"Should I cut bangs?"
It's late afternoon and school is done for the day. Portia is where she can be found most often at this time on weekdays–Darth Vindican's small but cozy villa. She and Julia are sequestered in Julia's bedroom. Her friend lays on her bed, staring absently up at the ceiling while levitating a stuffed bear with the Force. Portia is sprawled on the rug below, knees hugged to her chest and her back propped against a chest of drawers. They're supposed to be studying for tomorrow's history quiz, but they're talking instead.
"I think I want bangs. Sideswept bangs, not curtain bangs. What do you think?"
Portia looks up from her history notes. "You asked me that yesterday."
"Have you changed your mind?"
"No." Portia answers with the definitiveness her culture prizes. The Sith do not mince words and they spare no feelings, even for the all-important topic of hairstyles. "No bangs. Your nose requires a center part and no bangs."
"But I'm bored with my hair," Julia whines.
"Bangs are not the remedy."
"That's what Mother said when I asked her," her friend sulks.
Portia chuckles and Julia begrudgingly joins in.
She and Julia have been best friends for a decade now, and there is nothing they do not confide in each other. In many respects, Portia is closer to Julia than she is to her own sister. And Julia's mother, the always calm and welcoming Lady Vindican, is like a second mother to her. It's why Portia took such strong offense at Gaius Veradun's blithe dismissal of Lord and Lady Vindican during their spat in Darth Azamin's garden.
Her friend grumbles and starts again, "I think I want bangs . . . " It's Julia's latest obsession. She can't stop talking about it.
Portia points out, "The last time you cut bangs, it took you a year and a half to grow them out. Don't make the same mistake again."
That's not the pragmatic advice her bestie wants to hear. She changes the topic. "How's your mother?"
Portia thinks a moment before she replies. "Much better lately. She's been out of her room and dressed every day this month, I think."
"The wedding?"
"Yes." And ordinarily, that level of activity would be a very encouraging sign. Except Portia is feeling just as ignored as usual. She complains, "It's all about Apollonia. Mother won't come out for me, but she will for her."
Julia must hear the pouting behind those words. She fixes Portia with a reproving look. "A wedding is important. And it's a lot of work. That betrothal party the other night was amazing. It will be a hard act to follow. Your mom set a very high standard for herself."
Portia nods glumly and unloads more bitterness. "Mother cares a great deal about appearances. Her pride won't let her delegate the planning lest it fall short of perfection."
"She would do the very same for you, Portia Metellus, and you know it." Julia now muses softly, "Your mother must have loved your father a great deal to mourn him for so long . . . "
"She did. We all did," Portia acknowledges sadly.
She was seven years old when her father died. It was an age when she needed a lot of hands-on mothering. But her widowed mother took to her bed at the tragic news and has seldom emerged since. In the intervening years, Lady Oderint has appeared in public once or twice a month, always impeccably groomed and sumptuously dressed like the aristocrat she is But she otherwise runs her household and the ancillary country estate and vacation homes from her bathrobe in her bedroom, too depressed to be interested in much beyond her own sorrow. After all these years, Portia thinks her mother's seclusion is more habit than necessity. She is a recluse by choice at this point, opting out of what's left of her youngest daughter's childhood. And that feels like a creeping, low key rejection.
None of Lady Orderint's living children can do much to coax her out of her rut of grief. Portia gave up trying years ago. It's part of why she flees her own home for the Vindican household most afternoons. "Sometimes, I think Mother loves our dead Father more than she loves us now . . . "
Julia knows all of this, of course. But she's romantically minded, and she stubbornly takes Mother's side. "Don't say that . . . "
Portia scowls. "It feels true some days."
"She loves you."
"I know."
Portia has a lot of unresolved anger towards her mother. But it is mixed with deep pity as well. For there is no denying the devotion bereft Lady Oderint has for her late husband. Sith marriages might be brokered by strategy, but strong and lasting love often blooms nevertheless.
