The robes she tugged over her head were not much different from her usual Padawan robes, except that the stitching was smaller and neater, and a simplistic design of flowers had been embroidered onto the sleeves and hem. However, the colors were the same - drab browns leggings, pale tunic, beige robes - but they fit her better and made her appear prettier than she actually was. Her curly black hair had been wet down and combed out in an effort to make it stay flat; but as it dried it spiked up in back in a messy cowlick, tempered only by the small Padawan braid hanging down her back. A rustic brass bracelet, an old gift from Clah'Diam for fancy parties, had been slipped onto one wrist. Other than that, she wore no makeup and no jewelry. Her lightsaber was comfortably heavy on her left hip, and she stroked the grooved hilt absently, gripping it in one hand as she examined herself in the mirror. A brisk knock at the door startled her, and she cursed herself for not paying attention. She reached out to the Force and felt a familiar twinge that marked the presence of Qui-Gon. A pleasant heat settled in her belly as she called out to him, a heat that was not unpleasant but foreign all the same. "Come in." she called, not taking her eyes off her reflection. The door hissed open, and Qui-Gon's colossal frame entered, his stormy blue-gray eyes lighting up when he saw her. One eyebrow arched as he took in the easy robes, small designs, and flattering cut of her cream colored tunic. She was anxiously tugging at a brass bracelet that had been hammered many times, grooving the surface in a delicate, intricate fashion. Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I'm ready," she said, snapping his attention away from the hidden realms behind the dip in her collar.
"Good. His Majesty has sent for us," Qui-Gon said, and gestured to the doorway. "You look lovely." he added, taking a long, careful evaluation of her outfit. He had seen Padawans dress in gaudy and attention-getting robes, which only managed to ignite lust in the diplomats, and he had seen Padawans dress in the most boring robes ever sewn. Ana had somehow managed to find a robe that was tasteful and modest, elegant yet simple. She rolled her eyes and tugged at the robes, frowning at her stomach.
"I keep thinking it makes me look fat," she said, and then eyed him. He was the one who looked absolutely stunning. Whoever had picked out his robes knew him very well, because the plain black robes suited him perfectly. His huge, powerful body was accentuated here and there, the fabric cupping his rangy frame now and then. He shook his head, the corner of his beard twitching as he smiled at his Padawan. Without saying a word, the two of them entered the formal hall of King Bu-Taan, the leading Emperor of Iridonia.
Ana could not restrain a gasp as they entered the formal dining hall. An oaken table stretched to the opposite wall, sagging mightily under the weight of the elaborate dishes. A hundred places had been set, and at the far end was a pile of plush pillows, where the king was lounging once more, his ice tiger once again chained to his side. Each plate had a name card on it, and it took a moment for Ana to realize that the place cards were wafer-thin marble chips, painted beautifully in golden calligraphy, spelling out the names of the attending guests. The glasses were already half-full of some brilliant, sparkling liquid that danced in the bright glow of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were carved intricately with symbols and beads, and the crimson cushions had been embroidered painstakingly with silver thread. A roaring fire blazed in a large fireplace, and logs easily the breadth of Ana's leg were crumbling to embers already. The white-and-blue ice tiger yawned and stretched lazily as the two Jedis approached, his silvery eyes awake and alert as he panted. Bu-Taan did not get up as they approached, and accepted their bows with a regal nod. A smile curved his lips as he looked at Ana, his black eyes glowing with the light of the fire and some deeper, inner glow that beamed approval. "La'Ana," he drawled once more, waving easily at the chair to his left. "Sit, please." Despite the last word, the phrase still had a bite of a command to it. Ana supposed he didn't even know he was taking this tone, seeing as he had been a ruler all his life. She allowed Qui-Gon to pull out her chair for her, and then took her seat, giving Bu-Taan her full attention. The king seemed interested in this little exchange between the master and his apprentice, and leaned forward slightly, his velvet chocolate skin rippling over smooth muscles. "How was your bath, La'Ana?" he purred, his suggestive tone indicating that he wanted to know intimate details of exactly what she did in the bath.
Qui-Gon felt an uncomfortable burn in his stomach when he heard Bu-Taan's tone. More infuriating was the equally sweet voice in which Ana answered him, one eyebrow raising demurely as she shifted her weight towards the king, crossing her legs unconsciously. Her green eyes were half closed and she offered him a slow, sugary smile. "It was … magical, Your Majesty," she said, her dulcet tones dipping and layering the perfectly innocent words until they sounded positively seductive. "I have never had a similar experience." King Bu-Taan seemed delighted with her response, and he reached forward and took his glass carefully.
"I am pleased that you liked it, La'Ana," he said. "And now, taste this and tell me if it is worth anything." He lifted his chalice - studded heavily with glimmering sapphires that winked brightly in the firelight - to her lips, and she sipped from it. Qui-Gon felt his hands snap to fists underneath the table as their eyes locked, and two smiles spread across their faces. Little minx! He felt crescent moons of pain digging into his calloused palms, and he forced himself to relax. Ana's eyes opened wide as she swallowed the fiery golden liquid, the taste blooming in her mouth as she dismantled the complex flavors of ripe peach, stinging alcohol, and ending in a crescendo of vibrating bubbles that sang in her mouth. At her expression, Bu-Taan's smile widened. "It is my special wine, only used for occasions such as this. Do you like it?"
