#siderealaerith

     「 — @aerithlylin | 3954 BBY | Vestir’s Ship 」 

“Yeah, Force knows I could ruin you if I wanted to at this point.”

Aerith’s gaze drops, surrendering beneath the caustic stare Vestir shoots him across the table. Instead he diverts his attention to the remnants of tea in his cup, sends it into an idle swirl. A faint laugh sits low in his throat.

“Don’t worry, Verehaan. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aerith assures him.

These words from anybody else’s mouth would sound like a threat. Vestir knows how quickly he could spring from his seat just to press his blade against another speaker’s throat. With Aerith, Vestir remains where he is. His hand covers up the soft lift of the corner of his mouth. 

     「 — @aerithlylin​ | 3954 BBY | Nal Hutta  」

Vestir replayed security holorecorder enough times to memorize the exact timestamps of when his target appeared. He studied it close like it was sacred text. A mere 1.87 seconds of a blurry side profile walking along the current of a busy market was all he had. He burned through a favor with a former fixer just to obtain it. He worked with less of a lead before. He was going to make this work. This had to work.

His vision was still speckled with red. Confusing the landscape of Nar Shaddaa for Nal Hutta had cost him two days and three nights. The wait for him to gain clearance into the planet and to land his ship accumulated. Every second and minute gathered in his head, spinning. It stung his temples as much as any other headache he ever endured, but there was an odd familiarity behind it. As per usual, he gritted his teeth and waited for everything to pass. 

The main screen on his dock flashed green and he took off, looking for the target’s ship. The night hours bled into the day where he could see the land around him without the aid of his goggles. He checked the HoloNet postings on the mercenary board. The target last seen in the Y'Toub system was claimed but not cleared yet. Hope was a blade that ate into his skin, but he held on even tighter. He knew he was close. A quarter of the day sped past him before the universe threw another breadcrumb; he finally found her ship. He knew exactly which market was within walking distance from this spot.

All he had to do was picture himself returning to his ship after a job and finding every chamber empty. Slipping back into this routine made it easier to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest—that little whisper saying that he was too late. He ran into the bustling area where people on either side of the streets had booths set up and tarps laid out. Everybody who passed him were the wrong height, had the wrong eye color, the wrong voice, the wrong smile. He continued searching around, forcing his feet to move forward. The only option was forward. 

There wasn’t room for doubt. He had no choice but to trust that he didn’t miss a single face in the crowd. With any bounty, he would’ve stayed at the ship and waited for them to come to him. But this was his person and he had something to prove. 

It started when his eyes locked on a pair of hands holding an apple. The crimson fabric scrunched at the elbow fell and draped over the hands. Vestir’s breath stuttered. The crowd around the stand slowly cleared. He followed the line of the scar along the neck to the scar that hugged the contour of the cheekbone and eye. The sun glistened against the piercings that Vestir always said he’d buy new replacements for—made of the finest metals mined from Tatooine.

Footsteps.

Hell. Vestir was standing on books and miscellaneous items stacked on top of a chair. None of this screamed safe. In his defense, there used to be other furniture in the room that made it easier to reach the loose panel in the ceiling. He didn’t think the temple dwellers would be keen to renovate at all, let alone within four years. 

He quickly slid the panel back into place. An ill feeling settled in his stomach. Not because of the threat of being discovered but because he had yet to find his money. There wasn’t enough time for him to locate the bag he placed up there. It took him all this time just to set up this little ‘step ladder’ so to speak. He jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. The items were placed randomly in places that looked close enough.

As for himself... He stood flat against the wall, right behind the door. The plan? By the time the footsteps disappeared somewhere else, he’d slip out and return another time. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one he had.