The example of her parents' marriage prompts Julia to muse, "I think I want to love my husband like your mother loved her Lord . . . " Her friend thinks a moment before volunteering, "Maybe your mother should marry again."
"Whaat?" That unwelcome suggestion has never occurred to Portia.
"It might make her happy," Julia reasons. "You'll be married and gone in a few years' time and there will be no more Apprentices for her to look after. Maybe a new love is what she needs."
Hardly. "She's old!"
"She's a Valerian who married a Metellus. And isn't she a Scipio on your grandmother's side? Plenty of widowers would want to marry for that set of connections. Maybe even some young men too," her friend giggles. "Look out, Portia—you might have competition."
"No!" Portia hotly recoils. And did she say that emphatically enough? "I am to be married next. It's my turn!"
Julia teases, "And here I thought you were taking the veil."
"I might!" she half-shrieks indignantly.
"Oh Portia, stop pretending. It's okay to admit that you want what we all want—a good match and a happy family. And speaking of matches, when is your brother going to take a wife?"
"Who knows? Mother nags him about it ceaselessly. She has marriage on the mind these days," Portia grumbles. And that reminds her. "Apollonia kissed her Lord."
"Yes, we all saw." The betrothal kiss is one of the highlights of the traditional reception that announces the upcoming nuptials to family and friends. After a formal banquet with lots of speeches and toasts, the engaged couple are introduced for a sweet exchange of promises and a kiss before witnesses.
But Julia has misunderstood the point. Portia explains, "I'm not talking about the betrothal kiss. I mean that she kissed him later. In private." Portia lowers her voice to a near whisper for dramatic effect. "Like really kissed him."
Julia sits up fast and the levitating stuffed bear tumbles to the bed. Her eyes are wide. "She did?"
"Yes!"
"What did she say? How was it? Tell me everything!" her friend commands.
"She said it was great. Just like on the holonet."
"Ooooooh! Yes! I knew it!" Julia squeals and claps her hands.
Truthfully, they are both eager for real world knowledge of sex. Because knowing what sex is clinically from biology class is not the same as experiencing it for yourself. And since all upper-class girls remain virgins until marriage, there is no one for her and Julia to ask about the topic. Well, except for their mothers, and no one wants to ask their mother about her sex life. It means that young Ladies like themselves must glean all they can from the hushed whispers of older sisters and from talkative aunts. Sure, they pick up the gist from holonet shows and from novels. Yet still . . . the adult world of sex and romance remains mostly an intriguing mystery.
Julia leans forward from her perch on the bed. "What else did Apollonia say? Tell me everything!"
"That was it. Just that it was great."
Julia pouts. "There's more to it . . . I know it . . . Did she use her tongue?"
"She didn't say," Portia shrugs, wishing she had more to tell. And now, offhand she asks, "How's the new Apprentice doing?" She has wondered about rude Gaius Veradun in the days since she left him in a rose bush.
"Okay, I guess. Father seems to really like him."
"Yeah? Well, I don't like him," Portia grumps.
"Yes, I heard!" her bestie giggles. "Mother asked at dinner the other night how training was coming. Father said that he hasn't been able to leave a mark on Gaius because he's so agile. But he had a scratch on his chin, so Mother asked about it. And that's when we heard that you threw Gaius into a rose bush!"
Julia giggles some more and Portia is forced to crack a smile at the ridiculousness of what occurred. "What did he say?" She's dying to know.
"Only that he deserved it."
"He did! I swear, he did!" Portia contends. And did that sound defensive? Because she regrets nothing.
"Oh, we all know he deserved it," Julia assures her. "Gaius acts like an ass a lot. No one likes him and it's easy to see why. It's like he knows he doesn't fit in and he goes out of his way to make you dislike him before you can reject him."
"I dislike him."
"It's weird. The servants love him, but everyone else loathes him. Get this-I overheard Father tell Mother that he had to take him on as an Apprentice. It was an order from someone at the Palace. Supposedly, no senior Lord would take him on even though he graduated first at the Academy."
"First at the Academy?" Portia echoes, deciding, "That fits. His eyes are yellow already."
