-calās hand flattens against the concrete wall as he peaks around the corner, brows furrowed as he squints underneath the black sun. imperial probe droids fly overhead, casting shadows so black, he nearly disappears in their wake.
lumora prime is an unforgiving place. heād crash landed here as a childā and has had no way off-planet ever since. though, itās not like itās mattered. heād have nowhere else to go. this was, as much as he tries to deny it, home for him now. a depressing, colorless home. but one he would have to live with until he could abandon it.
just like how the order abandoned him.
his hood falls as he starts to walk quickly away from his hiding placeā and with purpose. his shoulders bump others through the marketās crowd, an imperial hologram overhead reminding the citizens of luma city of their evening curfew. one that is deadly to ignore.
he dips between alleyways, slipping through unnoticed here and there by localsābut occasionally recognized by the wayfarers heās encountered often. one of them, a devaronian with regal horns adorned with jewelry, comes to walk beside him, causing cal to slow his pace. they speak in the tongue of their people; practiced syllables that roll easily off of calās now accented tongue.-
āhow did the job go?ā
heto is withholding payment after confirmation of completion.
-she laughs behind her mask, the gold beads on her rotating horns singing with her. he turns his head sharply, but her wicked smile remains regardless of his surprise. he can see it in her eyes.-
āi can sense your disdain. you will kill him?ā
-he is silent for a long time. will he? it will not be the first blood he has spilled on this foresaken earth. how much will have to for the prophecy of the world to be true?
he responds low.-
if i must.
-another laugh. it sounds distorted through their breathing masks, which are stained with spice and sand. she has decorated hers with the jewels of the planetās most popular religion, though they are rusted from the passage of time. they must have been passed down between generations. cal looks away from them when she speaks.-
āthe reverend will consider heto a worthy sacrifice. i can hear her now. we will be free of this planetās sin once more.ā
-a chill runs down calās spine. those who practice the same religion synthia does believe that the more people are cleansed from the earth, the more pleased the black sun will be. it will lift its shadow, offering color to the planet once more.
cal thinks itās a load of shit.
he turns a corner and arrives at the door to the cantina heās been searching for. he takes a different way every time to ensure nobody follows him. itās a habit heād formed years ago, after heād been jumped in an alleyway and robbed of his portions for the month.
ā¦he nearly bled out in the rain that night. heād had to use old clothes from a nearby garbage pail to hold his wounds shut. sometimes heās still shocked he didnāt die from a horrible infection.
it wouldāve felt like the easy way out, after all this shit heās been through.
he knocks a coded rhythm on the steel door before the eye slot slides open with a metallic shriek. four eyes stare at him, waiting. expecting.
his practiced grukish is muffled behind his breathing mask. dust flies from the breathing filters.-
vor'cha serren.
-āunity prevails.ā
he steps in to the gauche bar with a steel step that means only business. he didnāt come here to talk. thereās a lesson that needs to be taught here. a sacrifice that apparently needs to be made, to make some reverend woman happy. the closer he gets to this sad excuse of a business owner, the more his anger swells in his gut.
cal growls under his breath, a sharp metallic sound filling the roomās atmosphere intimidatingly. people start to realize what heās about to do; thereās a preparative clamor that is crescendoing quicklyā
his knife burrows into the hand of the rodian sitting at the velvet table, blue blood spilling from ruined veins and a severed artery. heto screams, gurgling on his spit and pain as he tries to pull calās hand from the vibrobladeābut his grip is as strong as iron, even as it vibrates quickly in his scarred hand.
the former jedi leans forward to peak at the fallen sabacc cards on the now ruined table, smirking to himself as he then gets in close to the gangsterās agony-ridden face.-
seems you have a stiff hand. i expected my payment two rotations ago. though now i can see itās been betted away by a lousy sabacc player. i should kill you right here.
-with a little resistance, he pulls the knife free, adjusting his grip on it before sheathing it underneath his poncho. if he werenāt already covered in dried blood, heād chastise himself for staining his garments. he doesnāt know the next time heāll be able to clean them, now that his payment is being withheld.
the rodian desperately attempts to stop himself from bleeding out in his own establishment by covering his hand with his other. a servant woman dressed in black leather runs over to hetoābut one look from cal has her scurrying away again. the gangster chokes.-
āi promised you a job. youāll get paid when i let you get paid. interest has to be built before i can release the funds. how do you think i run this business?ā
-heto is known for his stubbornness. calād made a mistake choosing to work with the notorious rodian, but there was gossip through the grapevine that heād paid well. a sum of money thatās thick enough to get a poor wayfarer like cal to get off this rock. it wouldāve been the job to end all jobs. heād be free.
cal stands to his full height, two wrapped hands resting on his belt as his head shakes. his hoarse voice is muffled through his mask.-
thatās not how this is going to work. you hired me to do your dirty work. and hetoā? i did it. if i donāt have the credits sent to me by tonight, iāll make sure next time i go for the throat.
