Bentre shifted his stance, being careful not to lose his careful hold as he did so. With a foot, he pulled t he elevated child seat toward himself. In his hands, he balanced two plate with portion of fresh vegetables arrayed on each.
"Come over here with her, Tash'. I will have to grab Lyna's food from the kitchen, but we are almost ready to eat."
There was a simple pleasure in this simple domestic task. Stahoes had been so busy over the last few months, that he felt he was more familiar with the faceplate of his datapad than he was with his wife's face. As he watched Tasha'Vel cuddling their daughter, Bentre realized again how much he missed his wife. She was now going to serve with the Ragnosian Summit, so she would be closer to home. Maybe he would be able to visit with both the ladies of his life more often now. He somehow doubted it. Sepros may not be that far away from Tarthos but it seemed like fate conspired to keep the couple apart.
Upon returning with the plate, the Battlelord let out a short sigh. This drew the attention of his Twi'leki spouse. There was a concern in the woman's eyes. Her face silently asked if there was something wrong. Bentre shook his head, as though dispelling a wayward thought. He couldn't ignore the possibility forever, though.
"Tasha'Vel, at what point?"
His wife looked up, genuine confusion drawing her lips together briefly. "What do you mean?"
"At what point do we tell the Clan to go to hell for once?"
The Versea Matriarch paused for several seconds, carefully considering her husband's expression. "Why would we tell Sang to go to hell, exactly? What are you saying, Bentre?"
"I am saying I am getting tired." Before he realized what he was doing, Stahoes was up on his feet, his hands balled up in arger. "Because," his voice rose, "I am barely able to see either my wife or my daughter without planning around some ten other tasks. Because every time that we are looking at a chance to get away, every time that we consider taking a break, every time that things seem to be getting **too** nice, something has always come up." Tasha'Vel dropped her eyes to the table's surface, deep in thought and Bentre continued. "Tasha, I want to be able to raise our daughter **together** and as it is I barely see you between the estate on Ryloth and your work with Marka Ragnos."
Lyna'Vel began to fuss, prompting her mother to pick her up and rock her gently. Stahoes glared from his daughter to his wife, his frustration coiling his anger up in his gut. He felt like a compressed string, ready to fly off at any moment. After a few minutes, their daughter had calmed. The Versea Matriarch held the child as she studied her husband's expression.
"So Bentre, what would you like us to do? We can't exactly run away. Besides, from what you said it sounds like Sanguinius needs you here."
"He doesn't need me. He has things under better control right now than I could have expected all things considered." The man could hear the bitterness in his voice, but he shrugged away any guilt he felt for it. He liked the Consul, immensely considering just how different the two of them were. "Besides, I wasn't meaning that, exactly. It's just all so-" he let the word trail off as he watched his daughter throw a piece of soft fruit across the table in front of her child seat.
"stressful?" Tasha'Vel finished his sentence, her tone hopeful. "You knew what you were getting into when you accepted the appointment, didn't you love?"
Bentre shook his head even as he let a smile slip. "Guilty as charged, I guess." He nodded twice, recalling the work duties that remained for the rest of the week. "Well, I will tell you what. We will plan a vacation to Naboo in a couple weeks. We will take the Iron Wolf II, pack a couple of days of food and just have a nice camping trip or something."
"That would give us a chance to get away from the Clan for a little bit." Tasha'Vel agreed. Let's make it a date." Smiling in earnest, Tasha'Vel picked her daughter up, brushing some of the now-squished fruit from the front of the young Twi'lek's bib. "Then Mommy, Daddy and Lyna can all have a nice time, huh?" She spoke in a slightly higher tone as she spoke to her daughter, shooting a knowing smile at the now-slightly-relaxed Bentre.
Stahoes' smile faded as he reflected on the events of the last few years since he had joined the Brotherhood. The likes of the vermin on Nar Shadda seemed so distant a memory. They were but a relic of another life. The living that Bentre and Tasha'Vel carved out together had been as rough-hewn as the rivalry had been in the beginning, when her husband had planted a vibroknife into one of her lekku in an attempt to debilitate her. Even since then, the two of the- three with Lyna'Vel- had made even more of a life for themselves in spite of the danger of the Brotherhood in it's current state.
It was going to be hard. It always had been. They would make it through things together. If things got to be too stressful, the two of them would serve as an anchor to each other. They had began their relationship as little more than rivals in training, and had moved to friendly rivals, and eventually to spouses. It was a thing to behold.
Bentre withdrew from the dining room with a slight grimace, returning after about five seconds with a brown-green bottle of liquid. Twisting the bottle's top with his left hand, the man threw the plastic stopper away. Bringing the container to his lips, Bentre began to quickly drain the bottle. Once emptied, the Sadowan Proconsul placed the now-empty bottle upon the dining room table.
"You have a deal, Tash'. We will get a three day holiday, recharge our batteries. After that, we can evaluate if we need to do anything different. Besides, between the Clan Summit and your work with your team, we might find ourselves a lot busier than we expect. We might not a lot of time to dwell on what could be. " Offering a smile he didn't feel, Bentre tried to put away his thoughts and feeling of unease. Sometimes, it was really just better to try and pretend.