"Oh, yes. Supposedly, his eyes turned yellow years ago."
How odd. "Really?"
"Really. So, get this—Mother says he grew up in a zoo."
Portia snorts. "I'm not surprised. He has the manners of a bantha."
"No, really—it's true!" Julia chuckles. She dishes, "His father was some colonial biologist type who worked at a private zoo. Gaius lived with him at the zoo. And when he was old enough, he worked at the zoo, too."
"Whatever," Portia shrugs off the bizarre anecdote. She wonders aloud, "Why would the Force want to bestow its gifts on a guy like that?"
"Mother says the Force works in mysterious ways. I guess Gaius proves it," Julia smirks.
Portia wholeheartedly agrees. "He's definitely not the usual thing."
"Because he's a random?"
"No, because he looks so odd. So pale."
"There are plenty of fully human Lords," Julia reminds her. "I'm sure some of them have fair skin." And she's correct, of course. In the thousand generations since the Exile, when the original Jedi castoffs first began intermingling with the pureblood Dark Sith near-humans, the peculiar genetic characteristics of the Sith race have become diluted. Many families—even honored, accomplished families—retain mere hints at the heritage of their Sith forebearers. Maybe it's just dark eyes and black hair. Or the tendency to left handedness. Or a persistent ruddy flush that harkens back to their ancestors' red skin. No one much cares about those physical attributes, to be honest. For the most important inheritance of all is the Force, and that is passed down independent of other characteristics. You can have an impressive midichlorian count without cheek tendrils. You can also appear very Old Sith and have comparatively less Force capacity. For such is the vagary of the genetic lottery of birth. But still, very few of the completely human looking Sith elites appear quite so conspicuously pale and downright brawny as Gaius Veradun. The Apprentice looks like he would be more at home as a farm laborer than as the naval officer he will soon become.
"So . . . what is he like around here?" Portia is curious.
"He doesn't speak to me much. It's Mother's orders. She's very nervous about having some overpowered random living in our home. I mean, we don't know his family. We don't know how he was brought up or how he got those yellow eyes so young. We don't know hardly anything about him. Mother said that if he so much as looks at me, she will Force choke him herself."
Portia laughs, "I think your father might beat her to it."
"Father really does like him. He says Gaius has immense talent and that others are just jealous of him. But he handles it all wrongly being aggressive."
"That could be true," Portia supposes. "Men love to compete over power . . . "
Julia flips on her side on the bed and softly confides, "Honestly, I'm starting to feel sorry for the guy."
"You feel sorry for everyone," Portia points out, thinking of Julia's steadfast pity for her widowed mother. Lady Julia is too softhearted for the tough love culture of the Sith.
"It's just that he seems . . . well, he seems . . . "
"Seems what?"
"Lonely. Like he needs a friend. He's talked our cook into giving him scraps to feed a stray dog that hangs around the garage. He was trying to train it when the chauffeur flew me home from school the other day. I busted him."
"Is your mother going to let him keep a pet?"
"She doesn't know. It's a conspiracy between him and the cook. She likes Gaius because he eats a lot."
"Maybe I should ask my brother about him," Portia muses. She never gets any further on that thought because a scruffy looking small hound now darts into the bedroom. The little thing is covered in mottled dark brown fur and pants heavily, showing a big pink tongue. Its tail wags fast.
"Hey, look who's here. Is this the dog?" She looks to Julia.
"Yep." Her friend leaps down from the bed and kneels to coax the confused dog to her. "Come here, boy," she coos. "Come here, boy. We won't hurt you."
"She's a girl." The voice from the open doorway is male. It's Gaius Veradun, the Apprentice they have been gossiping about, who has apparently been chasing down his contraband pet.
"Oh! Er . . . right." Julia scoops up the little pooch and starts to cuddle her. "She's so cuuuuute."
"What's her name?" Portia asks.
Veradun regards her coldly, which is no surprise. "She doesn't have a name yet."
