for_everyone | (no subject)

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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Something like that.

Quietly, she answers, "Yes, sir."

He merely smiles.

Then --

"Should you prefer to have some free time to yourself for the rest of the evening? Tomorrow is soon enough to begin lessons again."

Perhaps not too subtly, Hera glances in the direction of Thrawn's desk.

But she's not going to ask for it. Not when he already told her they were done with the chess set for the night.

Instead, she asks - speaking slowly as she decides on the right verb - "Do you need me to go?"

She is, indeed, not very subtle. But still.

"If you prefer to stay, you're certainly welcome to read while I do bureaucratic scutwork. Or to get a head start on tomorrow's lessons."

He clasps his hands loosely behind his back, studying her again.

"Intermittent conversation would also be permissible, if you still have questions."

Edited 2018-07-26 22:34 (UTC)

Hera nods.

And then after a few seconds -

"There's a new painting."

Something brightens behind his gaze, focuses on her and holds there.

"Indeed there is. I hesitate to ask if you like it, that is often a secondary concern, but do you find it interesting?"

"There's a lot of rectangles."

Beat.

"And they make up a - Terran person, I think. And there's light."

It's really not an answer to the question he actually asked, but. She is trying.

"So you noticed the light," he says, the tone of his voice warming more than is his usual wont.

"Good. Now the question that should follow is what, precisely, light means to Terrans, both within and without this context. That particular historical period -- "

He can go on like this for quite some time. And, unless Hera stops him, he doubtless will.