-he leans in close again, dust covered eyelashes and forehead in so close he prays the rodian can smell the stench of blood and sweat on him. he prays he can taste the richness of death on his throat as easily as cal can taste the salt of this planet in his own mouth.
his voice drops several octaves, hatred putrefying his words.
ā¦itās so easy to do that, nowadays. hate.-
and one thing about me, hetoā i never miss unless i do it on purpose.
-with that, cal leaves. he doesnāt stop to eye the delectable food on the table. he doesnāt go to the bar and grab several drinks to spill them down his dehydrated gullet. and as much as he wants to gorge himself and eat until his stomach feels set to rip, he disappears into the black and white world once more.
he walks as far as he can, far away from there, dizzy with the drop of such an adrenaline rush. his heart pounds in his ears. calās palm flattens against the closest wall, memories flashing behind the cataracts in his eyes. he shakes his head as a sickened moan spills between his scarred lips.
he reaches for his mask, tearing it off as he gasps for air, in, out, inā
cal coughs hoarsely, shoving the modulator back on before he can inhale too much salt. his lips burn from it when he licks them clean. a crunching sound is heard behind him and his body turns quickly towards the source of the sound, hand reaching for the blaster at his hip. he juts it towards the shadows.
his hoarse breathing fills the air before his shouts in grukish echo in the black and white atmosphere.-
show yourself!
-trilla suduri steps down her shipās ramp and onto the surface of lumora prime; a desolate landscape illuminated by a dark sun that never quite sets. the ground seems more dust than sand. it reminds her of a tomb.
she squints reflexively up at the dark mass in the sky as she listens to the dull hum of the space port. itās not as loud and lively as others. the atmosphere of this strange world seems to stress most species, putting them on high alert. she can feel it. in herself and in the sullustan pilot shuffling along ahead of her as well as the flight crew of a smuggler vessel landed a few rows beyond.
all around her, tension.
the dock master is terse, but not as scrutinizing as she expected. he accepts her reason for landing and authorizes her chain code. her nose wrinkles beneath the dark blue of her hood. the empireās influence and machinations of control are here too. flashing, floating boards remind citizens to report any suspicious activity. a cruel way to keep neighbors pitted against one another to discourage insurrection.
but the nearly two decades sheās lived with the empire breathing down her neck has desensitized her to most of her fear of it. maybe thatās overconfident of herā¦ or maybe sheās simply determined not to be influenced by the terror the empire wants her to feel. itās her way of spiting them.
a dour expression stabilizes on her features. it blends her in with the visitors and locals traveling up and down the streets. there is no merriment here. only darkness and anxietyā so much anxiety.
there isnāt much expectation of success here on lumora prime, but she intends to leave no stone, or planet to be more apt, unturned. she is following the instincts she was born with and allowing them to take her where ever they will.
but i donāt even know what iām looking for.
this is the most frustrating and exhilarating part of the path sheās chosen. in days long passed, she would have been branded a wayfinder, but now sheās simply a wanderer. it is tiring, not having a defined goal for her future, but this is better than the alternative; to hide in the dark for the rest of her life.
she always did love the stars and now sheās seeing them all.
so why is she here?
trilla coughs and pulls her scarf up higher over her mouth. she should have brought a mask. most everyone is wearing one. her lips are already cracking from the high salinity in the air. the darkness gets darker and the streets become more narrowā a playground for the ill intentioned. her guard goes up.
noise breaks the strange trance-like buzz of this world. the scuffle of fast walking feet. heavy breathing. someone is loud in her senses. she halts, orienting herself before her feet carry her towards the irregularity. she touches the wall beside her and sees a shimmer of white salt dust fall from itā¦
a ripple of pain and frustration, of desperate aching, rips through her then. she stops short, her boots scuffing louder than intended. no sooner has she done so, the whirring whine of a blaster reaches her ears. she stares into the barrel raised towards her, only her eyes and the tumble of dark curls showing through her scarf and hood.
she raises a hand towards the alarmed figure before her, speaking calming under the severity of his voice.-
be calmā¦ i canāt understand you.