Julia giggles as the dog licks her face. "She needs a name. Something sweet. Oh! More doggy kisses!" Julia chuckles with undisguised delight.
"Here. Let me take her. She'll get your dress dirty. I was trying to give her a bath when she started a game of chase." The Apprentice crosses the room to claim the dog. Then, he too starts receiving copious licks. Looking on, Portia thinks that giant Gaius Veradun looks ridiculous holding the little mutt like it's a precious baby. But it's easy to see how the stray charmed him. The little dog is positively lapping up the attention.
"Make sure Mother doesn't find her," Julia warns him. "She won't approve of pets. We once had a housemaid who tried to keep a fish and Mother didn't allow it."
"This one's cuter than a fish," Portia points out from her position below on the rug. She gives the rude Apprentice some free advice. "If you really want to keep her, you need Julia to support your cause. Lady Vindican refuses her nothing."
"Portia!" Her friend is embarrassed at this disclosure.
The Apprentice looks to Julia. "Is it true?"
Sheepishly, her friend admits, "Yeah, it is kinda true . . . "
"Then you should be the one name her," Veradun suggests. "That will make her more your dog than mine."
A conspiracy is hatched when Julia nods slowly. "Okay. Let's see. I think I'll name her 'Milady.'"
Portia frowns at this grandiose designation, pointing out, "She's a stray."
"I like it," Veradun announces. "Milady, it is. Such a perfect name for a bitch."
He's staring right at her, eyes twinkling, as he says this.
Portia sputters at his effrontery, "A b—"
"A female dog." The Apprentice's face is the picture of innocence. But Portia is not amused.
She climbs to her feet to indignantly accuse, "Now, you're just mocking us," as she recalls being called spoiled in Azamin's garden.
"I called the dog a bitch, not you, my Lady. But, if the boot fits . . ."
She's about to teach Veradun another lesson on rudeness when Julia ruins her pique by laughing. Disloyally, her best friend for ages chides the Apprentice, "Gaius, don't set her off. Portia's in a mood today."
"Am not!" she huffs.
"Are too!" her friend insists. And well, whatever. The random Apprentice is the blame for everything, Portia's sure of it. She eyes him coolly. "You're a bold one."
"Fortis fortuna adiuvat," he answers back glibly in the Old Sith language Kittat. Fortune favors the bold.
"Is that who you are going to be? Darth Fortuna?" She snickers. "Lord Bold. How obvious."
He shakes his head. "I am going to be Darth Malgus."
"Malgus? Shouldn't that be Darth Malus?" Malus meaning 'bad' in Old Sith.
"Malgus," he corrects her, smirking, "Remember that name. You and everyone else will be saying it a lot."
"Stop it, you two," Julia inserts herself as she approaches the Apprentice to pet the squirming puppy in his arms. She throws a pointed look over her shoulder as she decrees, "No Force-pushes in my room, Portia. Don't wreck my stuff."
"Then tell this peasant to be civil," she sniffs.
"You started it at Azamin's villa with that crack about randoms being from fairytales." Veradun glares at her. He's still mad just like she's still mad.
"I thought you said that you deserved that er . . . rose bush push," Julia injects some levity into the conversation. "And admit it, Gaius, you are something out of a storybook. Being a random is very unusual. Magical, even," she gushes, being the girlish romantic type.
"That's right," Portia chimes in, adding a particularly acid diss. "My brother says historically most randoms are Light."
The Apprentice has a ready rejoinder to being called Jedi. "They say Marka Ragnos' Empress was a random. A colonial princess, too."
"I thought she was an escaped Jedi," Julia posits, "but I'm not sure . . . History's not my best subject. Portia, do you know?"
"Does it matter?" Portia rolls her eyes at her friend. "That was over a thousand years ago. Times were different then. And life is not a fairytale."
"Maybe," Julia allows. Looking a little devious now, she observes, "In fairytales, if you kiss a frog, he turns into a prince. I wonder what happens if you kiss a random . . . "
"I'm never finding out," Portia immediately announces.
