Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
Thalia hasn't spoken to Anakin for a whole week. It's not like she's actively trying to avoid him – and even if she was, well, who cares? They are not friends in the first place. Barely even allies. Maybe the correct word would be distraction, but Thalia refuses that fact. Anakin won't distract her from her duties, and this whole week proves it.
Besides, it's not like Anakin isn't busy either. Thalia learned that Jedi seek knowledge, more so than she expected. At least, more than she expected from Anakin. He has been reading about Pelides and its people for the entirety of those seven days. He'd ask questions – mostly to Daviya and Elen. They were the rare Ashtaroth who decided to tolerate him. Even Thalia has to admit that he's got her nieces wrapped around his Force wielding fingers. Not that it pleases her.
She sits on her ivory white throne, legs slinged over the armrest and head resting opposite to it. She hasn't even seen Padmé, so really, this was out of her control. She knew how her people were doing when she was on Coruscant, but coming back means a new burden set on her shoulders. It has yellow streaks down its face and is named Shadril.
Thalia loves her family. Thalia loves her people. She's a being of compassion – all emotion, like Aurae used to say. But Shadril has been watching her like a womp rat hidden under her throne, and the sensation of its beady eyes on her fair skin is starting to get stifling.
"Is it really a good way to sit on a throne?" Shadril asks her, walking in.
She's not wearing her usual soldier fashion. Neither is Thalia. They've traded leather pants and ample shirts for tight bodices and long skirts. Shadril's dress is less intricate than hers – the corset is a nice dark blue with golden lace running on the edges, the lighter blue of the dress under it giving it more color. The light fabric runs all the way to her neck, covers her shoulders and arms, and flows down to her ankles. Thalia can see the hint of her dark blue pants under it, to bring some warmth to the outfit.
Thalia adjusts her silver corset. It's made of a light steel, not too heavy but it wouldn't let a blade pierce through. Carved runes litter the curves at the top, and mail hangs loosely against her shoulders. The lilac dress under it has silver designs at the end of its sleeves, but not at the v-neck shapes it takes against her chest. The material isn't as flowy as Shadril's – in fact, the skirt is made of purple fabrics put on top of each other until her long, fair legs are hidden under them, only to be seen by the slit near her left thigh. From the way she's sitting, with her feet propped up, the milky white is almost confounded with the ivory of the throne, the skirt falling around her legs in silky pools of violet. Shadril can see her blade attached to her thigh, its twin no doubt somewhere under the taffeta of fabric.
