Mon Mothma & Padme drabble for Jedi Em
This fic is rated: G
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters/Pairing: Mon Mothma, Padmé Amidala
Timeline: before RotS
Summary: a friendly ear
Prompt: jedi_em: a drabble featuring Padme and Mon Mothma
Word Count: 100
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Cross-Posted were_lemur, skywalker_days
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I own a 22-year-old pickup truck. I hope that Mr. Lucas will accept this story as the tribute to his genius it is, and not sue me for what little I have. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.
In the middle of a meeting, Padmé Amidala bolted out of the room. Mon Mothma followed her and found her huddled in the 'fresher, retching.
"Padmé -- is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine, Mon." The other woman leaned her forehead against the cool enamel. "It's just nerves."
From everything she'd observed, Padmé Amidala had nerves of pure durasteel, Mon thought -- but the war was entering its third year, and even durasteel had a failure point.
She reached down to put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "If you ever want to talk, you know where my office is."
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters/Pairing: Mon Mothma, Padmé Amidala
Timeline: before RotS
Summary: a friendly ear
Prompt: jedi_em: a drabble featuring Padme and Mon Mothma
Word Count: 100
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Cross-Posted were_lemur, skywalker_days
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I own a 22-year-old pickup truck. I hope that Mr. Lucas will accept this story as the tribute to his genius it is, and not sue me for what little I have. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.
In the middle of a meeting, Padmé Amidala bolted out of the room. Mon Mothma followed her and found her huddled in the 'fresher, retching.
"Padmé -- is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine, Mon." The other woman leaned her forehead against the cool enamel. "It's just nerves."
From everything she'd observed, Padmé Amidala had nerves of pure durasteel, Mon thought -- but the war was entering its third year, and even durasteel had a failure point.
She reached down to put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "If you ever want to talk, you know where my office is."