@unsteals ASKED, it's a desert planet, not unlike the one she comes from. layla feels a little at home in the marketplace. hot & dusty, colorful & busy. it's a good place to make contact with someone in secret, in broad daylight. she doesn't really know who she's looking for. the rebellion isn't trying to draw attention like that. they're not ready to face the empire, but they're preparing. they're trying. layla wants to be part of that - and it's not like she can go home. imperial tendrils have wrapped around the planet and her family, the royal family, stands as little more than a group of political prisoners. only the princess has managed to escape ( it had been a terrifying night ). her initial point of contact had promised her help, directed her here, told her to wait. well, she's waiting.
𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐎. marc felt he had better things to do than to go looking for a princess who might or might not be able to provide them with help⸺princess leia had told him that any help was better than having none ! the rebellion needed anything they could get with this imperium snaking it’s way from one system to the next, destroying planets && killing for those who don’t 𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓶𝓲𝓽. darkness rises && the light to meet it, something he’d heard several times since becoming a pilot && since he decided what side of history he was on. ( still, marc knows that what’s inside of him doesn’t remain on solid ground. he’s tempted, he often wonders to things no jedi would ever dare. he isn’t a jedi, hardly force sensitive, but he knows of their teachings. one is either light or dark, rarely an in-between. ) ; arms remain at his sides while dark eyes scan the crowded market, right hand lingering near blaster holstered against thigh if any trouble arises. marc had only seen a 𝙶𝙻𝙸𝙼𝙿𝚂𝙴 of her before, a hologram that hasn’t always been reliable in true reflections⸺though, among creatures && people alike, he’s confident in his ability to pick her out. boots halt in the sands, dark leather jacket over his shoulders collecting thin layer of sand, when eyes catch sight of dark, unruly hair. ❝ gotta be her. ❞ muttered to himself underneath breath with advancement of feet. [ STEVEN: be careful, marc ! we’ve got no idea who else is here. someone could be watching. ] he now stands before her, ❝ here to meet anyone special ? ❞ brow arches, ❝ you look like the girl i’m lookin’ for. is your name layla ? ❞ princess, he thinks he should say.
