[Behold, the art I’ve been staring at rather rapturously since it appeared in my inbox. There is so much about this that just absolutely stuns me. The gold of the background. Kryn’s dress. The contrast of the couple against the background. It’s just perfect. @rayeliann is an utter magician.]
Livimele Valra anchors her tripod-mounted holorecorder on the hovering platform in front of her, then steps on, scrutinizing the screen in front of her as she adjusts position. “I think the edge of the staircase would be best, majesties.”
As her statement sends a small battalion of people into action, Livimele taps the device, starting the recording.
Celinin darts up the stairs as Kryn comes to a stop, already bending to shake out Kryn’s skirt and nudge the fabric until it sits where she wants it. Taiyi, hard on her heels, circles around Marr, already smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of the shoulders of his coat before turning her attention to the drape of the fabric.
“Now don’t move from this spot, Nox,” Celinin commands. “Marr, I assume you’re going to stand all stoic, yes? That has been your general look for the last forty-some years. No hope for a dance pose or sunny grin?”
Marr, watching the flurry of activity around Kryn - Celinin, a hairdresser whose name he can’t immediately recall, and Riva, Kryn’s favored makeup artist - ignores Celinin. “You’ve certainly made a valiant effort to be as tall as me, qilitzarai,” he says, small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “When you add in your hair, you even come past my shoulder. Well done.”
“If these shoes were any taller, I wouldn’t be able to walk in them and you’d have to carry me everywhere,” she chuckles. “This is as good as it gets without a visit to an alchemist.”
He slides a hand around her waist, watching as she makes a thoroughly unnecessary adjustment to the collar of his coat, rubs a smudge off the shining Imperial emblem on his chest. “Am I now satisfactory?”
“Quite.” She looks over to Livemele. “Is there a particular pose you’re wanting?”
“That’s perfect, actually,” Livimele says, looking up from the screen on her holorecorder. “Empress, if you could rest your hand on his forearm?”
Kryn does so, a smirk curving her lips. “Why, Darth Marr, are you smiling for an official holo?”
“It seems I can’t school my expression into appropriate seriousness,” he replies with a mock sigh. Indeed, multiple people have commented on the heretofore unseen phenomenon throughout the day. “Truly, a testament to your sorcerous powers.”
“How awful, looking happy on your wedding day.” The most sarcastic tsk tsk Marr has ever heard. “You poor man.”
“I suppose I’ll simply have to hope my reputation of the last forty years can weather this one lapse.”
She pretends to think, face lighting up like she has an idea. “We can go storm a planet for our honeymoon. Who shall we conquer?”
“You always know just what to say. But first, we should probably finish all the to-do around this wedding, and if you don’t direct your attention back to Livimele, she’s likely to throw a shoe at us.”