fighting_mad | (no subject)

Finn sees Plourr pretty much immediately when he walks down with his sketchpad--she's tall, and one of his few friends, so it's not that surprising.

What is surprising, though, is the sound of a baby laughing. Sure, pregnant women tend to lead to babies, but Finn--isn't always good with cause and effect.

He standing by the table, shy.

Plourr has always had exceptional situational awareness, and especially now, with Ianna on the table and Ramon Salazar around here somewhere, she recognizes immediately that someone is standing by the table. Someone familiar, too.

"Finn," she says in greeting, half-turning in her seat, her grin still strong. She nudges Ianna's stomach, and the redheaded princess gives another belly-laugh, her fists waving just a little. "Long time no see."

"Hi," he says, with an embarassed head-duck. "I--yes, I guess so? I'd--not realized she was born yet."

He's not so good at time. Or...remembering things. He does remember Plourr was going to have a girl, though!

"Hello," Finn tells the tiny girl quietly, with a half smile.

"Twelve weeks old," Plourr tells him, and she jerks her head lightly at him. (Ianna, meanwhile, is beaming in his general direction, with a happy gurgle.) "C'mon." She pats the chair beside her. "Sit down, introduce yourself."

Her hair is red, he notes as he sits down next to Plourr carefully, setting his sketchpad down on the floor. Her eyes have turned from the new-born blue to a shade of brown.

It's something.

"Finn dan Shahar, miss," he says, ducking his head to her with amused formality before stopping, and glancing up at Plourr questioningly.

That look is a little too unsure for Plourr to snarkily correct him on the princess's proper title.

She nods, approvingly. "Go on. Shake her hand."

Finn does extend his hand and, quite as he expected, gets a finger latched on to.

He beams at her. "It's good to meet you too."

To Plourr: "What's her name?"

Plourr rests her chin in her hand, hiding her smile with her fingers. "Finn dan Shahar, meet Ianna Estillo-Pernon. Ianna -- don't break Finn's finger. He needs it. He's an artist."

She does have an impressive grip for a little one, which may not be a surprise, given the strength and size of her parents.

"It's all right," he says, quietly, smiling still. "fingers are just strange things, especially when you don't realize people other than you've got them.

Ianna's a good name. What does it mean?"

"It's old Corellian," she says, the corners of her mouth curling up just a little more as she watches the pair of them. "Corellia's a planet; one that the luckiest sons of bitches in the galaxy come from." Including her old captain.

Her smile continues to grow, inch by inch, as she strokes Ianna's wrist -- the right one, which is the hand that's got a deathgrip on Finn -- lightly with a fingertip. "It means 'wind.' "

Ianna gurgles again, in a half-laugh.

Finn's smile widens into a quick, sharply amused grin. Approving, too.

"A very good name."

The part of Finn dan Shahar that was once a lord of the wind is highly amused.

"I thought so," says Plourr, with a light shrug of one shoulder (but a smile, always a proud smile). "Fits her, anyway."

Ianna, meanwhile, releases Finn's finger only so that she can bat at his hand, with a happy squawk.

He laughs quietly. "Come, now, I'm sure there're more amusing things than playing with my hand."

He brushes said hand softly, the look of wonder quick returning. Dari wasn't this small for very long at all.

Ianna, quite clearly, begs to differ. She gives a shriek of a laugh and makes another woefully uncoordinated grab at his fingers. They wiggle and touch! They're interesting!

(Plourr is just going to be over here, watching, and plotting ways to make Finn babysit [as long as he proves himself competent].)

"Or not, Miss Ianna," he tells her, smiling and tickling her stomach gently.

Ianna just started laughing not so long ago; ever since, it seems like she's done nothing but laugh. It's a nice change from all the screaming.

So guess what she does at being tickled?

That's right -- she laughs, babyish and thoroughly delighted.

She kicks up her feet, too, and waves her hands.