The Apprentice is undeterred and he doesn't miss a beat. "He turns into a hero."
"A what?"
"Frogs turn into princes and randoms turn into Sith heroes. Dark princes." The Apprentice stands smirking at her. The upstart commoner has a surfeit of pride that is apparently only overmatched by his ambition. Dark prince, indeed.
Portia can't let that boast go without a response. Lifting her eyebrows, she responds, "So you plan on being a hero?"
"Yes. The Empire needs heroes."
She coolly disdains his too overt enthusiasm. "You seem very vested in the Empire for an annexed colonial random. But I suppose your countrymen infantry troops must feel the same."
The Apprentice bristles. He always takes the bait, she notices. "I'm just as Sith as you are, regardless of my skin color. The Empire is my home every bit as much as yours," he fumes.
Listening Julia now pries the little dog out of the distracted Apprentice's arms. "Enough. Declare a truce while I go talk to Mother. Come, Milady, let's go meet your new mistress."
Portia gasps, "Wait, Julia, you're not going to—"
"I am. I like Milady and I want to keep her." Determined Julia squares her slim shoulders and heads out the door in search of Lady Vindican. "You stay here. I'll handle this."
"Uh oh," Portia sighs under her breath, fully expecting the little dog to be exiled back to the garage.
Julia's departure leaves her alone with the grouchy, provoking Apprentice. They lock eyes for a moment. A very long moment. Then, she looks away.
"Shouldn't you be off with Lord Vindican somewhere?" Portia wonders aloud, hoping he'll take the hint to leave. What is he doing hanging around the house at four in the afternoon anyway?
Apprenticeships are about more than simply Force training. Masters take their students along with them day in, day out as they conduct their business. Tagging along after their elders is how young men learn how to comport themselves as Lords of the Empire. It's a tradition as old as Darkness itself. You pass on what you have learned, and that includes political acumen and soft skills in addition to swords and meditation.
But not for Gaius Veradun, it seems. He grumbles, "My Master is at the Palace."
"So?" Why isn't he there as well instead of chasing after contraband dogs and bothering her?
"I don't get to go to the Palace."
"Oh." That's an unexpected answer.
"It's like how I have to wait outside Azamin's villa while he and my Master plot the war we've been waiting centuries for." Gaius Veradun snarls, "It's not just you, Lady Portia. Everywhere I turn, there is someone excluding me and putting me in my place. They hold me back and I'm supposed to be fine with it."
Clearly, this is a sore subject. Portia senses bitter resentment that runs deep. Discontent leaps out at her through the Force in a flare of hot emotion from the venting Apprentice. It would give her pause, but well, why should she care? She tosses her hair and shrugs. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I don't know. Maybe so you can understand how I felt in Azamin's garden."
"Is this an apology? You were rude because you were upset to be left out? Rank and privilege is how the Empire works," she informs him bluntly. "There is a chain of command for everyone in our society. Only one man gets to be at the top, so get used to it."
"Yes, but the usual rules don't apply to me," Veradun grinds out.
"Because you are a random," she finishes matter-of-fact. This Apprentice is the exception to every rule, she suddenly realizes.
"Yes."
She thinks a moment, letting the predicament sink in. This guy is at home nowhere. He's not an aristocrat like herself but neither is he an average common man. This Apprentice has a foot in both worlds but belongs nowhere. Frankly, she's never heard of anyone being banned from the Palace. It's the locus of power in the Sith authoritarian regime, and that makes it the ultimate exclusion. And it strikes her as strange given Julia's information that her father was made to take on this Apprentice by someone important. Why intercede to give Veradun a perfectly respectable Master for training if you're going to limit his advancement?
Well, maybe she's looking at this all wrongly. Portia thinks out loud. "No one had to train you. No one had to give you any opportunities." They could have left him at his zoo.
The Apprentice thinks otherwise. "They had to train me. I had yellow eyes at thirteen."
Thirteen. Wow. That's crazy. She peers at him now to observe, "They're not yellow currently."
