The Republic has fallen.
In the final days of the Clone Wars, Chancellor Palpatine died under mysterious circumstances. With the Senate struggling to retain a sense of unity, it was the perfect time for the Separatists to strike. And strike they did...
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Ahsoka stared blankly down into the atrium. Shock and pain tempered her anger, and for a time everything was calm. Then her thoughts lurched into motion, staggering at first and then racing ahead to try to explain this rationally before she did something she couldn't control.
She'd been so caught up in learning Anakin's fate she'd barely given herself the time to wonder if any of her other friends had been captured, too. Barriss must have escaped Felucia, or she wouldn't be at this auction – only new abductees and reputable slave-gladiators were ever brought before Kyzeron's finest citizens – but what did that mean for the others? Where were the other vode and Jedi now?
How could she have grown so narrow-minded in her search for Anakin she'd forgotten everyone else? If she'd moved quicker, thought to widen her search for more of her old allies than just him, maybe she could've prevented this.
At least Barriss was calmer than Ahsoka had been when she'd been cuffed up in that same place. She was pulling at her chains, true, but the tugs were quick and experimental, methodically searching for weak points rather than trying to blindly fight her way through. She still projected an aura of power and dignity despite the obscenities the audience screamed at her.
But Ahsoka's heart still sank to look at her. Mirialan culture encouraged modesty of being and of dress, and Barriss had been forced into a strappy, skin-tight outfit that left little to the imagination. Seldom would a person uncover their head in public, and even more rarely were their arms and legs unobscured by flowing robes. Just as Ahsoka had favored the lightweight garb of her people in her choice of dress with the Jedi, so too had Barriss. Seeing her in so vulgar an ensemble felt wrong. It was a violation of what her friend valued.
The auctioneer said something about a test of skill Ahsoka barely caught in the roar of her own mind. The guards unhooked Barriss' chains from the post, giving her some freedom to move – though she was still bound to a ring set in the ground Ahsoka doubted even a Force-user could budge without difficulty.
"This is what I wanted you to see, Aluxsidrian," Zakhan said to Lux. "One of the privileges of your rank I made mention of. The Jedi will put up a fight to please the crowd, but she is weakened enough to make subjugating her a simple matter."
Zakhan gestured with one arm, and the guards began prodding Barriss with electrostaffs similar to those of the Noreino troopers outside. Barriss did not react.
They struck harder, the staffs lit and sparking. Barriss didn't even flinch.
Ahsoka smiled despite herself. The auction house wanted their main event to put on a show, but while Barriss was more passive than Ahsoka, she wasn't going to comply just like that. Where Ahsoka screamed and thrashed, Barriss stood stoically – and here, it was in the best execution of quiet rebellion she'd ever seen.
One of the guards grabbed her by one arm and shook her, but Barriss hardly afforded him a second glance. Get up. Perform, he said. Ahsoka couldn't hear him over the crowd, which had broken into hundreds of smaller conversations in their disinterest, but she could read the words well enough on his lips.
