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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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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."

"I mean."

She pauses, pressing her lips together as she thinks.

"An example."

"First, you are new to the game. I am well aware that common gambits and cues for reactions to the moves I choose to make would not be in your lexicon. Therefor I was able to infer that your initial choices would likely be straightforward and perhaps cautious, and use my own efforts to give the illusion of success in one way, while closing it off in others."

Her head tilts.

It makes sense, but she has a feeling like she already knew most of it. She thinks over his words again, about how to ask -

"Because I'm a Twi'lek."

"That was the initial caution, on the whole. People from a world as dangerous as yours have . . . long-engrained habits of testing the ground before moving out into it."

Thrawn's smile is thin.

"My own people -- the Chiss -- tend toward appreciations of hierarchy. Some might even call it 'slavish devotion' to the concept."

Hera nods - that does help her a little more.

And she's less hesitant to move on to the next -

"Because I was a slave."

Thrawn is not hesitant at all.

"Caution, again, but also a late-game recklessness, an attempt to win at any cost."

Her eyes flicker away as he begins to speak, as she thinks on his answer, but then flash back up at his last words.

She stays like that for a few lingering moments, waiting like she thinks he might speak again. But then her eyes fall again, and she only nods.

"The fear of going back will always drive you, if you let it. It can be a difficult thing to escape."

Understandably so, but still.

Her eyes snap back up to his.

"I'm not afraid."

"No?"

If that is, indeed, true --

"Interesting."

Hera doesn't look away.

"No."