"Where is my mother", she mumbles, face half turned toward the man who is now her husband. Her eyes have been trying to locate Lyra since the beginning of the ceremony, to no avail. Only now, sitting down at a much too luxurious table with him, can she ask without interrupting or anyone else hearing.
Orson Krennic had noticed that she was looking for her, of course, but it didn't really matter and Lyra mattered even less. If that was possible. But now that she asks, he sees no reason to abstain.
"Your dear father informed us that your mother is indisposed". He cares much more about his lack of food in front of him. She would have rolled her eyes at the royal we, if not for the mounting panic. He reads it in her eyes.
"Are you going to suspect me of torturing your whole kin for the duration of our marriage, long may it last?", he asks, very clearly mocking. He wears white, as he always does, and she knows that if Lyra had been there she would have been unable to abstain from saying only the bride should wear it. Certainly no other woman. She swallows silently.. She wants to shame him so, very very much.
"Probably" is all she dares. He is impatient for something - dinner? - and a hand, gloved in white, pats down and neatens a solar strand that was never out of shape to begin with. He is perfect. They will have to dance, she thinks, and she can just see it. His dress uniform, his -made up?- medals, his graceful moves, his cape like a trail… He is just perfect, where she so painfully isn't.
No, he is ridiculous. Not perfect.
But she doesn't believe it. Anyone else would be laughing stock, not Orson.
Her gown is visibly expensive, but also simple, though she wouldn't complain of this, if not for the comparison with him. The Director Krennic is the one attracting gazes of all kinds tonight, and always. That garment was easy to put on, though she had needed that prissy droid. It had left soon after curling her hair and adorning her with a lacy veil from some planet which name she forgot after tuning out when the robot started ranting about the price of traditional lace. She looked at herself in the mirror, white on white, a symbol for death, purity or both. Certainly Krennic's white couldn't be purity, as much as his fair hair and complexion claimed. The droid insisted she wouldn't need help getting undressed. She doesn't like remembring it. Easy to put on, easy to take off, she tells herself, and trembles.
"Alright. Alright then. It is fine with me", he says, still distracted. He doesn't notice her nerves. He seems to be spotting an object of attention on the other side of the very large hall, decorated with Imperial symbols. His eyes narrow. "It will be fun". She frowns, she doesn't know if he is still speaking of her suspecting him of mistreating her relatives. Her angst and hatred may well be his idea of a word she has never heard him use before. And they have actually been talking. He visited her several times, regularly though not like clockwork. She never knew if she was going to see a human on a certain day, and it had to please him that she came, almost, to be impatient. He never forced himself on her, actually keeping his word. He wouldn't take a woman who wasn't his. She was now… Her stomach cramps up at the thought, at the memory of signing that fated document - "Write Jyn Krennic", he insisted, malevolent glee in his voice as if he had adopted away his enemy's child. She had complied because it made her feel like she wasn't the one doing this. Jyn Krennic, daughter of Galen Walton and Lyra Erso. Her evil twin.
But there is comfort in the fact that he kept his promise. She also struggled with the fact that he never tried suggesting it again, as if he had lost patience, or interest for the game. For her… If he was waiting for her to throw herself at him, he would remain disappointed. Jyn had been able to keep control of her desires, if only because it was a quick wedding… Jyn grimaces to herself, conscious that she would not have been able to forever refrain.
"Aaaah! There he is!". She startles at the sound of her husband's voice, so enthusiastic and yet, with an edge, as when she signed herself off to him. She follows his gaze and she gasps, standing up.
"Dad!", she exclaims, not caring if she sounds like a little kid. Hopefully it will drive Orson off and he won't touch her.
Galen looks at her first, eyes attracted by her movement. She sees him take the heavy make up in, the dark red lipstick, the much too noticeable black… thing… the droid insisted on using on her eyes. "No, no touching! No!", it had scolded when she started to tamper with it. Then his eyes trail down to her goddamned cleavage and he so clearly disapproves it hurts to see his lip curl. As if she had a choice, a say. He, of all people, should get it...
Krennic stands up too and Jyn is surprised he would show any respect. Of course he doesn't.
"Father…", he greets Galen, who flinches. His tone is low, husky, not at all the voice you use with your genitor. "You look quite handsome tonight". Galen recoils when Orson gets into his personal space, their cheeks almost grazing before he reacts. Jyn only then notices her father's attire, more sophisticated than she has ever seen him wear, even on his own wedding holo. Interesting.
"I chose well", Krennic compliments - himself almost as much as Galen. Typical. Jyn ponders that neither her father nor her had a choice tonight.
"See, Jyn. You were worried. He is fine. Even put on some weight, no?". He goes for a pinch and Galen averts his eyes, red eyed as Orson had predicted. "So, you asked about your mother. She really and truly is unwell. Migraine, right, Galen? You told me. She cries, throws up everywhere. Terrible things, those. It's not a pretty picture, but I have Galen at my table so all is good".