"Like it? I love it, Your Majesty," Ana whispered, allowing one corner of her hand to skim his as he set the goblet back down on the table. Qui-Gon would have said something, had not the gigantic doors opened and guests began filing in. He bit his tongue as he watched Bu-Taan and Ana finished their silent flirting, the long, lingering glance ending as they both turned to face the horde of people who were coming gracefully through the doors.
As the guests arrived, it became abundantly clear that both Jedis were the plainest dressed. Dresses dripping with golden chains were hanging on statuesque women with hair piled on their heads, hanging on the arms of handsome men. Most of the men were shirtless and barefoot, preferring to leave the dresses to the women, but they had enough jewelry on them to account for a tenth of the galaxy's wealth. One at a time they took their seats, the women arranging their long legs and ruffled skirts, the men eyeing the other women and puffing out chests as they stacked their trophy dates against the other ones here. One of the women, a pale girl with thick curly red hair that was piled attractively on her head except for a few curls which tumbled into her light blue eyes, winked at Qui-Gon and raised her glass in a salute. Ana felt a similar clench in her stomach when she saw it, and fought to control her rampaging emotions that were crashing through her veins. Taking a breath, she released her anger into the Force and turned her attention instead to Bu-Taan, who had tapped his spoon against his chalice and was preparing to make a sort of speech. The hall instantly fell silent and the beautiful men and women turned silently to face their ruler. "Friends and family," Bu-Taan began. "Before we being our excellent feast, I must present to you our visiting guests. Senator, please rise." Senator Bulgrasse, looking rather foppish in a velvet smoking jacket that had buttons straining to pop over his wide belly, jerked his head once and sat back down. Bu-Taan raised one eyebrow in a disdainful expression. "The good Senator has come to our planet to explain the treaty to us. And his most excellent and valuable guards have also partaken of our hospitality. We have the honor of housing two of the Jedi order in our halls, my friends."
There were a few appreciative gasps as the guests silently took in the two Jedis once more. Bu-Taan clapped his hands twice, hushing them aggressively. "And now, friends, let us cease in our chatter and begin our feast!" As soon as he finished speaking, five doors opened and waiters poured out bearing trays of steaming food. Ana felt her napkin being tucked around her neck by a young waiter, her goblet being filled by another, and yet another waiter dishing a square of some delicious looking meat onto her plate. She was bewildered by the questions from the servants that suddenly exploded upon her ears, and settled for agreeing to anything. She lifted a forkful of food to her mouth and taste exploded, sending her reeling. The meat was rich, buttery smooth, and dripping juicily onto her place. She dimly heard a question from the king and she waved and nodded, yes, yes, anything, anything, but she wanted to keep these tastes in her mouth.
She could never remember exactly what she ate that night, nor exactly what she talked about. The entire evening passed in a blur, colors and sights and emotions swirling together. Flashes of conversation appeared to her at random moments even years later; she remembered the taste of something creamy and icily cold, sweet and tangy all at once; she remembered a very long conversation with Bu-Taan about trading laws, and above all she remembered the barely concealed murder in Qui-Gon's eyes every time Bu-Taan and Ana touched. Ana felt the redhead eyeing Qui-Gon, and the jealousy flared within her once more. Every time the young woman tried to get Qui-Gon's attention, Ana would quickly turn to Bu-Taan and ask him a question, careful to maintain a respectful demeanor but hinting at seduction. Bu-Taan was enjoying it immensely, and before too long it was feeding her bits of ripe fruit from his fingers. Each time her pretty rosebud mouth closed around Bu-Taan's long, dark, elegant fingers, Qui-Gon felt himself die a little more.
When the guests rose, groaning from the fullness of their stomachs, thanking Bu-Taan, and left, Senator Bulgrasse pulled out his pipe. He had kept rudely quiet, answering only pointed questions, and was now smoking like a chimney. Ana had migrated to a cushion next to Bu-Taan, and Qui-Gon was rapidly disappearing behind a chilly mask that had clamped on his face like a vice. A haze of blue smoke, smelling sharply of vanilla and nutmeg, wafted to them from the Senator's pipe. Bulgrasse grunted and folded his arms, glancing at Bu-Taan. "Nice liddle shin-dig," he said, reluctantly bestowing his approval. Bu-Taan felt a little prick of annoyance at Bulgrasse's lack of respect, but his fingers were twining themselves in Ana's hair and he couldn't stay displeased at anyone when he was in such a good mood. Instead, he ran one finger down Ana's shoulder and smiled at Bulgrasse.
