eiattu_pride | Recent Entries

It's been a really kriffing long day. One of those really fun ones where Rial is shuttled from meeting to conference to meeting with barely five minutes in between/. He thinks he shouldn't be surprised, what with everything that's been going on lately - one of the largest manufacturers of air-and-ground-craft announcing a completely unexpected bankruptcy due to lengthy embezzlement by one of their top people, an strike by public transit workers, the continuing concern over the length of time it's taking them to be able to establish a working Planetary Defense Strategy...the list goes on.

And on.

So when the chrono hits 1900 hours he finally makes it back to the apartment, passing by his parents and scooping up a sleepy Ianna first. He doesn't even bother to shower (although to be honest, he needs it), just flops down on the sofa, Ianna on his chest, and gives her a long look.

She looks back, just as solemnly.

His comm beeps, he picks it up. "Pernon. Yes. Uh-huh. No, I think Baron Chastall has the proposal, can you get in contact with him?"

He pulls a face. Ianna giggles.

"Yes. I'm sure. Well I can - mmhmm, tomorrow at 0900. Okay. Yes. Right. Yes. Thank you."

He pulls another face, this one decidedly worse. Ianna burbles in response.

"Yes. Yes. Excuse me." He ends the communication, hefts the comm for a moment, and hurls it at the door.

Which was. Um. Closed a moment ago, he's sure.

Do you know what's boring?

TRACC is boring. And by TRACC, Rial means the interplanetary Trade Relations And Commerce Conference, held annually and basically an excuse for a bunch of stuffy old people to sit around and brag about how rich they are over tiny biscuits and fine brandy. Rial, drinking a lomin ale and telling amusing tales about his wife shooting things during crucial diplomatic moments, has a sneaking feeling that he doesn't exactly belong.

He's also, possibly, exceedingly proud of this fact.

Proud or not, though, it means that the whole thing (a whole week long, ughhhh) is exceptionally boring and by the time he's stepping cheerfully through the corridors of his own familiar palace, where the servants smile and greet him, he's so ready to be home. So very ready, small child and slightly volatile wife noTwithstanding.

He doesn't even bother with a knock, just goes straight in and chucks his bag in the vague direction of the couch, already looking around for Plourr.

It was a newscast. Just some stupid, little newsfeed that he was watching in between meetings, practically inhaling his noodles while keeping half an eye on the chrono. The holoannouncer, perfectly made up, almost plastic-looking, had to raise her voice above the sound of sirens.

"...and again today, a riot injured six people and killed a seventh in the city of Peraz. I'm here live at the scene, where rioters smashed windows, defaced public property, and attacked bystanders. Killed was fourteen-year-old Kiana, a student at the local high school walking home after classes finished for the day." A picture of the girl was already hovering next to her, and Rial had dropped his fork. She looked like a miniature Isplourr, red hair, a light spray of freckles, a mischievous grin.

"Her family could not be reached for comment. Priamsta decals and slogans have been splashed over the walls, including one rather dramatic quote." Whoever was controlling the holocam had zoomed in on a wall, painted brightly.

WHERE IS YOUR EMPEROR NOW?

And that's why Rial's sat in the shared royal quarters at 2130 hours, staring into the bottom of a bottle that had been full, he's quite sure, just a minute ago. Hour ago. Some time ago, anyhow.

He wonders vaguely where Isplourr is. Isplourr. It's easier to call her that, now, living with her. And sometimes (though he won't admit it) he likes seeing her smile when he uses that name.

He'll probably try and find her, in a moment. Once he peels himself off the couch.

He's been back - really back, Rogues gone, re-involved with the court back - for just over a week now. Already he's been spending too much time by the window, thinking about the stars and the people he's grown up with, too much time wondering if he's made the right decision. So you'll forgive him if he's up early this morning, face set in a slight frown that's pretty much second nature to him now, drinking from a mug of mostly caf.