He sits down and orders them to follow suit with his eyes. As they do, father and daughter avoid looking at each other and Jyn just now realizes that her husband hasn't complimented her appearance. Her second thought is grimmer; I chose well could refer to choice of clothing, or a companion. Suddenly the idea of sitting at a family table - there are four chairs, Lyra's will remain visibly unused, and Orson has decided eating with his wife and his lover is fun - is more than she can handle.
"Flunky!", Director Krennic yells, raising up a hand to attract some unfortunate waiter's attention. "Do I need to throw a fit at my own wedding, heh, Galen?". He laughs, a bit sour, and runs that same hand through the older man's hair, caressing at first then pulling hard when Galen tries to escape. Jyn gapes openly in horror, bothered by both and reminded of some of her own gestures with the Director. She averts her eyes when she figures out that he might not even be doing that for show, cheeks burning.
The waiter cannot escape this table. He feels he arrived at the worst moment and ignores everything but the man obviously in charge. He is thankful not get tripped as he serves the delicacies, running back to his life as quick as he can, away from this, committing never to envy the wealthy again.
"Grand Moff…", Galen mutters. His first words. Not congrats, of course not. But not Get me out of here either though his eyes plead for help, any help, even a blaster shot through his broken heart. The young couple searches for Tarkin and indeed, he is staring from afar, disapproval written all across his stark features. Galen hopes he is only thinking that Director Krennic is mistreating his star engineer, but Jyn madly wishes for him to know what kind of man the Empire is nurturing. She sends him a tragic look he totally ignores. She remembers in their world she doesn't exist. He isn't rejoicing, he doesn't care.
"He's a kriffing joke", Orson replies at last, but he reluctantly lets go of the hair.
"I suggest you both enjoy this dish. Alderaan specialty. There may be a shortage soon". He stabs at the orange-yellow thing with his fork. Jyn is perplexed, but Galen's lip is bitten hard. As if he was understanding it quite clearly. As if he was foreseeing the Director actually taking a bite, and redirecting the fork to his mouth.
"Open", he says, in such a simple and natural way Jyn is certain this has already happened. "Open for me, sweetness", he repeats, honeyed words with an edge. It all goes to Jyn's head and to her abdomen, leaving her dizzy and troubled, even - especially - because it isn't directed to her and she can observe Orson flirting.
Galen looks at nothing and complies, to spare himself, and her, more of the same. The worst is that it tastes good.
"You know Jyn", the Director suddenly says. He has appropriated Galen's plate since he has no appetite and probably thinks he can also appropriate his parental role. "You can learn from the way a man treats his underlings". This is true. Her mother always said so. It is shocking that Orson actually thinks he treated that waiter correctly, not to mention Galen. Or Jyn. Or anyone. "I didn't have to let him out". She understands after a few heart beats that he means her father.
"Let him out of what?", she asks. He snorts as if they were joking.
"Don't worry, your mother will be fine. Migraines can be caused by heavy stress and anguish". He says this as if it is her normal state somehow, now that he is in her life, fucking her husband / marrying her daughter. "She will feel better once her darling is sent back there with her". Jyn ignores the sweet venom.
"Back there where? Are my parents in prison? On my wedding day?". She expected something - slightly- better.
"Depends on the night", he says bluntly.
"Stardust we are fine!". Galen's exclamation is tight, tense, pleading for her not to try to bargain with the monster. "We absolutely do not need anything".
"Oh hush dear…". Director Krennic smiles to his lover, and it is deadly. " 'Stardust' knows well that it is a lie".
This whole exchange wrecks her so much she dares to try to catch the Grand Moff's eyes to no avail. She wishes at least she didn't know her husband's nicknames for her father. Though hearing him call Galen father wasn't better, not at all. Orson is drunk, drunk on barely any liquor, just on what is going on. He laughs at his own jokes and good words, smiles to everyone, even nods to Tarkin once during the meal. She married the most handsome and the worst of them all.
For the third time, the Director pours some luxurious drink to Galen, and pressures him into drinking, just with a gaze that turns into a glare if neglected.
"Corellian whisky", he just says, as an explanation for not wasting perhaps. He drinks almost as much, but not enough that he'll fall asleep on the way to her bedroom. He pretends to get the bottle closer to her glass then dramatically pauses. "None for the children", he adds, and bursts out laughing. He changes his mind through the meal though, and decides she should have some wine to celebrate. He uses that word. She refuses just for that, until his gaze makes it very clear she better drink. But her body still protests, her hand clumsily dropping the glass on the table.
"Shit!", she exclaims, surprised at herself. The wine, red and deep, has stained the table cloth, no longer immaculate, but also her skirt - stain growing as if she had been stabbed. She pushes her chair back and Krennic gestures for a waiter again. The same young boy appears, terror in his eyes, and is instructed to salvage the wedding gown. He wishes he could save the bride, as he rubs at the stain with various products.
