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It wasn't the kind of party that went late into the night. Hera had learned from her father how to manage it, to make gatherings seem spontaneous, to make them at once lively and even close to raucous, and then to neatly wind them down so that everyone got enough sleep and no one ended up sore or drunk or irritated with one another. It could be about letting off steam, relaxing, softening the tensions that built in your veins with every moment of waiting for the next hour that might kill you. But it couldn't be about distraction. If they needed to forget, there was no reason to be here in the first place.

They needed to remember.

And between Lieutenant Durron, and their friends, and the friends of those friends that spiral out among the crew, they had quite a bit of hidden musical talent. Box drums, a couple quetarras, easily packed flutes, a worn but sweet-sounding viol and a flatboard celesta. Among them all, they could produce Corellian shanties, Rodian rumba, and the Twi'lek anthems that the lieutenant eventually used to draw out Hera into keeping her promise to sing. Their rendition of Amtder Viulsen was appropriately fast-paced and joyful, with the chorus simple enough that even those who didn't know the Twi'leki words could roughly join in.

(Maybe the bigger coup was another Twi'lek officer successfully inviting Hera into a dance with her. But then, the draw was more likely the officer from New Alderaan, who had taken over playing the viol. A chance to hear old Alderaanian folk was still rare.)

But Hera spent most of those few hours sitting on a crate along the wall, near Thrawn. She moved around a few times, sometimes speaking quietly to those lingering by the sides. And then she always returned to the same place. She only glanced at Thrawn a few times, and didn't at any point try to speak to him. Maybe she did believe there was something he could learn from this. But Hera couldn't help but suspect she has made him sit there, through all of it, simply because she could.

She supposes there are crueler inclinations she could have.

And then, almost abruptly as it had started, the instruments were passed back to their owners, stuffed hastily back in bags. The crates used for seats were stacked back as they had been. Crew members fruitlessly protested the end, but then were quick to head for the hall to their quarters, or their stations. Hera waits, watching each of them, waving and saying goodbye to those who stopped by her, until the last of them has left. Still, at no point does she turn to Thrawn.

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Thrawn has been observing this whole time, an untouched cup of some cool purple beverage in his hand. To show willing, he would say, if anyone asked him.

No one did.

The music was good, certainly, particularly the artistry of the viol player from Alderaan. Noteworthy, and also a reminder that the loss of Alderaan had left the galaxy poorer, indeed. Even the few who escaped the destruction made life very . . . difficult, for the Empire.

They have certainly continued to do so for the First Order.

But now that things are wrapping up, he sets his drink aside and simply watches Hera. Waiting. He is not quite sure for what.

As the door slides shut, leaving them in what is once again a mostly empty storage space, Hera finally looks to Thrawn.

"Thank you, for sitting with me."

"It was hardly an ordeal, General."

Even if, perhaps, she meant it to be.

"There was rather a lot of artistry displayed here tonight."

He . . . enjoyed it, if such is the correct word.

She turns to look back over the empty space, and makes no move to stand.

"I wasn't sure it was the kind you'd appreciate."

"It is certainly not the kind I understand most clearly. But I have been informed that 'fun' and 'relaxation' need not rely on such things."

Though perhaps, when all this is over and he is back in his prison cell, he will begin to make a study of music. It will pass the time.

"Who told you that?"

She can't easily imagine Thrawn talking to anyone about 'fun' and 'relaxation.'

His lips twitch very faintly.

"A pirate, oddly enough. A long time ago."

Hera sighs, turning from him and shifting to rise from the crate.

"If you outlaw dancing, only outlaws will dance."

"It does give fuel to the fire, however, of said outlaws. And their rebellions."

His voice is only a little dry.

"Everyone needs fuel, Commander."

"Is that so?"

He stands, at that, though he makes no move to step forward.

Hera does turn, and begins to walk toward the door.

"Do you disagree?"

Thrawn falls into step with her, just one pace behind.

"Not necessarily. But I think there are more than a few people who are not aware of their own needs, and thus cannot hope to meet them."

The Empire excelled at creating those kinds of people.

"I don't think a war helps with that," Hera answers, as they walk back into the corridor.

"Not for most people," he agrees.

But some find their best self in such situations, which . . .

Well.

"I know it didn't for me."

She says, before she can think better of it.

He smiles, thin lips twisting upward just for a moment.

"And that is why you are a perpetual confusion to me. A warrior who gains her strength from a place that has nothing to do with conflict. It makes you . . . unexpected."

She really should have thought better of it.

Without looking back at him, "You know I don't like it when you talk about me like that."

"Would you rather I thought it but did not say it?"

He'll take that under advisement.

Hera stops, and turns back to face him.

"Yes."

"I see."

His eyebrows arch upward, but after that he falls silent.

Done and done, General Syndulla.

"All right, then."

Hera turns back, and starts to walk again. "You're dismissed."

"Understood."

He relaxes fractionally, but does not split off from her path. Not yet.

"Though if you do not mind the company, I prefer the way people look at me when I am in your company to when I am alone."

"I don't mind," Hera says.

She'd also rather not leave him alone on this ship, but she doesn't say this.

Edited 2017-10-22 19:19 (UTC)

"Are you about any particular task at this time, or simply making the rounds?"

He's curious.

"I was planning on making the rounds."

She stops as they reach the turbolifts. "Is there something that you think needs my attention?"

"Not in particular," Thrawn says, after a moment of consideration.

His hands are once more clasped behind his back.

"The crew does like seeing you among them."

"Then that's where I want to be."

But she can tell, as she says it, that they're again treading close to what she'd just told Thrawn not to talk about. She looks up, to the ceiling, and tries to shake this from her mind.

"Perhaps things will be improved once they look on me as a non-entity in your company."

Maybe?

The turbolift opens.

"What does that mean?"

"It would be better for both morale and efficiency if I failed to make the crew nervous merely by showing up."

His lips thin out in a flat line.

"That seems a stretch to accomplish on my own, but in company, perhaps it will be possible."

Hera waits until they've stepped into the lifts, and the doors have closed.

And then, "Does this bother you so much?"

"On a personal level?"

He arches an eyebrow, but remains silent for a long minute.

"I am not entirely sure."

She watches him for a few second, and then looks forward, toward the doors.

"It might be something you want to think about."

"Rest assured I shall."

But perhaps not just now.

"It seems likely to be instructive."

"Either way -"

The lift slows, and stops, and the doors open again. Hera checks that no one is close by in the corridor beyond before she continues.

"- I'm not sure I can ever expect the crew to not be nervous around you."

His sudden smile is mirthless.

"Perhaps we ought to call it something to hope for, instead."

Hera doesn't smile.

"I'm not sure I expect it from myself."

And if she can't do that, she can hardly expect it from her crew.

"Why, if you did, General, then you would be a fool, ignoring all the information history has provided you."

Personal history, at that.

Edited 2017-10-22 22:16 (UTC)

"But here we are," she answers.

Whatever her feelings, she has to ignore that history a little, to walk this ship with him.

"There are probably worse destinies. Or rather, circumstances."

The galaxy and all its varying species are still here, for one.

"I know there are."

It's sharp. Hera presses her lips together, blinking to the side.

"But that's no excuse for not trying to improve things."

Ah, a somewhat unanticipated sore spot. There will be more of those to come, Thrawn knows.

"I endeavor to be out of the habit of making excuses."

It wastes time.

Hera pauses, as they reach the door to the bridge.

"Then I guess we'll have to improve."

"There is certainly a great deal of room for it."

On all their parts. Not in the same ways, of course. But still.

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