The not-quite-caf bit may or may not be good whiskey, but no one needs to know that. He's got a state dinner tonight. He's allowed.

It's just evening on Eiattu, the last rays of sunset are filtering in through the window and turning the floor to pale fire, lighting the tips of the trees and roofs of the palace that Rial, sprawled on a windowseat, is carefully immortalizing in pencil. Plourr is at a nearby desk, working hard, bent over datapads and stacks of flimsi.

Rial cocks his head on one side, squints out the window, and turns to glance at Plourr.

"Working?"

The door leads straight to his quarters, and Rial has never been so glad.

uh - placeholder, more stuff about kids and dead kids, etc etc, really can't be arsed right now. Basically he's got a sketchpad and he's sitting on the couch trying not to think about it.

Rial managed to sneak Wainthropp through his door, much to the small purple creature's apparent joy. It's now curled up on the couch, finishing off a piece of lightly buttered toast, looking deeply satisfied.

Rial's in their bedroom, searching around for something to make into a bed for the crumple-horned snorkack.

And wondering if he should tell Plourr.

The past few days have been quiet, and people are noticing. The princess doesn't say much to her husband, the count doesn't joke anymore or make the princess laugh at inopportune moments. Rumors are floating around of marital non-bliss, and Rial isn't sure whether or not to believe them.

He knows one thing, though. It's getting harder and harder to pretend that there's nothing wrong.

And that's why he's up again. It's 0200 hours and he's sitting on the couch, staring at that wedding holo like he's done for the past few nights. He needs to tell Plourr, needs to talk with her. He knows this.

He can't make himself get off the couch and wake her up.

Maybe tomorrow, he thinks, or maybe the day after.

Maybe never.

Rial wakes up in the night to watch Plourr sleep.

He watches the first night that they sleep together after she’s out of bacta, sitting up and watching as she shifts, wiggles a little farther under the blanket, sighs and stills again. He watches her breathe, counting each rise and fall of her chest. He touches her face, just below half-healed cuts, reassuring himself that she’s there and she’s breathing and she’s alive.

That he hasn’t killed her.

He sits and watches the next night as well, and the one after. He chews his lip and brushes her hair off her face. You had to make that decision, Pernon, you didn’t have a choice. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one. His mental voice sounds annoyingly like his father and Rial ignores that train of thought, because regardless of the outcome, regardless of the fact that she’s lying here right now, he still made the decision that she would die.

It wasn’t your fault, Rial, they’re the ones who were going to kill her. Not you. And now the voice in his head sounds like his mother, patiently exasperated, if there is such a thing. But it is his fault, the little irrational part of his mind insists, he should have been there, he should have insisted on more security…

And what it all comes down to in the end is that he made a decision and had it thrown back in his face.

Rial gets out of bed, pads quietly into the living area and sits on the couch, staring blankly at the framed holo of their wedding that’s resting on the table. Someone caught them in an unguarded moment and Rial wonders briefly what was happening because he’s smiling, and so is she. Real smiles, not publicity smiles. She looks like she’s laughing.

He made the decision. He chose Eiattu over her, and he resigned himself to living with that. It was his choice. And even when he’d gone into Milliways, he’d already started adjusting. Because that’s what Rial Pernon does. He adjusts. He adapts. He does what needs to be done, when it needs to happen. Regardless of the circumstances.

And then she was there. Alive, and his world tilted and shifted and wasn’t right and now that she’s back, he has to adjust again.

And there’s always, now, going to be that fear of her not being there.

Plourr’s standing in the doorway, he realizes, watching him. She looks worried, and he does his best to grin. Stands up and crosses to her side, brushing her cheek with a kiss. Her eyes ask him why he was up, but Rial doesn’t have a proper answer to that and just draws her into another long kiss.

They go back to bed, but Rial stays awake, watches Plourr sleep.

Watches her breathe.

Rial's waiting.