"These gowns are easy to wash", the Director comments, disregarding the waiter's hard work. "They're made that way. They are bound to be stained red, after all". Jyn feels nauseatingly queasy though his gaze is trained on Galen. "I even have that theory… Red is most visible on white".
"Oh, is that why you chose that color", Jyn dares. Slowly he watches her instead.
"No... But it is a perk". She has never actually seen him bloodied. It may be a lie. She wants it to be. "There used to be this tradition of safekeeping the gown, after. I have seen my mother's, my grandmother's… It was a proof of their… honor. The more the better". The skirt is white again, but Jyn's cheeks are red now. She wishes she had a glass to bury herself into as she fights a need to dry heave.
Suddenly his hand grabs at Galen's hair again - he loves the hair, long and silky - and drags him closer, wanting him to rest his head against his shoulder. This is too much. Galen can take the hatred and the humiliation, not this half fake tenderness, certainly not after the images the younger man imprinted in his mind. He puts up a struggle and oddly, Krennic lets go.
"Maybe you should wrap a pastry for what's her face", he suggests as if nothing had happened. Galen is surprised at the pettiness, though it isn't unfamiliar, and Jyn wonders if Krennic has more modest origins than he would ever want people finding out, if he knows about the concept. She cannot imagine Imperials doing so, and yet the immaculate gloves pick up something half bitten into and expertly roll up the biscuit in a napkin.
"She's used to my leftovers. Stealing what's mine - well, I don't want it, that's the concept of a leftover". He almost yells the last word. His eyes are a storm, terrible and beautiful, and fixate on Galen. "You give it to my mother in law. I'll send someone to make sure you give it to her". He's not really making sense, much too emotional and yes, almost drunk on alcohol now.
"What if I choose to…". Galen speaks up. The wrong thing.
"You chose long ago", he snarks back. "And I told you, long ago. Whatever you do to me I'll do to you tenfold. Whatever you won't give me, I'll take somewhere else". At the time he probably did not mean it to be Jyn. Both Galen and Jyn cling to that.
"I never wanted to hurt you", Galen grimaces. Jyn tells herself she cannot he marrying a man who is in it to get revenge on her mother for stealing his lover and on her father for choosing her mother. This cannot be.
I love him. He betrayed me.
"You kriffed up my life and my project… So here you are, Erso". Before any of them can react, Orson's attentions turn to Jyn and he grabs her, all but drags her to sit onto his lap. She yelps more in fright than pain, feeling unbearably light. Then comes embarrassment because her reaction makes it even more noticeable. Now it is as in her nightmare: all the Imperials are staring right at her, and her veil is thrown back so they can see her red cheeks and her cleavage and the way she is breathing, quite erratic. "Here you are Erso" he tells her this time, lower and seductive. He is probably not going to take her in front of the whole Empire. This is not their way, she knows. Their way is to keep your many deviances behind closed doors. The Director doesn't fully comply, but he cannot flaunt either. His hands run over her arms, her shoulders, staying away from anything too intimate. Even so. Several officers have stood up and are slowly moving closer. They share her husband's idea of fun. She is afraid of what she reads in their eyes, but she knows they will not touch her. Though she cannot read their insignia, she recognizes Krennic has rank on them.
Suddenly they all freeze - even her husband. The Grand Moff himself has stood, and is leisurely making his way toward the so called Family Table. Galen half stands, in respect or horror. Jyn herself attempts to, three times actually, before she gives up as the Director won't let her go.
"Congratulations, Director Krennic", he exclaims for all to hear. There is not one ounce of humanity in his voice. It then lowers. "You are drunk, go home. You are a disgrace, a shame to the Emperor". He encompasses the Director, the bride and the strange, disheveled father in one disgusted glare. He makes to leave, then hesitates. Stops. Turns to Krennic again. "I don't know why I bother, but as a husband it is your privilege and duty to teach her how to behave, since her father obviously didn't". Her eyes widen and tears threaten to run. But no. She has a dry sob and nothing else. No more tears to spare, not even enough blood to flush. Just bone deep exhaustion. Of course this is what they all think, that she fucked or sucked him so good he just had to marry her. That she pursued him. Even rebel scum liking him because he was irresistible. He probably bragged so. She doesn't look toward Galen, certain he is sniffling. Even her husband is at a loss. How can the Grand Moff not see the scene for what it is? Answer, he does, he just doesn't care…
With this, he leaves not only the area, but the room altogether, and though his presence was forbidding, the party never picks up quite the same after.
"I suppose I should dance with my bride", Krennic finally says. His voice is oddly awkward. "Well, Galen, if you'll excuse us…". There's a flicker of something on his face. Shame, she realizes. She didn't think he was able to experience it. She remains on his lap but he doesn't touch her except to help her up. Jyn steels herself into not noticing the silent apologies in his eyes in case she would give in.