"Look at you, getting her all riled," says Plourr, her smile hidden by her hand but audible in her voice. "She likes you, Finn. She doesn't like just anybody."

He grins over at Plourr, letting Ianna's hands whap softly against his own (his hand is well out of the way of the feet, though).

"I've -- always gotten along with the little ones. When my little brother was this small he'd fall for anyone willing to put a finger within pulling distance."

His grin's faded to a smile, but he glances back at the baby in the carrier, fond. "Don't cause too much trouble for your mom, just because I've been waking you all up, okay?"

"Are you kidding me, Finn? This one's a hellion." Plourr snorts, and gives his shoulder a gentle, fond shove. "As if you could make her behave any worse."

Finn ducks his head, amused. "You never know. I could be a horrible influence."

Really. He might...teach her how to knit! Or something like that. How terrifying.

"Yes," says Plourr, very dryly, and she ruffles his hair, now that he has foolishly ducked his head. "You'll be terrible, I'm sure."

Ianna, in the meantime, is holding a wordless, onesided conversation with Finn, all in burbles and coos.

"Absolutely awful," Finn tells her, grinning embarassedly from the hair ruffling.

A boy needs to keep his street cred! Uh.

"That's very interesting, Miss Ianna," he adds to the little girl, in the sort of tone that says do go on.

Plourr is watching the two of them with the sort of expression that she'd categorically deny if anyone mentioned; quiet and fond and full of wonder.

"Watch it," she says after a moment. "She'll go on like that all day if you're not careful.

"You ever consider taking a trip or two, Finn?" Plourr asks, casual and easy, leaning back in her chair with a hand on the back of her neck.

"Henry is here," he tells her, watching the little girl with a smile as she babbles. "Otherwise I would have gone exploring long ago. This world is very small."

"If you ever want to get out of here," she says, "you and anyone you consider a friend are always welcome with us."

She says it casually, but it's not an invitation that's extended lightly. Ianna evidently approves of it, from the delighted shout she lets out, laughing and kicking.

Finn glances over at her, surprised, before beaming.

"Really? I'll ask Henry, I'm sure he'll want to visit."

:D!

" 'Really,' " she repeats, with a fond roll of her eyes and a flick at his ear. "Of course really. The capital's a port city, so there are beaches and the bay nearby, and the ocean beyond that. There are grasslands and marshes to explore, too, and the entirety of the palace; we can set you up with a guide or just leave you to roam yourselves. Whatever you want to do."

This is the advantage of running a planet: no one asks questions when you bring home strange, ignorant friends.

"You come to Eiattu anytime you want, Finn."

"It'll be nice to see someplace new," he says, wistfully. "Even up-close.

"Thank you," Finn adds, "it's--cramped, here."

"Thought it might be," Plourr says, and she doesn't say what she's thinking; that she'd go mad trapped here, that she'd tear the walls down or shatter bones trying. "Our galaxy's a big place. Wide open and ready for exploration."

As long as--

A shadow passes across her face, but it clears swiftly, and she says, simple and matter-of-fact, "Finn, the fact that you're dead -- it won't be a problem, will it?"

She could sugarcoat it and she could beat around the bush, or she could ask straight out. Plourr Estillo has never been an indirect woman.

Finn looks startled at the question.

"Dana brought me here," he says. "If I go back out my door I'll--meet Dari, before the walls of the Weaver's Halls."

And his fingers which he'd been playing absent-mindedly with Ianna fall still, letting her grab them.

"I do not know. But I don't think Dana would give me life just to take it away. That isn't like her--this gift already's taken its price. Another world, a world that's not hers? It shouldn't matter, I don't think."

Ianna burbles with Great Excitement, grabbing hold of Finn's fingers and holding on tight. Any day now, she's going to figure out to try to put things in her mouth, and then they're all going to be in trouble.

"Just -- be careful. That's all I'm saying," says Plourr. "I trust that you know what'll work for you and what won't."