"It comes and goes with my temper. That's how it's always been." He gives her an appraising look and adds, "I'm surprised that your eyes aren't yellow. That was some Force-push you gave me."
"I'm a Metellus," she brags back, tossing her hair and lifting her chin. She's The Right Honorable Lady Portia Metellus, and she bleeds mostly midichlorians. In her veins runs the majesty of the Force itself and the legacy of countless generations of Sith warriors, several Dark Council members, and a few notable priestly mystics.
The Apprentice nods. "It's impressive. You have beauty and power."
Beauty? He thinks she's beautiful? Portia is suddenly flustered. Because she's the smart one. Apollonia is the beautiful sister.
But the Apprentice moves on. He's thinking of himself, not her. "The war will be my big chance. It will upend the conventional career paths. Merit and results will matter more. That will be my opportunity."
"Have you got war fever like everyone else?" she complains. "My brother Cato is so excited for war that he can't stop talking about it. He and his buddies hang around the house almost every night drinking and talking for hours about it."
"There is reason for excitement. The Emperor will choose war," the Apprentice predicts with certainty.
She counters, "Darth Azamin isn't so sure."
"Azamin is too wily to let on if he knew. Everyone knows he's Vitiate's confidante. He's in that role because he knows how to keep a secret." Veradun scowls as he continues, "Others are not so trustworthy. There are a lot of loose lips out there talking about troop mobilization and battle plans already."
"So it really will happen soon . . ." she breathes out. Suddenly, war seems much less an abstract concept to be conducted at some indefinite point in the future. This was, of course, what Darth Azamin told her last week. But finally—maybe belatedly—the point is sinking in. She gulps.
"This will be the biggest thing to occur in generations. It will be my chance." Veradun says this last bit like a vow, with ominous undertones. It smacks of a threat. But it's not against her, it's against all of this aggrieved Apprentice's perceived adversaries. His fists are clenched, she notices.
"Vindican's the best swordsman of his generation. My Master won't be on a ship commanding air strikes. When the war starts, he'll be crossing swords with Jedi. And I'll be at his side taking heads along with him."
That scenario scares her for Julia and Lady Vindican. Portia really, really hopes they do not lose their father and husband like her family did. "At least, it's a year off," she tells herself aloud.
"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," Veradun corrects her. "When the decision is announced, it will happen fast."
"F-Fast?" she echoes, thinking of Apollonia's wedding in the fall. Maybe it will have to be moved up? Her eyes narrow. "How fast?"
"Weeks," he predicts.
"Oh." That's not good news.
An awkward silence now falls between them. The Apprentice half turns away as they wait for Julia to return. Portia studies him. Husky though he is, Veradun has a lean face with a fashion model's cheekbones and pouty downturned lips. It's a strange, almost feminine contradiction to his towering male bulk and severe bald head. Still, as she regards him, Portia can't help but think that the Apprentice is strangely beautiful. She was so taken at first by his physical stature and unusual looks that she failed to perceive it during their original meeting. Whoever his mother is, she must be gorgeous for a commoner, Portia guesses.
His feel in the Force is as distinctive as the rest of him. Gaius Veradun is intense, even by Sith standards. The Force swirls around him now, jumpy and erratic. It's like he walks into the room and the energy shifts. Portia doesn't know what to make of it, but it's impossible not to notice. Something about him makes her adrenaline begin pumping. She wonders if he has this effect on others, if this is what explains his peers' natural dislike of him. For she's never heard of a man with his Academy record that was refused as an Apprentice. Surely, someone would have wanted to take this young man as his mentee.
Portia blushes as her subject turns and she gets caught staring. She needs to say something . . . anything to break the silence. What would her mother say? When Mother wants to, she can be exceedingly charming and smooth over any awkward situation. Lady Oderint has gracious aplomb and noblesse oblige to spare for people like this random. So hoping to follow in that example, Portia gamely ventures, "So . . . you . . . uh . . . like dogs?"
He nods. "I always had at least one dog while I was growing up."
"Oh."
"I grew up around a lot of animals."
