Riyo looked immensely proud. "None of us will stand for this! The Empire has no right to take away our peoples' freedom! We stand together, senators, for our planets and for our rights—not for the Empire!"

The roar of applause was deafening.

"Silence!" shouted Amedda, but he was ignored. "This is treason!"

Elarra's platform was joined by Riyo's, and then Mon Mothma's, and then dozens of senators were cheering, shouting and screaming and united in their pursuit for justice.

And then a datapad chimed.

Elarra barely heard it over the din, but her head tilted to glance at Senator Jerno of Rodia. The male's huge eyes, backlit by a wash of stars and galaxies, widened more than Elarra thought possible, and the humanoid gasped softly. "By the gods," he breathed.

"What's wrong?" Elarra queried apprehensively. Jerno's jade-coloured hands were shaking. He was pale, snout twitching in absolute terror, and Elarra felt her heart drop to the soles of her feet. "Senator?" she tried, gentle and cautious.

"They...the Empire...," he stammered, shaking his head vigorously. "How could they? I don't..."

And then another datapad shrieked. And another. Elarra's breathing was coming fast, spurred on by the rapid beating of her heart beneath the prison of her ribcage. Beside her, Kacen shifted on his feet, and Elarra didn't need to yank off the man's impassive ebon mask to know that he was uneasy. Meanwhile, Jerno continued to tremble.

"Why?" whispered Riyo, not realising that her microphone was powered on. As one, the senators' voices died, and suddenly thousands of eyes were on the Pantoran, begging and curious and timorous.

Elarra took a shaky breath in. "Riyo?" she squeaked, sounding so young and fragile that Jes stepped forwards to catch her should she faint.

"It's the Empire," Riyo responded quietly, now looking from the datapad held in her dainty hand to the rest of the debate chamber. "They've..."

"They've what, Riyo?" asked Mon Mothma, also attending the session via hologram. The Chandrilan senator was as calm as usual, but there was an undercutting tone of despair in her voice that scraped its wicked way down the curve of Elarra's spine like the edge of a bloody dagger.

Riyo dropped the datapad.

"Bounties," she breathed. "They've placed bounties on our heads."

For a moment, no one dared even breathe.

Riyo spoke again. "They've specified precisely what these jobs entail, and..."

"And?" Bail ventured, brown eyes wide.

A pregnant pause, heavy with dread. "Every single one of us is wanted dead by the Galactic Empire."

A/n: okay I had too much fun with this scene and introducing some of our lovely senators from TCW years after their time in the republic...so yeah they've all matured and aged quite a bit, but I couldn't not put them in here—I love em too much!

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