What else could one expect from an Imperial academy? Superiority. Condescension. Belittlement. To be different was to be hated.
She was different and they didn't let her forget it. She didn't look different; perhaps she was a little smaller than the rest but other than that…..
No, what made her different was her background. It looked good for the Arkanis Academy to offer a scholarship as a trial program; as a way of reaching out to the community and showing some sort of inclusivity for the ordinary among the privileged. It just so happened that said scholarship was won by a fourteen year old from an orphanage on Corellia.
Greya Vardai left the Coronet City Orphanage and into the unknown to arrive on Arkanis in time for orientation. At five foot and five inches; she was not imposing or threatening but confidence and fire counted for plenty. The new uniform was snug rather than tight; black and breathable but staunch against the movement of her body. The heavy black boots were no better, close against her calves and with little give in the cap if she flexed her toes. She told herself she'd get used to them; she just needed to break them in.
The Academy itself was daunting. The orphanage had been nothing special but the change from bricks, mortar and plaster to the overwhelming envelopment of dead metal left a little tingle of discomfort in her system. The floors, the walls, the ceilings; everything was cold and stannic. The theme continued into her room (which she surprisingly wasn't expected to share) of greys and blacks alternating in the sterile metallic design. The bed was somewhere between a single and a double in size in the corner of the room and scarcely covered with thin sheets of unfeeling white; the door opposite served as a closet and the wall beyond said closet was the refresher. The scheme didn't seem to vary. Like the boots, she persuaded herself she would get used to it.
The brunette expected a packed events hall but when she looked around at the unfamiliar faces, she felt her stomach coil even tighter to a bundle of nerves though it seemed to recruitment to the Cadets had been quite small. Whether that was better or worse, she had yet to decide but for now it meant more blending in. Of the approximately twenty four recruits, the brown eyed Corellian was only one of three females. While the other recruits may not have known each other personally, they knew their own and they knew an outsider. Greya (inexplicably) radiated foreignness and it seemed to cause a ripple of unwelcome in the rest who felt she didn't belong.
There were plenty of seats on the layered benches where she could have slipped in but when she tried, someone would shuffle over and spread their group to prevent the blow-in from sitting down. Those who were already at the edges of the seats rolled their eyes and blew out impatient huffs when she passed. Eventually, she found a seat at the back and sat down though her discomfort only climbed. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
There was a rustling of twenty four students sitting up and fixing their postures before the silence of the room (if it was possible) intensified. Looking over the heads, she found the podium at the bottom had been claimed by a tall, lean and fire haired man. Commandant Brendol Hux. Her immediate impression by looks alone were that the head of their group was strict, unwavering and possibly cruel. When he spoke; he was cold, direct and commanding and Greya understood now why her classmates had fixed themselves. This man expected the best.
"You are here…." He began into the microphone and amazingly, the reverberation just seemed to shake the ice in his voice enough to drop the temperature in the hall. "Because you know there is something bigger than you. You know that that something hangs in a very delicate balance. One wrong move by an army, one wrong word by a politician and it can crumble. I know of many of your families and I know of their concerns. With every passing day that the Republic exerts its hold on the galaxy, we are ever closer to it descending into war and unrest again." He paused to let the students soak and looked around, his eyes almost hawkish. He spoke from no prompter or notes; his speech was delivered from experience and with clipped passion.
"For too long, there has been too much bloodshed, death and destruction in the wake of the Republic's rule and you're here today as the next generation; to join our cause, to rise up and take the galaxy back from those to whom it does not belong. To survive and persevere; you will need order, regimen, dedication and above all, you will need discipline. Without these, you cannot hope to be part of restoring the galaxy to its former glory and shaping the futures of those who depend on us to protect them from their current stranglehold. I know you will all do well and I look forward to serving as head of your battalion. Welcome to the Cadets."
The light, polite applause peppered the atmosphere in the hall and the Commandant appeared to deem himself above acknowledging it. When their leader stepped down, the names of those present were announced with a pause and they were simply instructed to raise their hand in noiseless response.
"Bast." "Brandei." "Cabbel." "Childsen." "Dyer" "Evax." "Gherant." "Hux." "Jerrjerod." "Jir." "Khurgee." "Lennox." "Motti." "Needa." "Nemet." "Ozzel." "Piet." "Praji." "Tagge." "Tanbris." "Treidum." Then….
"Vardai." As the others had before her, Greya's hand rose though it shook a little. Subtly, heads turned and eyes flickered as the well-bred and young of the military aristocracy regarded their invader. Even the Commandant who stood, disinterested, from beyond the podium glanced up and looked for the hand of the scholarship recipient. The stillness lasted less than thirty seconds though Greya could have sworn it to be longer. The names continued after that as if she was just another student.
