THE LATEST FASHION
by ardavenport
All heads in the room turned when the great golden door opened. The galleries murmured with questions and then awe. The media holo-bots buzzed and bumped each other for the best view.
"Monarch, please! We agreed that you should be sequestered from these negotiations," Captain L'mos exclaimed in shock, jumping up from her seat. Everyone else in the room stood as well, except for Qui-Gon Jinn, seated in the ornate Arbiter's chair, above the proceedings.
"Monarch-Presumptive!" Secretary Abora bellowed.
Surid Meezim swung the edge of his rich maroon cape back over his shoulder and stepped into the lighted negotiation arena. He posed for the appreciative crowds, rows and rows of seated shapes in the shadows that surrounded the negotiators.
"I've been rethinking that, Captain, and I've concluded that earlier decision was misguided, though well meaning." He nodded toward the negotiation table. "These talks concern myself and the future of this colony. I should be present, even if I am barred from participating."
He was a superb specimen of young Humanoid adulthood. Tall, broad shouldered, dark golden skin, tousled blond hair and well-muscled under a superbly tailored blue body suit that heightened the beauty of his physique. But even more striking was the woman behind him.
A new murmur of 'oooohs' rose up from the crowds. She was a queenly match to Meezim's splendor. Nearly his height, with a broad curvy body clad in her own body suit that beautifully matched Meezim's wardrobe. Her skin was a bright, intense shade of pink, her hair an even brighter shade of pink that practically glowed in the auditorum's lights. She flashed them all a radiant smile.
The holo-bots, above the invisible screen that held them at bay, buzzed up and down the length of the arena. The Blazok System League negotiators looked stunned. The Opinoh Colony negotiators looked shocked. Obi-Wan Kenobi, seated exactly halfway between the two groups, cringed. Qui-Gon Jinn, on the Arbiter's platform, remained expressionless.
Meezim signaled for chairs and an aide hastily complied.
"This is my Consort-Presumptive, Avasr Vara," he introduced the woman with him, adding the qualifier for the sake of the Blazok System League delegates. The chairs were placed apart from the negotiating table, on the upper level of the arena a few steps above the negotiation table. Both sat down with flourishes, smiling benevolently at the negotiators and then at Qui-Gon, sitting on the upper level opposite them. Most of the holo-bots settled into a cluster around the couple. A few strays panned the crowds and the negotiation arena for reaction shots.
"This. . . .this. . . ." Abora sputtered, clearly not sure what 'this' really was. He and his associates looked from the couple to the Arbiter, and back.
L'Mos aggressively whispered to her negotiator-second, Timmi, a middle aged man of round body and features and thinning black hair. Timmi seemed to be the only person at the table who was not upset. Kenobi's blue-gray eyes focused on him suspiciously.
"I'm sorry, Monarch-Presumptive, but you cannot stay," L'Mos spoke up. "We must - - "
"I insist that he stay!" Abora commanded, his chiseled, tan features stern. "Monarch-Presumptive Surid, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. And your lovely consort, of course," the dignified, sliver-haired diplomat inclined his head.
"The pleasure is ours, esteemed ambassador," Meezim answered smoothly.
"Shall we continue?" Timmi suggested, sitting back down. L'Mos carefully looked down at his second before sitting. The others followed. Immediately L'Mos began a another furiously whispered conversation with Timmi.
Secretary Abora began a slightly calmer, muttered conference with his second and third, Porotatas and Thayr. Obi-Wan Kenobi looked at the groups to the left and right of him and then frowned up at his Master. But Qui-Gon seemed immune to the young man's critical glare. Behind him, Meezim took his consort's hand. She smiled down at the room.
The muttering and whispering went on for some time. The galleries fell silent.
Finally, Abora announced, "The Blazok System League is now willing to concede to the validity of the Monarch-Presumptive's bloodline and his qualifications." Muffled sounds of surprise emerged from the darkness around the negotiators.
"However," Abora qualified, his voice loud enough to quell the audience reaction, "the Opinoh Colony must be aware that there are standards to be met for any person to assume the position of consort."
"Of course, but that is a completely separate issue that can be discussed once the protocols of succession are established," L'Mos responded in her formal, diplomatic near-shout. Though she was a slight woman with dark, reddish hair, cut close to her head, she challenged her older counterpart with a haughty glare.
Abora's lips pressed together into a hard line. His eyes narrowed.
