#kyberled

@kyberled from here

The room they are in is empty, for now, and yet the song of the Force speaks of conflict, of upcoming battles, and Tarre can feel the thrum of it in his very bones.

That the conflict is many enemies and a charge that still needs to be disarmed is not ideal, and that it will involve running while Tarre is still wearing much of his armor isn't either, but the Force will take care of the latter. The former... well.

"I will catch up." He promises, and there is all the assurance he can give in his voice, and he only doesn't reach towards the other through the Force because it would be bad manners and a Mandalorian who can wield the Force does tend to make people somewhat twitchy.

And then he's running, following the call of the Force, and once the call is strong enough he decides that he can let that particular cat out of the bag for the sake of expedience anyway: he needs to get to the lower level now, and so he pushes, and the Force takes care of the rest, as Tarre jumps in.

He doesn't even try to hope that it hasn't been noticed.

Who are they the most glad to have met? for sabe! @kyberled

She didn't even have to think about the answer.

"Padmé." She could still see her in her minds eye, a young queen to be, sitting in the privacy of her rooms away from guards or advisors, the girl underneath the queen's face.

He had expected the raised sabers in response to his sudden appearance, but his own remained firmly on his belt. He had known it was Braig, had trusted him not to strike him even with the fast approach. And now there was a Jedi hugging him. And he felt… relief. To know he was still alright. Safe. [Even when he trusted the Force to not be silent in the event where harm would come to him. It would sing in a choir of sorrows. And he would answer its song, with overwhelming strength.]

Softly he placed his own arm across Braig's back. There was comfort in knowing, within the limits of his bodily senses.

"I have been on a— personal errand," he said. The clinking of multiple sets of small metal legs in the vent he had just excited from cut off what else he was about the say. He lifted his hand and crushed the durasteel vent to prevent what was pursuing him from exciting the same way. There was multiple metallic thunks, as the robotic creatures collided with the abruptly closed passageway.

Ashterfell, a planet skating the edges of the Outer Rim, was halfway between Ben's destination and where he had come from. The surface was green and verdant, but with an ammonia based atmosphere it was uninhabitable to most species. It had one space port in its Western Hemisphere, constructed under a large multi-mile biodome, and with a population of around ten thousand, not including the regular influx of travelers, smugglers, and assorted types. Ben landed an hour before the planet's long sunset, when the sky was green and hazy with the thick humidity of spores and moisture from the trees. Inside, the biodome the area was stagnant and recycled. The port he docked at smelled of sweat and iron, fueling taken over by a gruff Twi'lek who informed him it'd be several hours of waiting in line. So, might as well get cozy, boy. Ben had grumbled his ascent and walked around the back of the building, found a quiet tucked away behind a corner, and sat down on the ground.

'You do not have to wait; kill and take,' The female voice whispered. She always sought violent solutions to various problems.

'Worthless. Weak. Pathetic.'

His hands slid into his hair working at the knots of his black curls. Ben's body ached, his shoulders rolled forward to avoid the tension spread between them. His fingers, knuckles, and arms were still scratched from crawling out of the rubble; the burns stung and a chorus of voice cried in his hand that the pain would make him stronger. Press his thumb into the bruises and he did, grip so strong the skin around his arm turned white. "It won't be long, have patience, my boy," Snoke counseled him. "Skywalker, does not own you anymore."

"I know," Ben whispered, knees pressed up to his chest.

He felt as though a blanket had been thrown over his head. Through which he could still see the dim shadows, passing over the muted light. Or, perhaps a fog, that softens and muffles over things. Normally, the port would be buzzing with the energy and lives of all its people; now, Ben could barely tell if he was alive at all. Something was wrong, Snoke would fix it. The answers were ahead of him, not behind. But his head lifted, someone was in the alley. An old man had turned around the building and was staring at him, older than Uncle Luke at least. Ben glared and then looked away.

The Zillo Beast; a neon infested club that dwelled deep in the belly of Coruscant. It was stuffed between a laundromat and a convenience store, so low in the city’s guts that sunlight rarely kissed the business’s flickering sign.

On the street, people nestled themselves in corners, raising shrivelled palms from their blankets when a passing stranger glanced at them. Some were drugged out of their minds, swaying their heads between their knees as they stumbled over litter. An unpleasant aroma of garbage consistently stung one’s nose.

And yet, it was home.

The club was quiet this afternoon. A nautolan, once known as Ki Vez, leaned against the bar and laughed. She was a popular performer at the club, and the regulars often came to watch her dance on stage adorned in glittering beads and revealing silk. Now, however. she wore a casual set of dark cargo pants and a white crop top. She was off the clock.

“I hope you kicked that lady out, Mike.” She smiled into her glass. “I never want to see her again!”

The bartender, Mike, replied in jest and Vi laughed.

Mike loaded up the dish rack and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Vi and the three other patrons lounging around the bar. Vi took a sip of her drink, then froze. One of the customers had gotten up and approached her. She watched the person in her peripheral as he slid into the seat beside her. Her fingers clenched the glass.

Then, he spoke.

The glass clinked against the bar. She turned to look at the stranger’s face, only to confirm it was no stranger at all.

Braig.

His eyes were tired, and he held himself differently, but he still had the same soulful gaze.

A silver hand covered her mouth as she studied him. The sting of tears pricked her nose.

send ‘♡’ for a pointless fact about the mun.

.//i am not double jointed, however, i can move my index finger in such a way that it looks like it is double jointed and moving like a worm. my family calls it the "finger hula dance." somehow this ability has the capability to captivate anyone i show, because they don't think it's a big deal until they try to do it themselves. it is my rare hidden talent

.//pretty soon i'm going to have a very definitive streak of grey hair but like in the middle of the top of my head. i can't decide if i love it or hate it. though i have plenty of grey hairs... this is like turning into an actual streak and my OCD is being picky about the placement that i can't control

the whisper of the Force in the back of her mind turned to a shout as she passed one of the doors. it must be important.

essa sat down on the ground in front of it, content to wait and see what the Force was trying to tell her. it was also the perfect chance to fix the rolls of hair above her ears, which were quickly slipping from their pins.

she pulled one out, holding the pin in her mouth as she adjusted it. the door behind her slid open, sending her toppling backwards to stare up at a padawan that she didn't recognize.

"oh, hello." she spoke, tongue clumsy around the pin that had fallen farther into her mouth than she had intended. it would be embarrassing to fish it out now, especially when face-to-face with someone new.

@kyberled asked: "Tomorrow, in my experience, is only worth worrying about when there’s something you can do about it."

The worst things she has lived through, a small part of Merrin agrees, were too large for her to have worried about them. To have imagined, even, before they took place.

With the way the Empire holds so many worlds, and the way so many still remember a life before it, she knows she's far from the only one.

It still feels too naive to agree with the other's statement. Far too complacent. It's not wrong, she thinks, it's just not right either.

She has a feeling that Cere or even Cal could have argued the philosophy better than her, and she doesn't think it's entirely worth it anyway. Like worrying about an uncertain tomorrow, apparently.

"There are things I can do about it." She says, in the end, the frown far from gone. "Like having enough bacta and enough food. And bacta is rarer every day."

Which does not help, when she keeps using it on others, because she's wandering the galaxy to learn and to help, and her magicks are not meant towards the relief bacta and food can bring.