"Veers." "Yularen."
The discrimination continued. For the first two days; Greya was avoided, elbowed in the hallway, glared at and anything else her classmates could do to make her feel unwanted was done with the utmost effect. Unperturbed, Greya brushed it off but resolved that maybe to do this alone was not the best approach. As had become the habit on the first day at orientation, Greya was blocked from sitting down at a table in the canteen though the space was plentiful.
Cliques had formed and they all seemed to have one goal in common: Alienating the outcast. It seemed their disgust had sprung from superiority; they were born of the warmongering elite, backed with countless units, alliances and had chosen their groups based on those values. Even the two other girls within the battalion (who both seemed to know each other already) wanted nothing to do with her. So Greya glided through the aisles of packed tables and when she went to sit down, a sudden effort was made to stop her so she would try elsewhere.
With no free tables and lunch time beginning to dwindle; Greya looked around helplessly, almost tempted to pocket what she could and eat in her room later. But in another corner, she spotted an almost empty table. Tray clasped hopefully, the female approached and found one of her classmates sitting alone. That boy (well, he was about fifteen), she had seen him at orientation; or more accurately, the back of his head. And that red head was impossible to mistake.
"Is there someone sitting here?" He seemed to be too immersed in his own food and so didn't even look up when Greya spoke.
"No."
"Okay, do you mind if I sit down?" Again, he was too involved with his own meal to spare her a glance.
"I suppose you may." Grateful to get off her feet, Greya's tray met the table and when she sat; her classmate still hadn't looked up. However, when she started removing her cutlery from the plastic packaging and taking the lid off her yoghurt, she felt eyes on her; boring in with disapproval. Just like the others.
"I would recommend you invest in some hair ties." Greya looked across the table to see she had been noticed after all. Her spoon paused over the open carton with confusion. He was talking to her?
"I…. What?"
"Hair ties. To wear your hair down is against uniform regulation; I'm surprised you haven't been reprimanded for it yet."
"Uhh…. Okay? I'll bear that in mind." She started to eat but promptly stopped to investigate the furthered staring. Maybe she should have kept looking for another table.
"You're the one they call Vagabond."
"Look mate, I'll move tables if you want…."
"You may as well stay, lunch is almost over." He sniffed and returned to the remains of his own, poking them listlessly with his fork. Mildly insulted, Greya tried refrained from further interaction but he was looking at her again; curious if anything. He'd heard the murmurs of the one the Board had let into the prestigious Academy as a PR stunt; the orphan, the urchin. She wasn't what his imagination conjured though; she wasn't dirty, ugly or poorly nourished…. Quite the opposite of those things.
"Why aren't you sitting with them?" The question was quiet and her focus was on the tasteless dairy, as if the word 'Vagabond' had hurt her. "Thought you'd be one of the popular ones."
"I'm assuming you mean because of who my father is?"
"What else would I mean? You're one of them. The rich, the powerful, the untouchable."
"Well, you'll be surprised to learn that the Commandant doesn't treat me any differently to how he treats the others and therefore, they gain nothing by pretending to be my friends so they don't bother."
"I see…." They lapsed into silence again while he continued to scrutinize her. Veers and Lennox had commented on her hair colour, Jir had remarked upon the way she walked and Nemet had made some disgusting observation on how her rear was shaped by her uniform trousers. Of course, he was not part of these conversations; merely listening from a respectable distance though he was sure the subject could hear them too with how she shifted shamefully in her classroom seat.
Greya tried to ignore him. She tried to ignore the way those bluey green eyes (she couldn't decide which they were) swept over her face and how his pale, freckled nose wrinkled slightly in seeming offense by her ignorance of how the Academy was run. He took in the light kinks of the milk chocolate shade of her hair and the light dusting of tan on her skin. The physical judgements on her appeared to be unjustified.
"Did you start that strategy assignment?" His concentration shattered and he blinked to re-zone himself. He was merely answering questions and keeping them as short as possible; if he needed to ask her to repeat it, she might get the impression it was an inclusive conversation.
"I'm almost finished."
"Huh? We got it yesterday!"
"So?"
"I haven't even started; it's not due till next week!"
"I would advise you to keep on top of your workload. It's only going to get more intense."
"Thanks for the tip." The intercom to remind them of the end of lunch disrupted the rocky and somewhat bitter conversation chimed and Greya wasn't sure if it was a mercy or not. Getting to her feet, her scarlet-headed classmate was slower but somehow more efficient in the endeavour. "I guess I'll see you around." She remarked with an annoyed quirk of her lip, he simply arched an eyebrow in return as his bag swung up over his shoulder.
"Perhaps you will. Vagabond."