Right, she thinks. The zoo.
"Dogs are easy. It's people who are hard. And nature feels good," he adds a little sheepishly.
The casual comment triggers a memory, and she looks up sharply. "That's exactly what Darth Azamin says."
He looks pleased by the reference to such a preeminent Lord, so Portia explains, "He's always in his garden. Every day. I've even seen him there from my window when it rains. He says it soothes his mind. It's like he needs it."
The Apprentice looks solemn as he intones, "Life creates the Force and makes it grow."
Everyone knows that. "Yes, but—"
"Nature puts Darkness in perspective."
"What?" She's not following.
He tries to explain his point another way. "When you go into your garden, what are you seeking?"
She thinks a moment before answering. "Quiet. Calm. Sometimes I just want to be alone and to think." And sometimes, she just needs to get away from her mother's gloom and her sister's self-absorption.
The Apprentice nods. "Precisely. You go for the same reasons Azamin does."
Oh, come on. "He's a Council Lord and I'm just a—"
"Portia," the Apprentice says her name for the very first time. "Whether you know it or not, there is a lot of Dark turmoil in you. I can feel it."
She's taken aback at that personal observation. Is she being insulted? "Are you calling me a moody teenage girl?"
"I'm saying that you are powerful. Probably more powerful than you know."
"Oh." Normally, that's a compliment addressed to men. But she'll take it. "I'm a Metellus," she offers as explanation.
The Apprentice stares at her hard. It's long enough to make her squirm. But he's not looking at her, he's looking into her. "I can feel your anger . . ." he whispers. He sounds both impressed and surprised. He wonders softly, "What does a girl like you have to feel angry about?"
Thankfully, Portia doesn't have to answer that question because Julia reappears with the dog.
"Well? What did she say?" Portia's dying to know.
Julia beams as she reveals, "We're keeping Milady! I'll have a servant take her to the vet tomorrow to get checked over. And maybe the groomer, too." Holding up the furry bundle, Julia coos, "Milady, would you like a haircut?"
"Is she getting bangs?" Portia can't resist needling her friend.
Julia responds by sticking her tongue out at her, like they're both seven years old again.
Not to be outdone, Portia sticks out her tongue right back. She even adds crossing her eyes to the ugly face because she's competitive like that.
The Apprentice is clueless about the inside joke. But for the first time, Portia sees him smile at their silliness. The expression completely transforms his face. And it must be infectious because suddenly she's smiling back at him. Julia is smiling too. Everyone is happy that Milady will now be a part of the family.
"Well done, little sister," Gaius Veradun approves to Julia with sly, conspiratorial glee. He reaches to take back the dog. "Let me give Milady that bath so she won't dirty anything in the house."
"Thank you," Julia responds warmly. Then, the Apprentice exits with the Veradun household's first ever pet. "Bye-bye, Milady," Julia trills after him as the puppy looks back over his gigantic shoulder.
The moment he's safely down the hall, Portia accuses, "You like him!"
Julia doesn't deny it. "Yes. I mean, I guess. I like him. But I don't like him, like him, if that's what you're getting at."
Portia blinks. "Of course, not!" The very idea of a match between a young Lady of good family and that surly colonial random is preposterous. "But really—you like him?" She's perplexed. "Why? He's so provoking. So obnoxious. Too intense."
Julia shrugs off the criticism. "He's not so bad. Mother says he's awkward and uncouth but he'll improve. She thinks his arrogance hides insecurity."
"Obviously! He's a peasant. Naturally, he's insecure around us."
"Don't be such a snob, Portia. Besides, someone thinks he's important. They made Father take Gaius on even after he had already agreed to train the latest Julian kid. Portia, the Palace made Father rescind the outstanding Apprenticeship offer."
That is highly unusual, Portia must admit. She squints her skepticism but asks, "So, you're saying Gaius Veradun really could become a Sith hero after all? He's not just talk?"
Julia giggles and teases. "Why don't you kiss him and find out?"
She groans and fumes, "As if!"
