Sola glanced up at Thrawn and smiled shyly, pink coming to her cheeks, the barest outline of her Astarraxi swirls forming on her face as the heat in it rose. He liked it when she smiled like that, it was unassuming and genuine. Like her laughter, it hit him somewhere in his torso where he couldn't quite identify.

They played their game for the rest of the exhibits, with Thrawn giving his assessment of each until about the fifth one, where he would prompt Sola to try. She was surprisingly good at it and began to see the patterns in identifying certain traits of the artists as Thrawn explained each piece.

He listened as she explained her piece, giving her leading questions when she came to a stopping point. Is this part of her Force sensitivity, being 'good at reading people', he wondered, or is she naturally picking it up? Is there, essentially, a difference?

"You do this with our enemies and find their weaknesses?" she asked.

So she'd heard. "I do," he said.

"That's amazing!" She laughed, and again, he was hit in the torso somewhere around his gut, but not quite. It was deeper than that, inside of him, between his gut and his spine. He'd been told that before, albeit not with such excitement. Why did it strike him so when she said it?

They came to the start of the exhibit after the group had made their way to the end. Some were milling out, the door being held open by the same doorman who had previously been outside letting people in. The Stoviks were mingling with others and did pay attention to their return, but others cast the Thrawn and Sola sideways glances, and again he heard the words 'grand admiral' and 'princess' whispered in the crowd.

Making their way to the exit, the doorman stood to the side, but did not open the door. Thrawn, used to the behavior, reached out to cause the door to slide open, but Sola put her hand on his arm.

"Open the door," she told the doorman.

He simply stared at her as if she hadn't said anything.

Thrawn stamped down the growing anger in his chest.

"Open the door," Sola repeated.

"You're free to exit whenever you wish," the doorman said.

Sola took a tiny step toward him, and as she did the air around them seemed to change. It became charged with growing energy that seemed to dampen his hearing slightly. His body tensed, ready to fight, almost of its own accord. Sola's cheeks began to redden, the swirls on her neck and face becoming clearly visible. They twirled down her shoulders to disappear into the collar of her dress.

Smiling, Sola said very quietly, "You don't seem to understand. I'm very close to making a scene, and I guarantee that it will not embarrass us, it will make you look like the xenophobic buffoon that you are. So unless you want to be publicly shamed on the job, I would advise that you open the door for us."

The doorman stared her down, but didn't move.

Sola opened her mouth, took a deep breath and—

The doorman pressed the button to cause the door to slide open. "Have a good day, madam," he said rather loudly. "I hope the two of you enjoyed the exhibit."

"We did," Thrawn told him, putting his hand on Sola's back without thinking and urging her out the door. She went willingly without saying a word.

Once they were outside and alone, she said, "I'm sorry." The power that seemed to be building in the art hall dissipated as soon as she said, like the deflating of a balloon.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," he told her. "You were doing what you thought was right."

"I hate it when that happens." Her voice trembled slightly. "You shouldn't have to deal with that."

"Neither should you."

"I'm used to it."

"So am I."

They walked the rest of the way to the cardock in silence. They were still alone when they arrived, the other exhibition goers not yet having come out to get their vehicles. She dug in her pocket. He heard the click as she pressed the beck and call button on her car fob and turned to look at him.

"Thank you for coming with me," she said. "It would have been very boring without you." Her voice was soft, that almost sing-songy tone that she had when she was happy or pleased.

"You would have found someone else to go with you," he answered truthfully.

"But they wouldn't have been anywhere near as much fun," she answered. "Or as insightful."

"I am glad you enjoyed it," Thrawn said. "When you come to the Chimaera for tea, you will have to bring some of your art. We never got a chance to talk about your poetry."

He saw the heat rise in her face, the swirls on her cheeks just beginning to show. "I will," she said quietly.

A covered aircar drove up, driven by a chauffeur droid. Thrawn would have thought that Sola would have a person driving. Then he remembered her mentioning, while on Ryloth, that Teo Tristane did not like people touching his things. Thrawn wondered if Teo simply did not like people.

"I have to go," she said, as she motioned to the car. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips lingered there. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, his attention on the feeling, warm and firm against his skin. Then she drew back, looked him in the eye, and smiled shyly.

He held her eyes for a long moment, his breath quickening against his will. He ripped them way, reaching around her to open the door to the aircar. Without looking at him again, she slid into the seat. He closed the door and saw Sola's mouth move as she spoke to the chauffeur droid. As the aircar began to speed away, Thrawn felt like something was being ripped from him, like a cord connected to his torso was being pulled taut until it snapped. He watched the car until it was out of sight, then turned to go.

When he got back to the Chimaera, he would have to look up some of her recorded poetry readings, if there were any. He could study her art, the way she spoke it, her movements as she recited. He needed to be familiar with her work, after all.