fighting_mad | [oom] Eiattu

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[oom] Eiattu - Palace

Plourr was in the middle of an informal audience with the governor of one of the planet's largest provinces when the aide interrupted and murmured in her ear that something had happened. She told him to define 'something,' and he had said the magic word: the Priamsta. She excused herself from the audience and left her office (something the palace was still atwitter over; princesses didn't have offices), and that was when she'd been told that Nental, one of Eiattu's larger cities, was in the process of being attacked by a group thought to be led by the rebelling nobles.

They were smart; going after the governmental buildings, the royally-operated or loyalist-run businesses rather than the ordinary people. Wouldn't do to alienate the people they were trying to gain control over, after all.

"I want Zee Squadron moving at all possible speed to Nental for air support. Who's in charge of the city's Guard? I need him on the comm ten minutes ago," Plourr snaps, cape and outer tunic lying crumpled on a table, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It's still chaotic in the impromptou war room but less so than when she'd first entered and started setting things to rights.

She talks over the general buzz of voices, moving quickly from terminal to terminal and person to person, answering questions without hesitation and often in the middle of other sentences. "Someone tie in to the--yes, do that--to the newsfeeds; see what they're reporting, if we're not getting through on the official channels."

She bends over a terminal alongside a low level tech, named Zhaleian if she's remembering correctly at all, and he brings up a holo of a local reporter, standing on what looks to be a building roof. The dull whine-whump of heavy blaster and cannon bolts can be heard, and occasionally flash in the distance over the female reporter's head. Plourr watches and listens, her face tight and well under control, but furious.

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Yeah, she's probably not. Rial slips into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and then goes to sit down on the bed and wait for her to get out.

Which, hopefully, will be soon.

She's been in there a while. She'd figured she had two options here: bottle it up and explode when she can't afford to, or just turn on the shower and let go now, while she still can. So she's standing under the hot water, fully clothed, her hands braced against the tile.

She's been in there a while and she's really not planning on coming out any time soon.

It's ten minutes later that Rial frowns, sighs, and gets up, knocking on the 'fresher door.

"Plourr?"

She hears him dimly; hears the knock and his voice, and even if she can't quite make out what he's said, she can guess. She lifts an arm and swipes her forearm across her face, even if it's impossible to tell what's tears and what's hot water now.

"Yeah?" She swallows and says it again, louder, frowning at herself.

"Are you okay?"

He's starting to get worried, now.

"Yeah," she calls, even if it's choked. She's starting to think that maybe this wasn't the best idea she's had. It seemed logical and smart at the time and Plourr Ilo is not a crier, but she's discovering that once she gave in to the painful, fluttery feeling in her chest, it's hard to stop.

"You sure?"

He doesn't want her to drown, or anything.

She sinks down, pressing her back against the tile and raising her face to the water, curling her legs under herself. She doesn't say anything else. She's done talking.

...damn.

Rial opens the door, and enters the small 'fresher, frowning at the sight of Plourr curled up under the shower. "That doesn't look like 'okay'."

She doesn't respond with a snide comment, though part of her she wants to. Face buried in strong, shaky hands, she mutters foul, incomprehensible things around sobs, and they're not directed at him. They're directed at her parents, for leaving her in this spot, at the Priamsta, for forcing her hand; at knowing that yes, this is what her title means and no, this is not going to stop.

Standing back with clean hands and having people die on one's account is very, very different from killing them with one's own hands or lasers, Isplourrdacartha realizes.

Oh, no, this is very not good. Rial's also fully dressed, but he still moves over to her side, ignoring the water, and crouches next to her, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

He doesn't say anything. Can't think of something and anyway, he doesn't think he should.

She leans against him, and after a minute or two, one hand falls away from her face and she wraps her free arm around his waist and presses her face into his shoulder. And then the princess gives up on stopping it and lets herself cry.

Rial just holds her. Holds her and lets her cry on his shoulder, holds her as tightly as he can and murmurs soft endearments into her hair. Holds her and rubs her back, holds her and loves her and lets her cry as much as she wants.

Holds her as warm water soaks them both and washes the tears from his princess's cheeks.

Eventually, the wrenching sobs stop.

Eventually, she raises her head and looks up at him, and she makes the all-important, hoarse observation, "You're wet."

"So are you, my Princess." He doesn't care. And now he's nice and warm anyway.

"Yeah, well." She rests her chin against his shoulder, hollow and exhausted, her face swollen. Any energy she had has long since left her. "I noticed it first."

"Mmm."

He brushes a strand of hair off her face with his thumb, eyes quiet. "Feeling better?"

"No," she says quietly. "What kind of a person would I be if I was?" Not feeling better, but she thinks she can go on, and that's all she needs. She can't afford to be weak right now. They need her.

"Normal," Rial says softly, but he doesn't push it. "Want to come out of the shower yet?"

Plourr would beg to differ; she would say monstrous. But she doesn't want to push it, either. She doesn't want to argue.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Come on, then."

He gets up slowly, wincing as a back made stiff from hours of standing and then an hour on the roof starts to protest.

She reaches over and finally turns off the water, leaving both of them dripping and soaked to the bone in the steamy 'fresher, and she steps out of the tub. She picks up the first towel that comes to hand and tosses it to him and she takes one for herself, rubbing her hair with it as she opens the door and walks out into their small bedroom.

Rial squeegees his hair into the tub, then uses the towel to dry himself as best as possible. Once he's not actively dripping water, he exits the 'fresher and closes the door, watching Plourr quietly.

She has stripped down to the waist by this point and dried herself enough to yank a loose tunic (one she might have appropriated from him, somewhere along the way) over her head. Her skirt comes next, replaced by the exercise shorts that are her normal sleepwear, and then she efficiently turns to her jewelry. She glances over her shoulder and her hand stills on the clasp of the necklace that she's battling with. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, still watching her quietly.

"It's fine."

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