eiattu_pride | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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Rial starts to make a joke, then stops. A decidedly disgusted look crosses his face.

"I am...not going to say what I was going to say."

We'll leave it up to you to use your imagination as to what he was going to say, since Rial's too busy mentally repeating ew ew ew in hopes of driving out the images.

"Thank you," Plourr says, with great dignity -- and then there is the patter of small, unsteadily running feet, and familiar (maniacal) childish laughter, fading into the distance.

Or the hallway. Whatever.

The empress pats her husband on the shoulder and says, "Do something about food, would you?" With that singularly romantic request, she heaves herself up, shouts, "You'd better run!" (and hears a peal of giggles in response), and goes in search of the runaway princess.

Ianna's not the only one laughing. Rial chuckles softly as he sits up and stretches, cracking his neck, then meanders off in the direction of the kitchen to do something about food, as commanded.

In the end it's a pretty simple meal, but it's a meal, with a minimum of running-the-planet conversation. Ianna's in bed after some coaxing and half a bedtime story from Rial (with Plourr helpfully filling in the noises, because an Estillo-Pernon bedtime story usually involves starfighters and dramatic showdowns). They clean up together, quietly, just enjoying the peace and quiet of the apartment. And then, since it'll be another long day tomorrow, it's time for bed.

Plourr, for the record, makes a kick ass explosion sound effect.

The second part of the evening, anyway, is quieter, and involves less children.

(Well. Less child-aged people. Senses of humor and maturity are debatable.)

Standing in front of the bedroom mirror, Plourr takes off an earring. "She was good for your parents?"

Behind her, Rial shrugs out of his overshirt, folding it neatly on a chair next to the dresser. "Quite good, apparently. Getting better every day at evading naptime."

He rummages through a drawer for his sleep pants.

"They can watch her for half the day tomorrow, but then they're visiting someone. How's your schedule?"

Plourr sniggers at the 'evading naptime' comment, rather more proudly than she probably ought to.

"Spaced, as always," she says, removing her other earring. "I can take her whenever your parents can't; she charmed the pants off the budgetary committee the last time she came to a hearing."

"Now that's an idea." Rial slips into the bed, stretching out with his hands behind his head. "She'd probably make an amazing negotiating tool."

He's joking. Probably. But a moment later his tone turns more serious.

"Plourr..."

What do you mean probably? dies on Plourr's tongue, and she glances at him in the mirror as she efficiently pulls pins out of her hair.

"Rial," she says, in the same exact tone of voice.

"I just." He pauses, sorting out what he wants to say in his head.

"Since there are probably banthas more subtle then me, obviously you know that I'd love for us to have a second child. I just want to know if you would consider it."

She watches him in the mirror, her fingers only stilling on a pin for a split second before she returns to removing them. "Pernon," she says, setting the final pin on the dresser, shaking out her hair, and turning around.

"There are speeder wrecks more subtle than you." Her mouth has set fondly, and she crosses the room and comes into the bed on her hands and knees. "No-engine low atmosphere burn outs are more subtle than you." She's grinning, maybe even close to a laugh, when she leans over him and presses a kiss to his mouth.

He kisses back, maybe a bit surprised but willing, one hand coming up to caress the back of her neck before pulling away just the tiniest bit.

"That wasn't an answer, my princess."

"I was getting to that part!"

(Pot calling the kettle impatient.)

"Yes," Plourr says, and one side of her mouth lifts as she brushes her thumb across his cheek. "Force save us all, but --

"Yeah."

A grin spreads itself across Rial's face, slowly but building itself up.

"So is that, uh." He gestures slightly with one hand. "Yes, you'll consider it, or...permission to begin procreating?"

"One: That is the single least attractive thing you've ever said in your entire life.

"Two--" She grins at him. "I went off the control two weeks ago."

It takes a moment for that to sink in, but then that building grin nearly splits Rial's face in two and he clenches one hand in the bedsheets. This goes beyond mental cheer-routines or simple happiness, this is the hot glow of knowledge that there will be another child, another beautiful child, half-Rial, half-Plourr, completely unique.

In the end he isn't exactly sure what to say so he doesn't bother trying, just shifts a little closer to her and mutters "My princess," knows she'll understand because with all they've been through sometimes he thinks they can reach each other's minds.

"Sap," Plourr says, and she flops on top of him. (It's easy enough, given that she was still leaning over him.)

"Well, yes," Rial mutters into her neck, although it's entirely muffled by the fact that her arm is on top of his face.

"You knew that when you married me. It was the only thing that negated the mustache."

"The only thing that negated the mustache," Plourr says comfortably, making no sign of moving in the slightest, "is that I knew I could eventually get rid of it."

"I was proud of that mustache, you know." Rial attempts to shift under her. It doesn't exactly work. "It took me months to grow properly. I had to train it to look good!"

A pause.

"Also, my princess, since you seem so intent on smothering me, I'd like starblooms on the coffin for my funeral procession."

Plourr lifts her head enough to shoot him a bemused, thoughtful look. "Are you calling me fat, Pernon?"

Rial has a suspicious feeling that he's just caught a nasty case of foot in mouth disease.

"You are utterly radiant, my queen, and I want nothing more than to be able to lie beside you, rather than under the lily-white smoothness of your skin."

Plourr makes a disgusted (disgusting) noise. "What have you been reading?" she complains as she rolls onto her back beside him.

Rial stretches, sliding onto his side so he can watch her face, a rather smug grin on his own.

"'s called 'Stars That Will Shine In Her Eyes'. I caught Tevrahn reading it the other day and wanted to see what it was all about."

He makes a face.

"Heaving bosoms, apparently."

"Ugh, Tevrahn." Plourr rolls his eyes. "I hope you confiscated his copy. He's too young for that shavit."

Tevrahn is at least 20 standard years older than her.

And at least ten standard years older than Rial.

"Of course I did." He neglects to mention that it's now in the bathroom cabinet. "Do bosoms heave, do you think? That doesn't sound that pleasant."

"It doesn't," Plourr agrees, and after a moment's consideration, she turns onto her side.

"Care to test the story's scientific validity?"

Her expression is filthy.

...oh, Plourr.

It's been a long time since Rial was a blushing boy who could barely look at his princess with a wet shirt on, but there's still the faintest hint of a blush. Still, he lets his gaze sweep down her body, and his smile grows.

"I think we owe it to the planet," he mutters, leaning forwards and brushing a kiss to her lips. "The people need to know if things are...accurate."

"Oh," says Plourr, leaning in, "well. If it's for the good of the planet..."

As first tries for a second baby go, it's a pretty solid effort.

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