fighting_mad | (no subject)

(no subject)

Plourr is in what has become a normal position, these days -- sitting with reports and a datapad and a plate of dinner, Ianna in a carrier on the table, Plourr's hair tied back and a blaster at her hip.

She isn't doing much work, though, or eating much in the way of dinner. Instead, she has become distracted by a new game. It involves poking Ianna lightly in the belly, and then grinning like a maniac as Ianna laughs a big, delighted, baby laugh, beaming up at her.

Poke. Baby giggles. Proud beam.

Poke. Baby giggles. Proud beam.

The Estillo(-Pernon) women could go on like this all day.

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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.

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