"Perhaps we should ask the Arbiter for a ruling? Unless you think he might be. . . . compromised on this issue?"
L'Mos glared back, but she did not respond to the implied threat. If the Arbiter was challenged and rejected then the negotiations would collapse.
The room fell silent. Pleased with his score, Abora looked up at the Arbiter. Jinn calmly raised his eyebrows back as he looked down his long, somewhat crooked and bright pink nose at the League delegate. This was his first facial expression of the session.
The media holo-bots zoomed to the Arbiter's end of the arena, bouncing and bobbing for the best view as they had when the session had begun. Nothing was said when Qui-Gon Jinn had first appeared, his face and hands a vibrant pink, his long hair a deep magenta, where only the day before they had been a pale tan and brown, not much different from his apprentice's. The negotiators had proceeded with their talks with no comment, but more than a few covert glances at the Arbiter's inexplicably bizarre appearance.
Across the arena, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed. Behind him, Avasr Vara still beamed, her own complexion a matching shade of pink.
o)(o)(o)(o
The negotiations had been in recess for some time. The participants had gone down to the private rooms to eat and refresh themselves. The Monarch-Presumptive and his consort had been invited to join them. Most had returned and spoke informally in small groups around the table in the arena, except for the Arbiter, who remained apart, in his high seat. The bodies and heads of the arena's audience moved about behind their curtain of shadow. Some of them had acquired food and drink.
Obi-Wan Kenobi stood between the Colony and League seconds, conducting a softly spoken but intense conference.
Frustrated media holo-bots constantly prodded the invisible barrier above.
Timmi bowed out of Kenobi's group and strolled around the brightly lit negotiation table. He ascended the stairs and took a place by the Arbiter.
"I was expecting someone from the League to try to contact Meezim," Timmi said as he looked out at the bright arena and darkened galleries.
"You expected them to succeed." Qui-Gon did not look back at him.
"Security systems and droids are so overrated. There is always some clever thief or operative who can find their way around them. Best really to just leave a convenient opening and make sure there is evidence of the deed and catch them later." Timmi put his hands behind his back, his red and gold brocade robe hanging down off of his protruding, round belly. "I am surprised that you were caught by it. I might have thought that the supposed supernatural powers of the Jedi would see past my little trap."
"It is unwise to underestimate the Force. But it is somewhat unclear in its guidance about. . . . trickery."
Timmi chuckled. "Apparently being connected to all the mystical energy in the universe doesn't make the Jedi any smarter," he concluded.
Qui-Gon looked as if he had tasted something sour, his pink lips pursed, surrounded by his magenta mustache and beard. He unfolded his arms and laid them on the wide and decorative armrests of the chair, the radiant tone of his hands contrasted with more delicate shade of pink of his nails.
Avasr Vara rose up from the floor-lift portal that led to the private rooms below.
"You brought her with you," Timmi pronounced, his eyes following Vara's thick fluorescent pink hair as she crossed the floor to join Kenobi's little conference.
"No," Qui-Gon replied with a little smile. "She has been staying in an apartment in the city, arranged for by your Monarch-Presumptive. We caught her on the grounds looking for a way around your latest sequestration."
Timmi's head turned toward him. "Our intelligence has her on Uglash, in the League," he insisted.
"She did say something about a decoy," Qui-Gon said casually. He continued to watch her as she introduced herself to the delegates. Kenobi bowed to her. The holo-bots clustered above the group. "I would expect your Monarch-Presumptive to be perhaps a bit smarter than you were planning. As well as his consort, who is now conveniently available to present the Monarch-Presumptive's real interests in this appointment."
"She seems to have used you rather effectively," Timmi noted, but he looked on with concern as Vara seemed to easily charm the people around her. Even Kenobi laughed at a shared joke.
"She has proven to be. . . . versatile," Qui-Gon admitted. "And she has taken to her new coloring quite well. She may even choose to keep it. Should it wear off." The Jedi's dark blue eyes looked toward Timmi for the first time.
The stout negotiator-second smirked. "After several days it starts to fade on it's own. A medical droid can reverse it rather quickly, but you might reconsider that, Arbiter Jinn." Timmi looked down at the man next to him. "You look good in pink."
"Perhaps you should consider it as well. If she becomes your Monarch-Consort," the Jedi replied, gesturing toward Vara and the negotiators clustered around her with one bright pink hand. "This may become the next fashion."
o)(o) -- END -- (o)(o
(This story was first posted on tf.n: 14-April-2007)
Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.