Small writing from spontaneous thoughts.
The sun rises slowly on Tython illuminating a room bathing it in a soft morning glow. The rooms occupant sat drinking tea while chatting in high sith to someone on her private comm in her ear as she worked on her studies. " Diyis tuti Nu asarji an inasri niwohnukisia? Nu tuti ra mackihisi?" (Why am I expected to learn diplomacy? I am no diplomat?"). Ardira diyis nayir j'us tuti udrsirazi? Zo zitira iw tu'iyia manatsa siûn oi titsini na ri ratsatsa. (Child why must you be stubborn? A woman of your beauty would have it easy with the skill.) Came the frustrated tone of an older male pureblood sith on the other end of the comm in her ear.
Natasja sighs exasperated and states in basic, " Father no one is going to take the word of such a diminutive woman of our species seriously" ending the call with a frustrated but polite farewell. No one suspects the Jedi to be calling Darth Vowrawn for her lessons on diplomacy.
A shuffle of blankets is heard across the small room a purple head peaking out from the warmth of the blankets and in a sleepy accented Ryl "Eti ohk cla ila'a toe cei kumvank vilahur (It is too early for such topics darling) earning a very immature response of a gold bedazzled tongue stuck out at him. " Not my fault you partied too hard last night Paxton" snorts Natasja to the stunning twilek occupying her space.
