Chapter 3: The Handmaidens From Hell
Anakin was practically dragged into the bedroom, a place where he had spent many a happy hour but now looked positively evil. Garments laid everywhere and, considering the fact that most of them were either lacy or pink, Anakin hoped that none of them were intended for him.
"Come ladies," the head handmaiden (who was still digging her nails into Anakin's sensitive skin) announced loudly, causing all of her female companions to look up from what they were doing. "Master Skywalker needs to be at a meeting in a little, so we must work quickly!"
Quick was a very good word to describe how the handmaidens scurried about. In a mere second, they had Anakin wearing only his trousers and sitting in a plush chair.
Maybe this won't be so bad he thought with a content sigh as one of the handmaidens rubbed his shoulders.
Suddenly, he started as something rather heavy was dumped on his lap.
"You need to brief yourself for the meeting," one of the handmaidens explained upon seeing his confused look.
Upon opening the bag that had been unceremoniously given to him, Anakin found that it contained a dozen datacards.
Force- how does she do this? Thank goodness that this is all she drones on about during dinner.
"What are you doing?" a handmaiden asked as Anakin stuffed the datapads back into the satchel.
"I don't need them," he replied with a cocky grin and a gesture to his head.
"If you insist." With as much force as they had been plopped onto them, the same handmaiden snatched them away.
That was then Anakin saw the tools of torture that were now spread out on the vanity before him. One was oddly shaped and had a handle with a tube that had a metal strip along the sides. Currently, one of the handmaidens was gently tapping with her fingers, cringing as it was evidently hot.
But that was not what Anakin was worried about- something much more sinister laid before him.
Makeup.
Nailpolish (it was clear but he didn't care).
Hairspray.
The guards who were down below enjoying a break with some decaf when they heard what vaguely sounded like a bantha stampede.
In all actuality, it was Anakin attempting to flee to the door, but he was prevented from doing so by a dozen handmaidens. Only when a bold handmaiden held out the smoking tool that Anakin had seen earlier and jabbed it at him did the Jedi flee back to his chair and hastily put on the provided cape.
"Now that's the attitude," the head handmaiden laughed upon seeing how Anakin was so resolutely staying in his seat.
Within five minutes, Anakin had a different nickname for each of the handmaidens: the Devil (the head one, of course), Hairspray, Poker, Pouty, Chatty, Big Nose, Blondie (well, she was rather stupid), and many others.
"What are you doing?" Anakin asked apprehensively as the sizzling device was held up to his hair.
"Don't worry- this won't hurt," he was reassured.
"Unless you move and she burns you," one handmaiden chortled, causing all the others to giggle.
I hate giggling he thought darkly and pink Anakin added hastily as a pink cloth was held up to his eyes.
In terrific horror, he watched as the tube was wrapped around a lock of his hair and held there until it all but steamed.
Anakin had a bad feeling about this.
The handmaiden pulled it away to reveal a nice, soft spiral curl.
"My hair…" Anakin said weakly, reaching up to touch the foreign object as if to make sure it was indeed real. It was just so… unmanly.
"Oh, how cute!" one handmaiden exclaimed.
Out of spite, Anakin mentally named her 'Fatty.'
Suddenly, the door flew open with a crash and a handmaiden hurtled in. "Am I too late? What's going on here?" Upon seeing Anakin all but pinned down and looking ridiculous with his one curled lock, she began to giggle in an unprecedented and annoying way. "I get to do his nails!" she cried out, seizing the bottle.
Anakin instinctively curled his toes, but there was no stopping that determined handmaiden. Soon, his nails glistened and even sparkled.
Someone, please kill me he moaned.
It took him a few minutes for him to realize that he had done so audibly.
"Are you not enjoying yourself?" a handmaiden asked, bringing a pair of tweezers dangerously close to his legs.
He soon yelped but not because of a single hair being ripped out of his leg- the handmaiden with the nail polish had soundly slapped him. "Anakin Skywalker! How dare you let your nails be in such nasty shape?" In an attempt to horrify him, she held up his obviously-nibbled nails. "This is beyond any skill I have- we need to have them manicured!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Coming next: Anakin survives his manicure, but will he survive Bail's reaction to his 'beautification'?
