I'm tripping on words
You've got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here
How the heck he's supposed to make any sense when he talks to her when his tongue keeps tripping over itself, he'll never know.
There isn't going to be a formal celebration on Onderon for a while - there's just the little matter of cleaning up after an explosive civil war to take care of first - but the queen insisted on holding a thank-you dinner for the crew. Despite the fact that "the crew" includes everyone (including Mandalore, Mical and the witch), and that he and suits don't generally get along, he's looking forward to a chance to get off the ship and eat something good. Then, of course, she came and joined him in the main hold and sent his trains of thought spinning in circles.
"How does this look?" she asks, turning around slowly for him to look, peering over her shoulder to look at her back. For the first time since he's met her, she's wearing a dress - pale blue, white trim, buttons down the bodice, and a skirt that flares when she twirls. Her hair is braided up intricately with white ribbons (he has no idea where she found ribbon) and she's wearing polished black boots that highlight how tiny her feet are.
He knows what she's asking, of course; intellectually. Yet somehow his mind is having trouble working out the right response. She looks devastatingly beautiful, every inch of her. Her hair almost seems to glow in the light, the dress shows off her figure beautifully, and her eyes are shining.
He scratches his head as he tries not to stare (no success). "Well, uh ... "
"Is something wrong?" She stops and turns to look at him, concerned.
Oh, h***, she's gotten the wrong idea completely! "No! No, uh, it looks ... fine."
If he didn't know her well, he might miss the disappointment in her eyes. She drops her gaze quickly and tugs the skirt, adjusting it minutely. "Oh, good," she says, trying to keep her voice upbeat. "I haven't had a lot of opportunities to dress up, and I was afraid I would put it on wrong, or pick something completely the wrong color. And I couldn't really ask for help from Visas, of course, and Mira's tastes aren't really that close to mine ... "
He almost feels angry. What does she want him to say? "No, it looks great, princess. You look fantastic."
"Thank you," she says, smiling up at him. Looking at her, he can tell he hasn't completely done away the bad impression given by his first lukewarm comment. He feels his frustration ebb; she didn't ask him because she was trying to make him stumble all over himself in reply, she asked because she values his opinion.
And she asked him for his opinion. Him; not Mical.
She surveys him in a sweep from head to toe. "Wow. I almost don't recognize you, Atton; you look so ... " She ducks her head as she blushes a little. "Refined."
Instinctively he glances down at himself. No one has ever described him as "refined" before. Ever. But he smirks. "'Course I do. 'Refined' is practically my middle name - right after 'dashing', and 'manly', and 'heroic', and 'charming', and - "
"Uh-huh, sure." She smiles, more widely this time. The way it lights up her face - his heart nearly stops at the sight of her.
She glances over her shoulder in the direction of the girls' dormitory. "I should probably see if Visas needs any help - "
"Hey, princess - " She turns back to look at him, and he swallows hard on a suddenly dry throat. "You look ... beautiful. Beyond beautiful, you - you look perfect. Really."
The smile she gives him then stays with him for a long time; all night, until he falls asleep.