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There's a new painting on the right wall. Hera is waiting in the office, seated in the chair she always sits in, hands folded in her lap. Very still – her fingers don't fidget, her feet don't swing. She's finally grown enough that her toes comfortably touch the floor. Only her eyes flicker, down to her hands, and then up again, to the right wall, to the new piece of art that hadn't been there before.

To her eyes, it's a strange collection of rectangular shapes, among which she can barely make out what looks like a head, a neck, shoulders. Maybe arms. She counts the colors, white, blue, black, beige, lighter blue, darker blue. She perceives something that reminds her of light, light through a window, so that it makes bright squares on the floor that mingle with the shadow around it. She knows that it's Terran art. The head and neck and shoulders don't have to belong to a Terran, and yet, she knows. It's the kind of art he would have. And there was art like this, in the house, before –

She stops her thoughts at that, goes back to counting colors. Gray, like steel. Orange, a light orange, like rust.

He wouldn't make her wait if he didn't have to. She knows that. She feels no impatience, not even any curiosity as to why he called her in. There's always a reason. And with nothing else to occupy her, she sets her focus on memorizing this painting, just as she has memorized every other object and corner and space of this office.

Pale yellow. Dark green. Maybe, around those shoulders, the back of a chair.

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"This is the rook," he says, arching one eyebrow. "Not to be confused with Rukh, who is another one of my operatives. You'll meet him soon, if his most recent mission has gone well."

The chances that it hasn't are present, but not very likely.

"It moves only in straight lines, but it may move any number of squares, and both backward, forward, and sideways."

She glances back down to the piece, and then to the board, mentally illuminating the possible paths for such a piece.

Then she sets it on the board, closer to Thrawn, and reaches into the box for another piece. There are only two left - one with only the opposing color as its twin, which by its size and shape she could tell was also likely important. She chooses the other, again the same smooth, curved edges, but a strange shape she doesn't recognize at all as its top, a kind of rounded teardrop, with a single slice cut through it.

She looks back up to Thrawn, with no guess at all for what this could be.

"English calls it bishop, and I believe that name refers to the piece's shape, which has something to do with the clothing of a priest."

Thrawn's smile is thin again.

"In other Terran languages I believe the word is different, but perhaps that is a concern for later."

He reaches to slide the piece along the board.

"This one moves on the diagonal, one on the lighter squares, one on the darker squares."

Again, Hera follows the movement in her eyes, watching the possible paths for the piece spring up along the board.

She nods, once, and then reaches into the box for the remaining piece.

"The King?" she asks, pressing her thumb against the cross shape that tops it rather than a crown.

"The King," Thrawn agrees. "His loss ends the game, but this piece can only move one square at a time, though in any direction. It is a quandary, no? How the most important piece can also be the most limited."

He holds out his hand, palm-up, as if requesting Hera put the king in his palm.

She blinks up, and without pause reaches to put the piece in his hand.

"He has all the other pieces to protect him."

"That is one way to look at it, certainly," Thrawn acknowledges, setting the king into its appropriate position on the board.

"And he is, indeed, the most well-sheltered of the pieces to start."

Demonstrating that is simple enough, as Thrawn assembles the ranks -- pawns in front, queen next to the king, with bishops, knights, and rooks flanking them in that order.

"But only to start."

She looks to the lined up pieces, the pawns all lined together and the symmetry of the pieces installed aside the king and queen.

"Then they have to attack."

Again, a deduction. You can't win the game if you only defend.

"That, or lure the other side into attacking, preferably unwisely. Though there are ways to make it appear as if you are advancing when, in fact, you are merely waiting."

Which is to say 'yes, but -- '.

Hera listens, blinking between him, and the lined up pieces.

When he's done, she reaches into the box, and pulls out the black pieces, lining them along her side of the board just as he had lined the white pieces along his.

"White," Thrawn says, once she is finished assembling the ranks of black, "goes first."

She meets his eyes, and nods her acknowledgment, before looking back down to the pieces along his side of the board, perhaps imagining what his first move might be.

Thrawn takes the pawn in front of the queen piece and advances it two squares, what some would call a classic opening.

He watches Hera consider her own move, or at least it appears that way. In truth he is already plotting multiple moves ahead, relying on his understanding of the girl to theorize what her own likely plan will be.

It is a skill he has long been good at. And while the pace of the game is slow, as befits a teaching game, his own moves are ruthless, as it would be no good otherwise.

And once the detritus of black's ranks has been swept from the field, Thrawn sits back, steepling his fingers to study Hera's final reaction.

"It was not a terrible first attempt, to be sure."

Hera didn't really expect to win, and has no particular feelings of hurt pride. The feeling of anything coming quickly to her is still very new experience, and she's never found anyone who would go easy on her.

Still, she does show some consternation at how ably Thrawn seems able to predict her moves. She tries to jump to other strategies, attempting to elude his pursuit, but this in turn distracts her from studying his moves. It frustrates her, as even if she didn't expect to win, she can't lessen her effort any for that. Hera's sure he would know if she wasn't truly applying herself.

Hera stays leaned close to the table even when the game is over, watching the board, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She doesn't look up until Thrawn speaks.

And that, at least, is a trap she can recognize.

"Then I want to play again," she answers.

Thrawn merely nods, though he does not look displeased.

"Good. This game is not particularly well-suited as an actual metaphor for battle, but as a way to practice understanding your opponent it is very nearly unparalleled."

He pauses, hand hovering over one of the white pieces.

"But not, I think, tonight. You'll need time to think about a new strategy."

As well as to consider what she imagines Thrawn's might be, he's sure.

Edited 2018-07-26 12:40 (UTC)

Her eyes fall back to the game board.

But again, she just says, "Yes, sir."

And then she lifts herself up, leaning over the board again, but now to help collect up the pieces, and replace them in the box.

"There is no shame in it," Thrawn says, as he sets pieces back into the box, leaving room for Hera to do the same.

"This time. Quite likely the time after this, as well."

Hera collects many pieces up between her hands, but is gentle about putting them back in the box.

"I'm not - shamed," she says, with some hesitance as she chooses how to reframe the word in Sy Bisti.

"You do, however, seem displeased."

There's an inquiry in that, and in the raised eyebrow that accompanies it.

Sy Bisti has a wide range of exacting, precise, perfectly connoted words, and Hera takes her time deciding among the ones she knows before she answers.

"I'm frustrated."

It's different.

"Ah, I see."

He considers her for a few moments, scarlet eyes glowing faintly. And after a moment --

"It is not most pleasant of feelings, but practice in not allowing frustration to drive your actions is always useful. Much as I, myself, dislike it at times."

Hera nods, as she moves to close the box, all the pieces now returned to it.

"I understand," she says, again.

"Good," Thrawn replies, taking up the board and box, and moving to stow them back in his desk.

"Are there any questions you have for me at this time?"

Hera stays in her seat, though she watches him move to his desk.

"How did you know what I was going to do?"

"I am an excellent study of both individual and species-level behavior," Thrawn answers easily. "Which is to say I know you personally, and I know Twi'leks culturally -- as well as some of the psychology of children kept as slaves by the Terran Empire, and so I may . ..predict the most likely course of action a mix of those influences would take."