05-22-2015, 04:25 PM
The city of Coruscant was marvellous. Its architecture was so impressive. The monarch could not deny that it was as advanced as Tamaran’s capitol, Myand’r. The buildings were allot taller, and as for the streets, they were bursting with constant activity despite the windy weather and dark grey, cloudy sky.
The most significant difference between Coruscant and Myand’r was their transport system. Coruscant contained flying cars. Such a thing did not exist in her home world. Why would they when the Tamaranean race had the ability to fly?
A feeling of mortification consumed Komand’r as she drew closer to the entrance of a skyscraper like building, classy, with a black and brown exterior. She was embarrassed as the only member of her race incapable of flight. Of course, she could help that due to being born with that deficiency, but it was still humiliating knowing she relied on a jet booster as her form of transport, growing up. The only positive aspect as a member of Tamaran’s royal family was that nobody had the courage to tell her she was a ‘joke’ to her face. On the contrary, that would have been better to hear, rather than the snickers and tranquil gossiping at her expense or the finger pointing and amused facial expressions, directed at her.
Growling, Komand’r backhanded the leaflet, which had flown towards her, diverting it towards her right. She did not even have to observe the leaflet to realise the contents printed on it. The ad was the same as the ones on many billboards and on the screens of LCD plasma TVs on display in electronic stores. Dante’s Abyss was returning, and of course, with a new slogan, ‘ARE_YOU_STRONG_ENOUGH_TO_SURVIVE?'
The slogans reflected the event, more tedious year after year after year. Komand’r’s father and brother were big fans of Dante’s Abyss. Myand’r owned every Dante’s Abyss on blu ray. She had only watched one in its entirety, the 1st Annual Dante’s Abyss. She did not like it. Just like professional wrestling, it was fake; the deaths were not real. The queen believed that ‘anything not genuine was meaningless’, therefore, Dante’s Abyss, to her, was meaningless. For that reason, she would never sign up for it, watch it or pay it any interest.
The two stormtroopers escorting Komand’r greeted both of their colleagues, whom guarded the entrance of the five star hotel, Crème De La Crème.
Komand’r was filled with amazement after entering the automatic, double doors. Her delightful grin illustrated how impressed she was by the hotel’s interior. The marble floor was a blend of colours – ontana, sable, prealpi and riccio. The material of the black sofas, armchairs and side chairs was so authentic that the leathery smell lingered into her golden complexioned, nostrils. She liked that kind of aroma, anything fresh, new, and she liked the sight of clean places, and classy and spacious places. Naturally, one would expect that from an individual born into a life of luxury.
The line of the queue towards the reception desk was, approximately, five metres. The type of people waiting in line differed. Other than the obvious differentiation in size and height, were their body structures and skin tones. The only species she identified were humans. Only Omni knew the origins of the aliens and humanoids there since he was the one who brought them from their worlds, into his Omniverse.
Komand’r gazed at the stormtrooper to her right and then to the one by her left. “You don’t expect me to join the queue, do you?”
“How else are you expecting to register for a room?” replied the man to her right.
“Registering is not the issue. The issue is me, Komand’r, Queen of Tamaran, having to…” She squinted her eyes at the people in line, repulsed. “I cannot even utter those words. You,” she glanced at the man on her right once again, and then to the woman on her left. “You want me to wait in line, with these people?! That is absurd. Surely, both of you have not lost your minds?”
The young, female trooper turned towards her, gazing up at the Tamaran who was a couple of inches taller. “Look, your highness, while you are at the top of the hierarchy on your planet, you’re not here.” The female trooper turned towards the queue, which had gained three new people. “If you were, those people wouldn’t be queueing to check-in; they’d be queueing up to get your autograph.”
The reality of the woman’s sentence stung; a type of moment when you had no reply.
Komand’r’s mentor Tyrand’r, entered her mind. So this what you meant by learning how to adapt, she thought.
Tyrand’r sat on the edge of the thirteen year old’s bed as she removed her headphones from her ear. She looked up at him while she lay on her front. In front of her lay a side plate, containing a large slice of red velvet cake. She placed the piece of cake back onto the (one of a kind) side plate. She then flicked a few crumbs off the edge of her bed, onto the ochre, wooden floor. “Have my maid sweep and mop the floor the moment we finish our discussion.”
“That’s partly the reason why I am here.”
“Cinderellais is resigning? But… she was a good servant. She always cleans my room tremendously.”
“No,” laughed her mentor. “Cinderellais has no intention of resigning. At least to my knowledge.” He leaned forward towards her. “I want to talk to you about your lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle? Other than having my birthright ripped away from me the day I was born, I do not see any course for concern. Lord Tyrand’r, please elaborate?”
”Princess Komand’r, you may have been stripped of your birthright, but you still have the blood of King Myand’r coursing through your veins. Regardless of your feelings towards your family, you are still a member of the royal family. You may not be as privileged as your sister Koriand’r, but you are more privileged than anybody outside of your family.”
The teen picked up her piece of cake. “Mmm,” she uttered after taking a bite, closing her eyes while she relished the taste. She then placed the remaining piece of cake back onto her plate. Her actions indicated a lack of concern for their discussion.
