what makes me so nice
Marina took George's arm, her fingers curling into the crook of his elbow like they were made for the space, as they emerged out into the gardens. "You're among our most famous sons," Marina explained the cause of her nerves. That was certainly part of it, of course. Was it the whole reason? "Even before the occupation both sides of your family were quite famous. The Vitalises, a great house among great houses. The Fortans -- well, I'm sure I don't need to tell you when you're here, surrounded by all the history. And now, prince and heir of a whole different country, spanning multiple planets. Surely you must realize how daunting that can be to provincials like us here on Galidraan."
The tone was light, but there was weight behind it. Galidraan could be considered provincial. Its history had been proud once, but occupation and infighting and recriminations had brought it low. Now it sat, unremarked, as a holding of a Mandalorian power. Neither oppressed nor oppressing, neither colonized nor colonizing.
"It seems so many of us have decamped to the Renascent Heirate. Those old guard who are still alive taking up offices and titles in your new worlds. I can't say I blame them," she confessed thoughtfully as they strolled along the broad path between two low hedges, each surrounded by segmented flower beds. Beauty in straight lines and clear delineations. Could there be anything more like a Fortan? "At least the people who bought this place didn't let the garden go to pot," Marina said quietly, releasing George's arm for a moment to crouch down, cupping a vivid pink bloom to her face. She inhaled its scent. It smelled of cool summers and garden parties and freshly laundered linen and expectations.
"The question is whether that future is here, or elsewhere," Marina ventured, glancing up at him as she took his arm once more, resuming the stroll. "You'll have duties on Aegis, of course. What does that mean for Herevan Hold?"
The tone was light, but there was weight behind it. Galidraan could be considered provincial. Its history had been proud once, but occupation and infighting and recriminations had brought it low. Now it sat, unremarked, as a holding of a Mandalorian power. Neither oppressed nor oppressing, neither colonized nor colonizing.
"It seems so many of us have decamped to the Renascent Heirate. Those old guard who are still alive taking up offices and titles in your new worlds. I can't say I blame them," she confessed thoughtfully as they strolled along the broad path between two low hedges, each surrounded by segmented flower beds. Beauty in straight lines and clear delineations. Could there be anything more like a Fortan? "At least the people who bought this place didn't let the garden go to pot," Marina said quietly, releasing George's arm for a moment to crouch down, cupping a vivid pink bloom to her face. She inhaled its scent. It smelled of cool summers and garden parties and freshly laundered linen and expectations.
"The question is whether that future is here, or elsewhere," Marina ventured, glancing up at him as she took his arm once more, resuming the stroll. "You'll have duties on Aegis, of course. What does that mean for Herevan Hold?"
