Work Text:
Every morning begins the same.
Tea brews in a blue stoneware kettle and slowly fills the kitchenette with scents of jasmine and bergamot. A pot of plomeek soup heats up on the stovetop. Fingers tap quietly on a PADD, the noise filling the room as a tired mind tries to pick apart and sort the day’s obligations.
Faal stops and rubs at her eyes, expecting that the gesture will trigger some mechanism in her brain that will arouse it from sleep and lift the drowsiness from her mind. Instead the rubbing causes stars to fill her vision and she squints to refocus, settling on the vibrant blue of the kettle. It had been a gift from her parents on their second trip to Andor. The ceramic glaze reflects the brilliance of the planet, an observation they had expressed with open interest. Faal could appreciate the aesthetic nature of the vessel but did not share in her parents’ private enthusiasm, mainly pleased she now had something more practical to boil water in aside from her plomeek stockpot.
The sound of steam pushes a pleasant chord out of the kettle spout and rouses her mind into focus. The kettle’s song is an attractive showcasing of the artisan’s superior talent - another fervid observation made by her parents. Faal rises to pour out a cup and check on her soup.
She sits and sips at her tea, thinking of the last time she visited Andor. The last time she had gone anywhere, really. School was proving to be both enriching and restraining. Her strict routine ensures a concise and direct pathway to success, but it also proves to be rather devastatingly banal.
Draining the last sips of tea, she rises to server herself a cup of hot plomeek soup. She eats, then washes her empty dishware before placing the nearly full stockpot in the kitchen cooler. The kettle sits quietly on the stovetop, the memory of its simple song playing in Faal's ears as she leaves her kitchenette to continue with her day.