Tyrand’r decided to adopt a different approach; speak to her in a language she understood.
“Take the slice of yummy, velvet cake in your hand, for example. You did not buy it. You did not even cut yourself a piece of the cake. It was brought upstairs and served to you by your maid, Cinderellais, who I agree, does a splendid job. The point I am trying to make is that, as a Princess, you have the freedom to do, almost, anything you like.”
Tyrand’r focused on her bedroom room.
“Look at the weather; it’s a nice, hot and sunny, Saturday afternoon. There are kids outside right now, queuing up to buy ice cream. You, however, do not have to wait in line to rbuy ice cream.” Tyrand’r pointed his right, index finger towards her floor. “You have your own ice cream assistant downstairs who makes a living making you any type of ice cream your heart desires.”
Tyrand’r leaned even closer, looking her square in her eyes.
“The question is; what would you do if your circumstances changed?”
The teenage Princess looked lost, unable to summon an answer.
“May the Gods forgive me, but what if something dreadful were to happen to your family?”
“The first thing I would do is thank the Gods,” she replied, and then giggled with delight. On the contrary, her mentor was not amused.
“What if I was unable to protect you? What if something were to happen to the people of Tamaran or if the Psions were to attack us, enslave our people?”
“Wha- I.. I still do not understand-”
“What if you had nobody to protect you?” he interrupted. “Where would you go? Who would you turn to in such a crisis?”
The room went silent for a moment as Komand’r gazed worriedly at him. “I- …” She adjusted her position, sitting up on her warm and comfortable, queen-sized bed. “I…” She cleared her throat. “Is there a right answer?” she asked softly, her throat had become groggy from fear.
“Adapt.”
Her eyes widened, confused. “Adapt? H- I- How would I be able to adapt? I am a youth. I am still learning new…”
Tyrand’r’s look of concern faded. He could sense that she finally understood.
“You want to teach me how to adapt,” she replied in a clear and confident tone.
“Yes.” He leaned back. “It will be the most important thing I ever teach you.” The Hand of the King gently, placed his right hand on her head. “Nothing is for certain. Nothing is guaranteed. May the Gods continue to watch over our race, but even the mighty, Roman Empire fell.” After flicking another crumb from the bed, he continued. “I want to prepare you for a worst case scenario. Princess Komand’r, I want to teach you how to survive.”
Tyrand’r punched her arm playfully. “It won’t be easy. In fact, it will be the most difficult task you ever experience, but this is essential, and therefore, non-negotiable.”
The most significant difference between Coruscant and Myand’r was their transport system. Coruscant contained flying cars. Such a thing did not exist in her home world. Why would they when the Tamaranean race had the ability to fly?
A feeling of mortification consumed Komand’r as she drew closer to the entrance of a skyscraper like building, classy, with a black and brown exterior. She was embarrassed as the only member of her race incapable of flight. Of course, she could help that due to being born with that deficiency, but it was still humiliating knowing she relied on a jet booster as her form of transport, growing up. The only positive aspect as a member of Tamaran’s royal family was that nobody had the courage to tell her she was a ‘joke’ to her face. On the contrary, that would have been better to hear, rather than the snickers and tranquil gossiping at her expense or the finger pointing and amused facial expressions, directed at her.
Growling, Komand’r backhanded the leaflet, which had flown towards her, diverting it towards her right. She did not even have to observe the leaflet to realise the contents printed on it. The ad was the same as the ones on many billboards and on the screens of LCD plasma TVs on display in electronic stores. Dante’s Abyss was returning, and of course, with a new slogan, ‘ARE_YOU_STRONG_ENOUGH_TO_SURVIVE?'
The slogans reflected the event, more tedious year after year after year. Komand’r’s father and brother were big fans of Dante’s Abyss. Myand’r owned every Dante’s Abyss on blu ray. She had only watched one in its entirety, the 1st Annual Dante’s Abyss. She did not like it. Just like professional wrestling, it was fake; the deaths were not real. The queen believed that ‘anything not genuine was meaningless’, therefore, Dante’s Abyss, to her, was meaningless. For that reason, she would never sign up for it, watch it or pay it any interest.
The two stormtroopers escorting Komand’r greeted both of their colleagues, whom guarded the entrance of the five star hotel, Crème De La Crème.
Komand’r was filled with amazement after entering the automatic, double doors. Her delightful grin illustrated how impressed she was by the hotel’s interior. The marble floor was a blend of colours – ontana, sable, prealpi and riccio. The material of the black sofas, armchairs and side chairs was so authentic that the leathery smell lingered into her golden complexioned, nostrils. She liked that kind of aroma, anything fresh, new, and she liked the sight of clean places, and classy and spacious places. Naturally, one would expect that from an individual born into a life of luxury.
The line of the queue towards the reception desk was, approximately, five metres. The type of people waiting in line differed. Other than the obvious differentiation in size and height, were their body structures and skin tones. The only species she identified were humans. Only Omni knew the origins of the aliens and humanoids there since he was the one who brought them from their worlds, into his Omniverse.
