[OOM] Eiattu - Back Stairway
The city is bustling, buzzing with excitement and happy voices and visitors. The palace is even more busy, stuffed to bursting with distinguished visitors and distant relatives and staff scurrying about. The Great Hall is bright with flags and ribbon streamers and rows upon rows of seats.
You would think it might be difficult to miss a six-foot-tall princess in a wedding dress in all that, but Plourr has managed to escape the maids, the bodyguards, the well-wishers, the soon-to-be mother-in-law. She is sitting in a little-used back stairway. It leads down to a small kitchen that is gathering dust now that the kitchens are staffed by 'droids; it's one of her favorite hiding places.
Of course, she isn't doing a very good job of hiding right now; the wedding dress sees to that. The bride herself has one muscled, bare shoulder pressed against the wall, a single pale yellow flower tucked behind her ear. Plourr had lost on the dress, but won on the no-veil; auburn hair is cropped close to her head, as always. She has been poufed, primped, perfumed, and made up to the nines, and now all there is to do now is wait.
A full, small silver flask dangles from her fingers (with polished fingernails). She waits.
Plourr hates waiting.
You would think it might be difficult to miss a six-foot-tall princess in a wedding dress in all that, but Plourr has managed to escape the maids, the bodyguards, the well-wishers, the soon-to-be mother-in-law. She is sitting in a little-used back stairway. It leads down to a small kitchen that is gathering dust now that the kitchens are staffed by 'droids; it's one of her favorite hiding places.
Of course, she isn't doing a very good job of hiding right now; the wedding dress sees to that. The bride herself has one muscled, bare shoulder pressed against the wall, a single pale yellow flower tucked behind her ear. Plourr had lost on the dress, but won on the no-veil; auburn hair is cropped close to her head, as always. She has been poufed, primped, perfumed, and made up to the nines, and now all there is to do now is wait.
A full, small silver flask dangles from her fingers (with polished fingernails). She waits.
Plourr hates waiting.