Finn nods carefully, gently disentangling his fingers from the little one's grasp.

(He's doesn't trust himself to know what will work for him, but he can try fot Plourr, Rial, Ianna, and Henry's sakes.

And if things don't work out, he misses Dari fiercely so what is the ill in that?)

"Is--Rial doing...well?"

Ianna makes a small, distressed noise, reaching again, and when she finds herself unable to make contact, she starts to fuss, her face twisting up and her legs kicking up.

Plourr glances over at her -- nothing major wrong; just throwing a tantrum -- then back at Finn.

"Yeah," she says, chin resting in her hand. "He's doing well. Completely wrapped around Ianna's little finger. Currently in talks with some delegates from another planet in the system; it's all very dull." She smirks, seeming not to notice Finn's sudden change of mood (with the key word being 'seeming'). "Better him than me."

Finn distracts her with his fingers again, though he still keeps them carefully out of the grasping reach. "Sorry, little one, I'd no wish for my fingers to be pinched straight off."

"I do not handle being bored well," he says, watching the little girl with a fond smile as she cheers up again, "so I cannot say I envy him the task."

"He's fine," Plourr says, waving him off. "Drawing during meetings and sending me about a thousand messages a day."

"Messages?" Finn tilts his head to look at her, confused. "Through a messenger, you mean?"

"--No," says Plourr, and she reaches over and picks up her datapad. She flips it open. Currently, the screen is on a scrolling message inbox; with a stylus, Plourr selects the top one. It's written all in Aurebesh characters, which Finn likely can't decipher, but it's a message from Rial.

(He's sent her a number of holos, too, but Plourr went for the plain text message, which is what he sends her during meetings when he can't be recording; baby steps for Finn, right?)

"It comes via the Holonet. A -- communications network." A little apologetically, since she can't explain it well: "Technology."

Finn gives it a long, assessing stare.

"Like the signals that go through the air?"

It is highly disturbing when you are flying through a world and, given your ability to understand everything on the wind, are hit with radio broadcasts. It took Finn a while to learn how to tune them out.

"...Something like that, sure," says Plourr.

Plourr doesn't really know how it works. It just does. That's the important part.

Finn nods.

He is not Henry, so there is no trying to take it apart to see how it works. He is content that Plourr says it does.

"Leila would be very jealous, I think."

Plourr smiles, just a little, quiet and fond, as she skims the message once again, and then she closes the datapad and glances at Finn. Ianna babbles in the background as Plourr asks, "Who's Leila?"

"--Oh," Finn says, startled. "She's Leila? I--she's my best friend. Was, I guess. Pw--Paul Schafer told me that she is the High Priestess of Dana, now. She doesn't take no for an answer, and she used to beat people up a lot."

That seems like the relevant information on Leila.

"I--she was my best friend, you know."

He shrugs, and doesn't say he misses her.

Plourr grins. "I like her already," she says, and she claps Finn (rather gently, for Plourr) on the shoulder.

"I'm not" Finn says, grinning over at her, "surprised."

Plourr rolls her eyes tolerantly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just think you'd like her," he shrugs. "You're a lot like Jaelle, and they got along really well. Sometimes when people are a lot alike they don't, I think, but they did, so."

"Who's Jaelle? Got to give me a primer on all this or something, Finn."

He really hasn't told her much of anything about his life before his death.

"Sorry," he says, embarassed. "Um, she used to be the High Priestess? She was when I was a kid. She's married to Paul Schafer now, he comes here. She does too, I think, but I've not seen her."

Plourr nods, consideringly, as she runs her fingers through Ianna's downy hair. "I follow," she says, and she does.

"Now, how's the artist business coming?"

Finn starts to explain, and Plourr settles in to listen, her arm hooked across the back of her chair and her legs crossed casually.

It's a funny sort of friendship, maybe, but Plourr isn't complaining.