The rescue party was sent out almost twenty minutes (seventeen minutes and thirty-eight seconds) ago, and Rial's waiting. He heard the explosions, same as them, and shut his eyes, hoping wishing praying that it was Plourr and that she was doing it deliberately, convincing himself that she hadn't gone up in flames.

And now he's waiting.

(eighteen minutes and twenty-six seconds)

Rial enters from the bar with an expression of manic intensity on his face, and marches down to the meeting room where the Grand Duke is quietly talking to people Rial doesn't know and, frankly, couldn't care less about at this moment. He goes straight up to his father, ignoring the murmurs around him, and looks the Duke straight in the eye.

"We need to organize a rescue party."

Rial knows what he has to do.

Rial has spent the last two days knowing what he has to do and not being able to accept it. Bargaining, desperately trying to negotiate, even praying the somehow, someway, both Plourr and Eiattu could be saved. But now, at the end of the time limit, standing in a meeting room in front of the holoprojector, Rial knows

The features of Baron Aronnse flicker into view and stabilize a moment later, smiling. “Count Pernon,” he begins, “I trust you’ve made your choice?”

Rial takes a breath, nods, looks the Baron straight in the eye. “Yes. I've made my decision.

“Eiattu will not be seen in the hands of the Priamsta again. I will not sign the treaty.”

He cuts the transmission even as Aronnse, his features sharp in anger and confusion, begins to speak. He cuts the transmission and turns away in one moment, facing the small assemblage of guards and advisors and the Grand Duke (father please help please father), blinking to keep the tears pricking at his eyes from falling.

“It’s done.”

And then he leaves, walking through the palace, taking lesser-used corridors and secret passages, guards shadowing him quietly, until he turns and tells them that they have to stay. They protest, of course, but there’s a light in his eyes that makes it difficult to argue, and so they take up position outside the door.

Rial goes through, onto the roof, and lies there, staring dry-eyed up at the stars.

He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t rescue his princess, couldn’t keep her from harm no matter how he tried and he. Has. Failed.

I’m sorry, Plourr, but now that he’s alone the tears won’t come.

I’m sorry, Plourr, and it's done, she's gone, she's gone and she's not coming back.

I'm sorry, Plourr, but it doesn't matter because he's made his choice.

I'm sorry.

The holo isn't great quality, but Rial's frustration is evident.

"How do I know that she's still alive, Baron, from a scrap of leather and bluestone? How do I know that you won't kill her if I hand over Eiattu, kill her just to spite me or cut the head from any possible rebellion?"

Rial's been waiting ever since the call from Hilunda came in. Waiting, chewing nervously on his fingernails, wishing and hoping and praying that somehow this is all some big mistake, a nightmare, a hoax.

Inside, he knows that it's not true.

But oh, oh how he wishes it was.

It's not that Rial's not used to being without Plourr, not at all. And it's not that he's lonely. It's just that she's going off to a meeting with people that he doesn't trust at all, and he's not there with her.

But life goes on, so Rial Pernon is sitting in the living quarters, surrounded by work, chewing his lip in lieu of his stylus as he examines a datapad.

The door, thankfully, opens on the quarters that they're sharing at the moment. Rial glances out of the corner of his eye at the guards, still supporting Plourr.

To her, "Almost almost there, mmkay?"

To the guards, "Mind opening the door?"

Rial's working, stretched out on the couch and staring at a datapad. Totally not actually comprending anything.

He wonders briefly where Plourr is, and whether or not he can convince her that they should have another holiday.

This time, it's Rial's turn to call Plourr. And he's smiling quietly as he does so, because this means that she'll be back.

Soon.

"Plourr?"

Rial's been working steadily since Plourr left. The work is hard, but he's making some decent headway by now.

Still, he needs a break. And is half-dozing on the couch, empty cup of caf by his fingers, when the call comes.

"...'lo?"

Rial's working.

Not like that's a big surprise, because honesty, when is he not? The work keeps coming.

So he doesn't even look up when he hears Plourr, just sets a datapad and stylus aside.

"I'm going to need your help on this."

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