"We are well known for our festivities, Senator," he purred. The ice tiger next to him growled his approval, shifting its considerable bulk. It was hard to tell who looked angrier; Qui-Gon, looking at the salacious flirting between Bu-Taan and Ana, or the muscular ice tiger, faced with platters of delicious meat just out of his reach. Ana was pleasantly numb from the frequent sips of wine from Bu-Taan's chalice, and from the attention she was receiving from the king. It was heady and spicy and delicious, and the fact that Qui-Gon was so angry only made her more pleased. She was quite sure why, however. She heard Bu-Taan speaking, and she snapped herself back to the conversation. "And now, to business," Bu-Taan was saying. "May I see the treaty?"
Senator Bulgrasse tugged out a thick wad of papers from inside his vest pocket, flattening them on the table before passing them to the king. The dark-skinned ruler gave the creased papers a cursory glance, and them tossed them dismissively on the table. "What of it?" he asked. "I see nothing but … what you call? Mumbo jumbo. Why then have you come to our planet?"
"Because you still use slaves," Bulgrasse said brusquely. "And in that there treaty, iffin yeh bothered to read it, it says that there can't be a slave trade. Now, frankly, the Senate knows about ya'll's trade systems, and we don't think it'll be too much of a problem to change it a bit."
Ana felt Bu-Taan tense, and his hand buried itself in the thick shaggy coat of the ice tiger. "You use a very insolent tone, Senator," Bu-Taan sneered. "And you are very lucky that I find your other friends more hospitable, otherwise I would not tolerate this insolence." Ana looked up, blinked once, and stroked his wrist. He looked down at her and relaxed slightly, taking in her displeasure over his outburst.
"Forgive him, Your Majesty," Qui-Gon said, interrupting the tense moment. "The good Senator knows little of your customs. We have examined the numbers and seen that your economic structure will not undergo too much strain if you forfeit your slave trade. It is for the betterment of the galaxy, Your Highness."
Bu-Taan waved one hand. "We will talk tomorrow in my gardens," he commanded imperiously. "Show them to their rooms. And Bulgrasse…" he added, impaling the pudgy senator with his black eyes, "do not venture out of the grounds. My ice tiger, Efa, is released on the grounds at night to keep away any unsavory characters. It would be a tragic loss if you met him." His dark glare contradicted his sympathetic words, and instead folded his arms and watched the senator depart.
Ana got up, and Bu-Taan caught her hand, his mood changing from anger to delight like bending light. "La'Ana, would you do me the extreme pleasure of joining me for lunch tomorrow?" he asked, his accent swelling and dipping over his words. Then his eyes flicked upwards. "You are also invited, Jedi," he said. Qui-Gon nodded, bowed, and gestured impatiently to Ana to come along. Reluctantly it seemed, Ana got up and followed him out of the hall, sparing one last glance at the handsome king.
When they were safely out of earshot of Bu-Taan and his consorts, Qui-Gon whirled around and faced Ana, his brow furrowed in anger. "Ana! By the Force, what was that?" he asked, controlling his temper by the meanest strain of his self control. Ana looked surprised, and threaded her fingers through her hair, mussing it slightly and giving her a rumpled look. It was a movement she did often when she was stressed or uncomfortable, or under inquisition by her Master.
"What was what?" she asked innocently, keeping her eyes downcast. "Bu-Taan makes wonderful conversation. It is something you would know nothing about." Her forest green eyes were becoming darker and darker, but she kept her simmering rage in check.
"That was not conversation, Ana!" Qui-Gon said, allowing a particle of his heated anger to creep into his icy tones. "You acted in a manner unbefitting a Padawan. Do not, under any circumstances, lead on Bu-Taan like you did tonight. Royalty are fickle, and the last thing we need is for you to form an attachment to a foreign dictator."
"Form an attachment?" Ana asked in disbelief. "You think I actually harbor feelings for him? Qui-Gon, I do not easily form attachments. The Code forbids it, as you very well know."
"The Code did not stop you from forming an attachment to Wathearu," Qui-Gon said ruthlessly. "And you can see where that got him." There was an awful, thick silence that matched the woodenness in Ana's eyes. When she brought her green eyes up to meet his smoky blue ones, they were hard and brittle as ice.
"This is nothing like Wathearu," she spat, her voice sounding remarkably akin to a cornered tabby. "And I will thank you to keep your nose out of my business! What is so terrible about receiving a few compliments? Force knows I get little from you!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and yet Qui-Gon seemed not to notice.
"Stay out of his way," he growled, sounding bitterly angry. "And do not meet him by yourself. That is an order, Padawan." He heard Ana release a guttural snarl as she recoiled from him when he used that word.
"I am not your Padawan, Qui-Gon!" she snapped. "Masters understand their Padawans! You have no concept of me! Get away from me!" She fled, leaving behind a dry sob echoing around the cavernous hall.
A/N: *Waves hand* You WILL review, and you WILL give me some concrit to keep me on track. Too much anger? Too little? More arguments? Dramatic confession? Date with Bu-Taan? Jealous Qui-Gon? (That's always fun to write). REVIEW!