My Power Will Grow Like Grapes On The Vine~
Nemain Tarkin – Spira –9Spira was an interesting planet.
It had plenty of activities to keep even the most hedonistic and corrupt senator entertained, and Nemain had started to realize it even at the precious age of nine, though to be fair, she noticed quite a lot of this even younger in the crystal shavings on ice cream that was stupidly decadent and absolutely tasteless.
Someone bought it for her, trying to impress her father. They forgot her father was Best Friends with the Tagge family. He didn’t need money. He didn’t need anyone showing off wealth. Was he going to stop people spending money on him? Of course not. Especially not a crime lord.
Sadly, it was not the crime lords they were there to see, but, according to Taranis Tarkin, “the idiots playing Imperial” from Wild Space, which sounded like a much more interesting place to visit, but no, they had to meet on neutral ground, rather than Wild Space. And neutral ground meant Spira, because that’s where Imperials and “fake Imperials” went, as well as criminals, rebels, and anyone else.
Sadly, Nemain wasn’t allowed to roam around, either. She would have gone to the aquarium that was literally underwater. “You have to go play with the fake Imperials.”
“Dancing isn’t playing.” Nemain countered.
“It can be, if you learn to dance well,” her father winked, something she wouldn’t understand until later in life – then dancing became very interesting, but right now, it sounded boring. “Trust me.”
“Fiiine,” she was walking alongside her younger brother, and younger sister, Aeron and Beatrix, who looked no more enthused, as well as her cousins – the elder Abelard and the one that was her age, Johann. “But I want to go to the aquarium after."
“Of course,” he always gave in easily, and the door to the dancing room slid open, revealing they were the first there – besides the instructor, who greeted her father warmly enough, and let the arrivals roam the area. Although it was technically dancing class, there was a meet-and-greet aspect to it, which always meant food.
Which meant Nemain went right to the food area to try and find the sweets, of which there were plenty.
“Want!” Beatrix, only four, made grabby hands at the table that was too high up for her.
“Fruits! Fruits! Pleese?”
Nemain plucked fruit and gave it to her sister, as familiar faces piled in – including her partner in crime, Jensen Motti. She rushed up behind him almost immediately and almost tackled him to the ground as her arms wrapped around his shoulders – and then his neck. “ACK!” and down he fell, with her laughing, even if his fall was backwards, and she was still hanging on – and so fell as well.
Right on cue with the arrival of the Fake Imperials. The dancing instructor went to greet the adults – some dark woman with a streak of gray in her hair, and a blustering red-head.
The Elder Motti could only sigh in disgust (at the Order? At his brother and Nemain?) before going to join Nemain’s more judgmental cousin in the corner.
Nemain ignored him, looking immediately at the new arrivals as Jensen got himself back together and tried to quickly straighten out his suit. She didn’t bother getting up, but stayed laying down, eying them all rather more like a predator than any child had a right to look – but then again, nexu cubs were predators. One never got rid of that in a Tarkin.
“Hey, get up,” Jensen hissed at her, nudging her with his foot. She probably should have, laying out like that wasn't what good Imperials did for their image, but Nemain didn't care. It wasn't as if the blue dress wasn't spotless, without wrinkles. She hated it already. It needed mussed. At least it was short enough to show bruises and scratches on arms and legs -- well earned!
Still, she did sit up.
Standing was for suckers.