Komand’r gazed at the stormtrooper to her right and then to the one by her left. “You don’t expect me to join the queue, do you?”
“How else are you expecting to register for a room?” replied the man to her right.
“Registering is not the issue. The issue is me, Komand’r, Queen of Tamaran, having to…” She squinted her eyes at the people in line, repulsed. “I cannot even utter those words. You,” she glanced at the man on her right once again, and then to the woman on her left. “You want me to wait in line, with these people?! That is absurd. Surely, both of you have not lost your minds?”
The young, female trooper turned towards her, gazing up at the Tamaran who was a couple of inches taller. “Look, your highness, while you are at the top of the hierarchy on your planet, you’re not here.” The female trooper turned towards the queue, which had gained three new people. “If you were, those people wouldn’t be queueing to check-in; they’d be queueing up to get your autograph.”
The reality of the woman’s sentence stung; a type of moment when you had no reply.
Komand’r’s mentor Tyrand’r, entered her mind. So this what you meant by learning how to adapt, she thought.
====
Tyrand’r sat on the edge of the thirteen year old’s bed as she removed her headphones from her ear. She looked up at him while she lay on her front. In front of her lay a side plate, containing a large slice of red velvet cake. She placed the piece of cake back onto the (one of a kind) side plate. She then flicked a few crumbs off the edge of her bed, onto the ochre, wooden floor. “Have my maid sweep and mop the floor the moment we finish our discussion.”
“That’s partly the reason why I am here.”
“Cinderellais is resigning? But… she was a good servant. She always cleans my room tremendously.”
“No,” laughed her mentor. “Cinderellais has no intention of resigning. At least to my knowledge.” He leaned forward towards her. “I want to talk to you about your lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle? Other than having my birthright ripped away from me the day I was born, I do not see any course for concern. Lord Tyrand’r, please elaborate?”
”Princess Komand’r, you may have been stripped of your birthright, but you still have the blood of King Myand’r coursing through your veins. Regardless of your feelings towards your family, you are still a member of the royal family. You may not be as privileged as your sister Koriand’r, but you are more privileged than anybody outside of your family.”
The teen picked up her piece of cake. “Mmm,” she uttered after taking a bite, closing her eyes while she relished the taste. She then placed the remaining piece of cake back onto her plate. Her actions indicated a lack of concern for their discussion.
Tyrand’r decided to adopt a different approach; speak to her in a language she understood.
“Take the slice of yummy, velvet cake in your hand, for example. You did not buy it. You did not even cut yourself a piece of the cake. It was brought upstairs and served to you by your maid, Cinderellais, who I agree, does a splendid job. The point I am trying to make is that, as a Princess, you have the freedom to do, almost, anything you like.”
Tyrand’r focused on her bedroom room.
“Look at the weather; it’s a nice, hot and sunny, Saturday afternoon. There are kids outside right now, queuing up to buy ice cream. You, however, do not have to wait in line to rbuy ice cream.” Tyrand’r pointed his right, index finger towards her floor. “You have your own ice cream assistant downstairs who makes a living making you any type of ice cream your heart desires.”
Tyrand’r leaned even closer, looking her square in her eyes.
“The question is; what would you do if your circumstances changed?”
The teenage Princess looked lost, unable to summon an answer.
“May the Gods forgive me, but what if something dreadful were to happen to your family?”
“The first thing I would do is thank the Gods,” she replied, and then giggled with delight. On the contrary, her mentor was not amused.
“What if I was unable to protect you? What if something were to happen to the people of Tamaran or if the Psions were to attack us, enslave our people?”
“Wha- I.. I still do not understand-”
“What if you had nobody to protect you?” he interrupted. “Where would you go? Who would you turn to in such a crisis?”
The room went silent for a moment as Komand’r gazed worriedly at him. “I- …” She adjusted her position, sitting up on her warm and comfortable, queen-sized bed. “I…” She cleared her throat. “Is there a right answer?” she asked softly, her throat had become groggy from fear.
“Adapt.”
Her eyes widened, confused. “Adapt? H- I- How would I be able to adapt? I am a youth. I am still learning new…”
Tyrand’r’s look of concern faded. He could sense that she finally understood.
“You want to teach me how to adapt,” she replied in a clear and confident tone.
“Yes.” He leaned back. “It will be the most important thing I ever teach you.” The Hand of the King gently, placed his right hand on her head. “Nothing is for certain. Nothing is guaranteed. May the Gods continue to watch over our race, but even the mighty, Roman Empire fell.” After flicking another crumb from the bed, he continued. “I want to prepare you for a worst case scenario. Princess Komand’r, I want to teach you how to survive.”
Tyrand’r punched her arm playfully. “It won’t be easy. In fact, it will be the most difficult task you ever experience, but this is essential, and therefore, non-negotiable.”
![[Image: c1f25896-85f6-41b6-b294-c33e5d5737f8_zpsol2jguot.jpg]](http://i175.photobucket.com/albums/w135/Maximum008/c1f25896-85f6-41b6-b294-c33e5d5737f8_zpsol2jguot.jpg)