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The party was, by all standards, a glittering success; anyone who was anyone, the entirety of Coruscant’s high society, was there to mingle and be seen. People twirled and danced in ornate robes and shining gowns, the light from a thousand simulated candles glinting off clusters of precious stones and shaped metals adorning ears and necks, shoulders and bare arms. The music was soft and elegant, but when combined with the din of so many voices speaking and laughing in small clusters the sound became a dull cacophony that rolled over and around him like a wave, nearly overwhelming to his sensitive hearing.
Thrawn hated parties, and hated this party in particular, because he couldn’t leave. They were celebrating some new victory or political achievement by the Emperor, and attendance was mandatory for all high ranking individuals. There was no escaping the small crowd of tittering social climbers that surrounded him, either; they had him trapped on all sides, save for the rear, which was guarded by the wall he’d backed himself against. One woman even went so far as to reach for his hand while she spoke to him, a brazen move that Eli would have never allowed, but Eli was not here, and Thrawn felt his absence keenly. Especially since said absence was his own damn fault.
He shouldn’t have left his hand by his side, but he’d been admonished by Faro earlier that standing with it tucked safely behind his back was ‘off-putting’, giving him a standoffish air that might work on the bridge of a ship but not in a social situation. Not that she knew that he’d started doing that to prevent people from touching his hands, the only part of him besides his face left uncovered by his uniform - and thankfully, no one had been so brazen as to reach for that. They were curious about the alien in their midst; they wanted to see how he felt, if the blue gave his skin a different texture than theirs, or if it was made of tiny scales or hair, as their friends whispered that it might. They wanted to see how he was truly different. None of them gave a passing thought as to whether he might not want to be examined.
“Oh,” the woman had gasped as she wrapped her fingers around his own. “You’re freezing, you poor thing!” To his horror, she lifted his hand, and held it in both of hers, as though trying to warm it - another thing Eli would have never allowed, usually by performing a deft distraction or ‘reminding’ Thrawn that he needed to speak with someone else before the night wore on. The heat from her hands felt like fire against his skin, but he knew he had to resist the temptation to jerk his hand away, lest he be seen as rude. Instead, he tightened his grip around the stem of his wine glass - the lone crutch he’d allowed himself. The wine inside was nearly untouched - overly sweet and far too rich for his tastes, it would only leave him with an unpleasant flavor coating his tongue and a lingering headache if he drank it in the amount he knew he would need to get through the night.
“But you know what they say,” she continued, flashing him a winning smile. “Cold hands, warm heart.”
He floundered for a response - just what did one say to something like that? “Of course,” he finally replied, remembering at the last moment to curl his lips into the slightest of smiles. She seemed satisfied with that, and dropped his hand before pulling her husband with her back onto the dance floor. The rest of the little crowd dispersed, drifting on to find the next amusement. He knew it wouldn’t be long before yet another group would form, eager for their turn to observe the strange, exotic alien in their midst, to touch him or pose him inane and sometimes borderline inappropriate questions, wanting to discover his secrets for themselves. For the moment, however, he was left alone to observe the barely ordered chaos spread out before him.
It was a pity that human eyes couldn’t see what he saw - the noise of the party might be overwhelming, but the sights were interesting. Everyone had a slight overlay of color bleeding through - brighter for those who were dancing or huddled together, dimmer for the ones who’d positioned themselves on cushions away from the dance floor and along the walls. He could even see that one couple was likely going to have a very intense discussion when they got home, judging by the white hot flare visible in the man’s cheeks. Seeing that made him suddenly, acutely aware of the empty space to his right, where Thrass had always stood beside him at family gatherings. His brother had always known exactly how to act in the moment and what to say to people, giving Thrawn the perfect model to mimic; while he’d still hated the gatherings, it allowed him to know what it felt like to fit in, even if only for a few moments.
Thrass had always managed to make him smile with his keen and sometimes cutting observations about those around him. While Thrawn noticed details about movements and surroundings, his brother had an uncanny ability to hone in on the heart of people. As he gazed at the irritated couple, he could hear Thrass’ voice, clear and undiluted by time, in his ear. “Oh they’re all smiles now, but just you wait, when they get home, it’ll be all bitch, bitch, bitch.”
He smiled at the thought, but it was bittersweet; recalling his brother left an ache deep in his heart, the pain of his loss something he had never - and likely would never - ever really heal from. Unfortunately, the smile had attracted the attention of an attendee, and he lifted his wine glass in greeting, thinking the expression was meant for him and not a ghost. To Thrawn’s relief, he did not take it as an invitation, and remained where he was, deeply engrossed in some conversation that was going on around him.
Time crawled on and the venue only seemed to grow more crowded. The attendees that gathered around him became more free with their touching and groping, their comments and little jokes at his expense growing more pointed as the wine flowed. One woman had even grown so bold as to try to cup his face - the very idea - but he’d grabbed her wrist gently before she’d managed to do so. The denial had won him a frown and a barely concealed huff of disappointment - surely something that would be the talk of many social circles for the next week.
And yet, for all the manhandling and personal questions, for all the seeming interest in him, Thrawn was not invited to take part in the discussions taking place in various groups around the room, nor was he invited to dance. No one offered to refresh his wine, or get him another drink. Their intrusions were mere gawking to please their own curiosity than any indication that he, with his blue skin and red eyes, had been accepted by Imperial society. That was what he hated most about these parties, and it was something that even Eli had not been able to protect him from; he could only alleviate it temporarily with his company, and sometimes with his welcome, permitted touch.
It stung, the knowledge that he didn’t fit here, but he could ultimately understand it - no matter his achievements he was still an alien among humans, in a rabidly xenophobic society. What cut the deepest was the knowledge that he hadn’t fit in among his own people in the Ascendancy, either. There, rather than being seen as a mere curiosity he was viewed as a weapon, a tool to be used by some and feared by others. A tool that could be set down and ignored until he was needed. That was what really hurt; that there was no place for him on either side of the galaxy. Perhaps not even in the entire universe.
He was alone in this sea of faces, and he was spent, overcome by a sudden weariness of both body and spirit. Now would be the time when he would feel Ar’Alani’s hand gently squeezing his shoulder, an indication that he had put in enough of a showing and it was appropriate to leave, or that she wanted to leave, and have him go with her. Sometimes it was simply to a quiet spot where they could talk; sometimes, a secluded place where they could enjoy each other’s company in other ways. But she was not here, nor was Thrass, nor was Eli. The only beings who had ever understood him, who had made space to fit him into their worlds, even if he hadn’t fit in anywhere else, were gone - snuffed out or pushed away by his own doing.
The crowds in the middle of the room parted, allowing him a view of a smiling Wilhuff Tarkin; a truly rare sight, given the Grand Moff’s usual stern demeanor. He was speaking with General Adelhard, but something drew his eye in Thrawn’s direction. Tarkin stared at him for a moment, and perhaps it was the slight stoop to his shoulders or maybe the dimness of the glow of his eyes, but he nodded his head faintly towards the doors, giving Thrawn the permission he needed to make his exit.
He didn’t wait for Tarkin to change his mind. Setting down his glass, Thrawn snaked his way through the meandering party-goers, careful to touch no one as he went. It was only when he was safely ensconced in the back seat of a speeder heading to the small apartment he kept on Coruscant that he finally took a deep breath and looked up at the stars. They were faint in the ambient light of the city-planet, but he could see them. If Fortune was with him, he would drown out in those stars one day. Tonight, he would have to content himself with drowning in a bottle instead.