Laeo had never liked Chandrila.
He didn’t know why exactly. Growing up in the cramped, dark and disgusting tenements of lower Cormond had given Laeo a taste for luxury and beauty that hadn’t waned after years of traveling offworld. By any metric, Chandrila was everything the man could’ve wanted in an ideal home. The cities were open, the skies were clear, poverty was virtually nonexistent, and what few citizens weren’t fortunate enough to take care of themselves were provided for.
What little beauty could be found in most Brentaalan cities were monuments to vanity or faith; massive statues dedicated to the ancestors of some local lord, or a massive golden domed temple consecrated to any number of Gods or local ancestors. Chandrilan public spaces were filled with elements of the natural environment, or arts open and available to the public. Compared to the crushing hives of humanity that were Brentaalan cities, Chandrila seemed utopic by comparison.
And yet, he didn’t like it.
The… openness and friendliness of the people felt wrong, like someone was trying to get one over on him or were patronizing him. The way everything was buildings and rooms were open and accessible instead of closed off and private made him feel uncomfortable. He felt like he was going mad from the lack of speeder noise or ads or blaster fire going off in the background. All of it just felt off.
He couldn’t understand why, of all worlds, Tristodd had taken his mother here. Surely the noble would’ve preferred if the source of a catastrophic political scandal were as far from the homeworld as possible, but the Brentioch had decided to put his mother on Brentaal’s happy go lucky twin.
He’d have an opportunity to ask him what was going on when the younger man showed up. Laeonas was hunched over in his seat as he looked at his datapad, sipping on a cup of caff while reading about the latest atrocity the dark lord had inflicted. Something about the royal family of Onderon being eaten or whatever. Ordinarily he would’ve felt some pang of righteous fury, but as far as monarchs were concerned, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
That was how the aristocrat would find him, sitting in the shade of an umbrella at a table outside a caff shop on what had to have been the sunniest day in Chandrilan history. The man almost looked as pale as when he’d been on the operating table well over a year ago. The heavy eyeshadow he wore didn’t make that any less obvious either. He certainly looked… healthier though. Despite his gloomy appearance, the force radiated off him in waves, energy practically bursting from him as he sat back, noticeable even to ordinary passerby. He’d grown back into his physique and then some, the shirt he wore being a size wider than his usual fit.
He wasn’t from here. He didn’t want to be here, but family always took precedence over personal wants.
@LouJoVi