Plourr Estillo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fighting_mad) wrote2007-10-04 03:23 am
fighting_mad) wrote2007-10-04 03:23 am
[OOM] Eiattu - Royal Bedchambers
Plourr is in bed. That's where she is all the damn time now, besides regular trips to the 'fresher and the occasional excursion to the living room sofa. She is, as one might imagine, not well pleased.
But she feels uncomfortable; 'enormous' and 'ungainly' are two other words that immediately spring to mind, along with 'like shit.' It's reached the point where she feels better (for a given value of 'better') keeping her feet up than she does moving around, so in all honesty, she wouldn't exactly be running any marathons even if she hadn't been ordered to bed by the little old royal doctor.
That doesn't mean that she is any less cranky about the entire situation, though.
There is a stack of datacards and a reader in the bed beside her, along with a small holoprojector and another stack, this one of holos. A small stuffed bantha also sits on the Plourr-free side of the bed, a blue tie pinned to just above its mouth, the tie looking suspiciously like a set of droopy blue mustachios.
The bedroom is large and spacious, styled in golds and creams and yellows with a high ceiling, and manages to appear rich even with the simple decor, much like the rest of the apartment. There isn't much in the room; neither Plourr nor Rial are ones for clutter, besides the items in the bed. Two wardrobes, two closets, a dresser with a mirror over it, a (closed) door to the 'fresher, and the enormous four-poster bed, the bedcurtains tied back. There are a few holos scattered here and there--a group of Rogue Squadron pilots (including a bald Plourr) in orange flightsuits caught mid-laugh, one or two shots of Plourr and Rial together (and not a one of them is a proper, posed still-holo)--but few knicknacks. A painting, carried out by a hand skilled in oils, of the palace in summer.
The balcony doors are open. It is a beautiful day outside, the warm, thick air curling in through the doorway, the white roofs of the capital city laid out below the palace walls and the blue-green sea--dotted with repulsorcraft--stretching as far as the eye can see beyond.
Plourr sits in the bed, propped up by exhorbitant amounts of pillows, reading from the datapad resting on her stomach. She looks good. Very pregnant and almost as bored, but healthy, red hair loose about her face and her attention on her reading. She spends a lot of time reading. And informing the baby that if she doesn't quit rolling around and kicking her and causing her pain, things are going to go Very Badly for her.
Chances are excellent that the baby recognizes this for the empty threat that it is, because it has yet to dissuade her from driving Plourr out of her mind.
If you aren't Plourr's (admittedly well-meaning) mother- or father-in-law, chances are excellent that she is going to be thrilled to see you.
But she feels uncomfortable; 'enormous' and 'ungainly' are two other words that immediately spring to mind, along with 'like shit.' It's reached the point where she feels better (for a given value of 'better') keeping her feet up than she does moving around, so in all honesty, she wouldn't exactly be running any marathons even if she hadn't been ordered to bed by the little old royal doctor.
That doesn't mean that she is any less cranky about the entire situation, though.
There is a stack of datacards and a reader in the bed beside her, along with a small holoprojector and another stack, this one of holos. A small stuffed bantha also sits on the Plourr-free side of the bed, a blue tie pinned to just above its mouth, the tie looking suspiciously like a set of droopy blue mustachios.
The bedroom is large and spacious, styled in golds and creams and yellows with a high ceiling, and manages to appear rich even with the simple decor, much like the rest of the apartment. There isn't much in the room; neither Plourr nor Rial are ones for clutter, besides the items in the bed. Two wardrobes, two closets, a dresser with a mirror over it, a (closed) door to the 'fresher, and the enormous four-poster bed, the bedcurtains tied back. There are a few holos scattered here and there--a group of Rogue Squadron pilots (including a bald Plourr) in orange flightsuits caught mid-laugh, one or two shots of Plourr and Rial together (and not a one of them is a proper, posed still-holo)--but few knicknacks. A painting, carried out by a hand skilled in oils, of the palace in summer.
The balcony doors are open. It is a beautiful day outside, the warm, thick air curling in through the doorway, the white roofs of the capital city laid out below the palace walls and the blue-green sea--dotted with repulsorcraft--stretching as far as the eye can see beyond.
Plourr sits in the bed, propped up by exhorbitant amounts of pillows, reading from the datapad resting on her stomach. She looks good. Very pregnant and almost as bored, but healthy, red hair loose about her face and her attention on her reading. She spends a lot of time reading. And informing the baby that if she doesn't quit rolling around and kicking her and causing her pain, things are going to go Very Badly for her.
Chances are excellent that the baby recognizes this for the empty threat that it is, because it has yet to dissuade her from driving Plourr out of her mind.
If you aren't Plourr's (admittedly well-meaning) mother- or father-in-law, chances are excellent that she is going to be thrilled to see you.
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"Well, well, well," she says, setting her datapad aside. "Look what the thuvasaur dragged in."
(The apartments that Rial brought Lilly through are lush, as is the bedroom. If Plourr never made it clear before that she's an empress who rules a planet -- Lilly might be starting to get the picture now.)
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Unfortunately for Plourr and Rial, Lilly has not only gotten that picture, but the picture where Plourr is empress of a planet she would love to go shopping on and possibly even where she could buy a vacation home!"Okay, seriously, I know you're pregnant but it's not nice to refer to your husband as a thuvasaur. I think. What's a thuvasaur?"
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Lilly carefully files that away as she curls up in the chair closest to Plourr.
"So, nice place you got here. By which I mean the planet, because I hear it's kinda all yours."
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"I don't usually throw it into casual conversation," she says, unapologetically. "Only when I want to fuck with somebody's head."
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Lilly tilts her head, thoughtful.
"It would also make for a kickass field sobriety test. Way better than like, the alphabet."
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Lilly laughs.
"I should have come to you for names. Total missed opportunity. Have you come up with the appropriate ear-splittingly awful for whatever's in there yet?"
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Somewhere in the apartments, Rial Pernon is probably very pleased with himself and his plotting, right about now.
"Yeah," she says. "But I instituted a five-syllable-and-below rule. Ianna. It's Corellian, but I figure when you add the 'Princess' and 'Estillo-Pernon' parts, all that pretension balances out the idiocy and tendency toward a career as a smuggler."
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Lilly mouths it once or twice more before nodding decisively.
"I like it. And hey, with the highly sensible five syllable rule, people can call her name to get her attention in under an hour. Totally useful for when she goes to school... or is on the run from the smuggler police. Whatever."
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Her smile grows into a fullblown grin as Lilly keeps talking. "If she ever has to do any sort of running from CorSec, I think Rial and his parents might just commit ritual suicide." She shrugs one broad shoulder as she goes on. "Her tutors'll call her Princess, but she'll be an ordinary kid behind these doors."
Wryly: "That's the plan, anyway, though it's sure to all go to shit sometime within the next two weeks or eighteen years."
And damned if that isn't a scary thought.
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"And you and your kid will both survive. I mean, I've only been a parent for six months and I've definitely already screwed my kids up lots. It's cool. They'll get over it, and how they get over it'll be what makes them grown-ups. Or serial killers. Whatever."
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"But keep in mind I'm not really the maternal type."
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"Teach your kids stuff like that and traditional maternal instincts can suck it."
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