Laira Darkhold
Well-Known Member
"I know that, I am an artist in some ways." Both with hammer and forge as well as with a blade in his hands, Draco could be called an artist by some. His creations from his forge that now sat cold in the mountains of Alderaan were not normally things of beauty in appearance, they were never ornate or worthy of the halls of any museum. They were made to function, beautiful in their nature rather than their form. The few exceptions were the rings Faith wore on her left hand which were pleasant to the eye, more so because she wore them than the metal bands themselves. "No man would question my appreciation of art," The warrior grinned, sticking his chin out at the Queen of Alderaan, "Not since I am always seen with a work of art like you." Corny, certainly. But that was the intention behind the words anyway.
Draco took his Queen's hand, wrapping it in his own and drawing himself up to his full height with proper posture. They were cute as a couple in Draco's mind. A well dressed Queen who balanced responsibilities of rulership and diplomacy paired with what used to be a barbarian warlord who now was more often seen in a suit or formal wear than in armor adorned with furs and bones. Not that he didn't still have the armor in a travel case, just that it had been a long time since someone had seen him wearing it. Battle and wars were for younger men, eager to find their place in a troubled galaxy, and for Draco that time was done. He could no longer bring himself to lead his people to die in someone else's war. He'd seen enough death and thanked enough families for their loved ones' service and loyalty.
Instead, the Mandalorian distracted himself now with his duties as a Prince Consort, mostly the consort part of those duties. He didn't like royal galas or dinners, he didn't enjoy ruling Alderaan like he did his enclave, and he did not desire to be a political figure. He desired only to be a good husband to the woman he loved, the woman who had given him a third or fourth chance to make something of his life. The guards opened the doors and stood at the ready outside for the Royal couple.
His senses filled with a dozen sensations, but for the time being he stayed focused. Focused on his mischief that was nearly at hand. "Hostess," He said to the closest passing Zeltron whether they worked at the club or not, "Could you let Miss Perl know we have arrived and that I need a drink. Whiskey sour, water back. See about some waters and a bottle of red if you could."
[member="Faith Organa"] [member="Joza Perl"]
Draco took his Queen's hand, wrapping it in his own and drawing himself up to his full height with proper posture. They were cute as a couple in Draco's mind. A well dressed Queen who balanced responsibilities of rulership and diplomacy paired with what used to be a barbarian warlord who now was more often seen in a suit or formal wear than in armor adorned with furs and bones. Not that he didn't still have the armor in a travel case, just that it had been a long time since someone had seen him wearing it. Battle and wars were for younger men, eager to find their place in a troubled galaxy, and for Draco that time was done. He could no longer bring himself to lead his people to die in someone else's war. He'd seen enough death and thanked enough families for their loved ones' service and loyalty.
Instead, the Mandalorian distracted himself now with his duties as a Prince Consort, mostly the consort part of those duties. He didn't like royal galas or dinners, he didn't enjoy ruling Alderaan like he did his enclave, and he did not desire to be a political figure. He desired only to be a good husband to the woman he loved, the woman who had given him a third or fourth chance to make something of his life. The guards opened the doors and stood at the ready outside for the Royal couple.
His senses filled with a dozen sensations, but for the time being he stayed focused. Focused on his mischief that was nearly at hand. "Hostess," He said to the closest passing Zeltron whether they worked at the club or not, "Could you let Miss Perl know we have arrived and that I need a drink. Whiskey sour, water back. See about some waters and a bottle of red if you could."
[member="Faith Organa"] [member="Joza Perl"]
