Soaps and Their Many Uses (Chiara)

[Zarah Tharandi Viren]

One would not abide an eternity of staunch isolation after Her Royal Highness Zarah Viren spent hundreds of years trapped in it to no possible avail. While mentally intact from her time in the Carbonite, such lengths of time did give unto the Monarch of Sabarene a particular advantage in claiming time as the utmost power of all things.

Namely, scheduling.

[member="Chiara Viren"] could schedule her pity party around other duties, such as being the Galaxy’s best Auntie, and coming down from the sodding mountain to commit to the standard ablutions. Being so inclined as to meddle at her age, Zarah even set thirteen different types of fragrant soaps and body washes in the sani-steam for her dear Cousin.

And, with the potency of a long political entity… encouraged until the correct result was won.

Sani-steam achieved. Zarah’s nose was salvaged, and what was more, the ability for Zarah to swaddle Chiara up in soft gowns and tend to wounds which appeared only in her spectre and not her skin.

“Darling Chiara, do put one foot in front of the other instead of beside. I would like to reach the garden before my hair decides to shift in colour.” Yes, this was what was necessary!

Kind, carefully worded tough love.

 

[Chiara Viren]

Once she’d felt like things on Saberene were settled, Chiara had set off on her own to offer her services to the Jedi and continue the training that she’d never completed. Not having to endure the responsibilities of a crown had given her new perspectives and the pleasure of seeing more planets, experiencing new cultures, than she could have ever dreamed of. Some worlds were more wondrous than others, but no matter where she went, it often left her feeling much the same - simultaneously like a little girl being taken on her first excursion, and inexplicably sad.

The people she met, the faces she saw, save for the ones she’d left on Sabarene, were entirely foreign to her. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, or put the feelings that bubbled up inside her chest aside, the feelings came regardless and left her in a tailspin of memories.

She often thought back to her childhood on Eshan, the alabaster walls of the home Manu had brought her to, and the halls filled with the laughter of those who’d lived there. She thought back to the powdery snows of Yavin VIII, and the winds that howled through the Temple during a winter storm. She thought of Ash and his good natured-smile, of the stories he told their children at night, neglecting royal responsibilities to make sure they knew they ranked above anything else in his life.

Before the war with Raien that had taken away Manu and broken her mother, before Ressa had given up her life, so she could live, before she’d broken Aizen’s heart and driven him away, before the wars on Chandaar and its casualties, before life just didn’t make sense anymore.

When she had died, she had at least been able to lay aside the sorrows of life and hold onto the joy. In the faces of her children, she’d felt peace.

Now, here she was, a new chapter of her life and what was she doing with it?

She’d righted the sins of her parents, she worked with Erryn to bring Manu back to his full strength, but where did she fit, now? Contentment, peace, these things eluded her. There was something in her that was just...missing.

Taking a page from Manu’s book, she’d gone to the tallest mountain peak she could find to answer the question through meditation, that is, until Zarah summoned her back down.

She shuffled behind her cousin, hands in the pockets of her off-white trousers, worn down from desert sands. The air smelt much better than she did at the moment, but she was certain that Zarah was determined to change that.

“Ah, yeah, sorry.” she jogged lightly to catch up with Zarah, matching violet eyes glancing to her side.

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816 Years Ago, Chandaar, Ambaril Palace ​

Chiara dipped low, one wobbly foot behind the other in a clumsy curtsy. Unruly red hair had been pulled away from her heart shaped face, her features boasting of a beauty blossoming, still framed with baby fat. Her lips were pert and delicate, but pursed together with the greatest of concentration, wide violet eyes focused entirely on her two dainty feet. Daddy had said a, 'Princess should know how to curtsy properly for another Prince,' that it was, 'What would be expected of her'. It was a lot of pressure for a four year old, but, when she got it right during practice, Daddy smiled. She wished he would smile more often. If she could get it right today, maybe he would do it again. The child tried to lift her head and repeated the motion, watching herself in the floor length mirror. No, no… that was wrong. It was all wrong! With a harumph she flopped on her bed, the antique blue dress poofing out around her. Zarah was so much better at this, why did she have to be the crown-whatchamacallit? “Zarahhhhhh, pw-pw-please! We look close enough! Just a little trick? My daddy would never know! Pwom-prowm-promises!”

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Rosebud lips tugged into a slight smile. “You’re good at this, you know? Ruling, it’s always come so naturally for you.”

Zarah Tharandi Viren

 

[Zarah Tharandi Viren]

“Always rushing off, ever since we were children in the Palace. Off to that little spot in the garden, the one you had to crawl under those dashed rose bushes to get to.” The laughter echoing down the hall reminded Zarah of the scant good times, when Chiara was young and their collective parents weren’t quite so tense.

When her father Tharand could relax tiredly against the wall of the play room, and sip a cup of imaginary tea, even when Zarah knew now, it cost his life to do so. Watching Chiara, Zarah saw a woman at the end of her faith. The edge of conscience and a loss of vision. It was such times when all Zarah had were her duties to fill any open sores. What did Chiara have?

So much of her life in their time was spent running from Chandaar, bussing between Eshan and other such places. Zarah missed the path for children, for marriage back then. She bound herself to the crown which all who whispered behind their fans and courtly masks declared her undeserving of. A uterus was the method of her betrayal to Cron. Born with the wrong gender to rule with impunity, just as her mother was born.

Yet, the stringent upbringing had its’ moments of peace and those usually revolved around her father, and the other children in the family home. Sebastian, her beloved butler and secret step-brother, and Chiara. Even if her mother wanted nothing more than to punt Chiara off a cliff for being born in the first place.

“As natural as a draft horse burdened with a consistent trot for centuries, my darling cousin.” Zarah walked on, knowing Chiara would follow and frankly telling where Chiara Viren was via the scent. “It astounds how the person can be moulded even into the most uncomfortable dress with the right undergarments. Although I do quite enjoy the act of ruling, it was a necessity, not a birthright… I always admired you for your luxury, being capable of a life outside Cron… Even if for a time that admiration came as envy and malice.”

Leading to Chiara’s quarters in the Sabarene Capital Abha’s Palace, Zarah curtseyed with a flourish, the way they always had to when they were young.

“Your bath awaits, fair darling Chiara. And once you’re freshly clean and dressed, you can meet my little prince.” Sometimes a curtsey and quiet word full of gentility was the best policy for communing with a fellow royal.

In this case, Zarah kicked Chiara’s scruffy backside into the refresher, and shut the door, dusting off her hands.