-the set of his brows changes from concerned to confused. he hasnāt heard basic come from a living personās mouth in yearsā just from the imperial holograms rotating constantly in the market. heās gotten to the point where heās now more confident in grukish than he is in basicā¦
his eyes flicker all over her figure and face. thereās no familiarity to it, so she must be a traveler. the lack of the breathing mask gives it away. and her clothes. sheāll be breathing in salt for the rest of her life if sheās without proper protection for too long.
cal twitches before putting his blaster away, though it remains visible in case he needs to use it on her. his boot shifts towards the direction heāll run if this is an ambush; the local gangs and cults occasionally use women to distract and lure those least expecting one.
heās always expecting one, nowadays. he will never trust another person again. not on this gods forsaken planet.
he takes a moment to think of his words, jaw working harder with the incantations of them. his wrapped hand gestures to his mask, his voice much calmer than before now that heās sure he canāt sense malicious intent from this stranger.-
just cloth will do you no good here.
-trilla raises a hand over her mouth as if it will add double the protection. her failing lies in not doing enough research. a serious offense against her usual preparedness. what is it about this planet that off-balances a person?
there is a whisper of darkness to it. it is a good thing then that she isnāt fearful of the night.
his voice is that of someone walking after months of not using their legs. odd. intriguing, in fact. she narrows her eyes at him.-
would you happen to know where i can procure such a mask as yours?
-her coruscanti accent never quite faded, even after all these years away from the core. it will mark her to him. perhaps make him even more weary of her than he already appears. he appears like a tightly wound spring, only sheās not sure if he would bound away or towards her. flight or fight.
thereās more to him than meets the eyes. that feeling that led her here? itās thrumming in her chest. equalized. like she need look no further.-
-cal licks his cracked lips, biting down on the scar adorning them. he wonders if hers have yet to chap, if theyāve ripped and broken like his under this unforgiving sun. has she been here long enough to taste blood? has she experienced all hell this place has to offer?
he blinks a few times, looking towards the direction of his living space. itās not far from here. a few klicks; not too long of a walk where sheāll be outside for much longer.
cal looks at her, quiet for a long time, weighing the pros and cons of trusting a traveler. he doesnāt have much to offer her if she were to attempt to rob him. his abode isnāt exactly packed with valuables, just survivable goods and an acceptable pad to sleep on.
and an extra mask. one he grew out of long ago.
he looks down, his shoulders slumping forward. he hasnāt trusted somebody to cross his threshold inā¦ years. why now? why does he suddenly feel so compelled to do it today?
with a soft sigh, he uses his head to gesture towards the way to go before beginning the short journey to it.-
-she doesnāt trust him, but she trusts what led her to him. and if something isnāt right, her intuition will tell her. it always does.
the salt snow kicks up under her feet much more prominently than it does his. he knows how to walk across it. heās been here a long timeā but he isnāt native, that much she can tell.
they are approaching his domicile. this part of the city is nondescript. most dwellings look the same. drab white and grey, shrouded in stark shadows. she imagines their interiors arenāt much more exciting.
she licks her salty lips and frowns at the acrid taste. yes, a mask is sorely needed even if she doesnāt stay more than a day on this rock.
she hovers in his doorway, not hesitant, but challenging his intentions in her calm tone.-
either you plan to harm me in there, or youāre extremely generous. fair warning: option one will not end well for you.
-he steps inside, his brows furrowing at her words. his hands gestures towards himself while the other remains palm towards her. thereās a hint of impatience to his tone as he watches white dust settle on his flatās clean floor.-
how about you being wrong about both? just get inside. the sandā
-he waits until the door slides closed to remove his mask with a hiss, his eyes squinting as his foggy sight adjusts to the bland colors they can offer him. he coughs twice as he steps further into his abode, pulling off his poncho and hanging it. he begins to shed his outerwear on after, staring at nothing as he speaks.-
iāve a mask sitting in the trunk of that container unit by the sleeping pad. take it.
-a pause. he coughs again, iron and salt on his tongue. it used to burn, but now it just tastes faint. he wonders if heāll ever be able to breathe fresh again.
she may be my ticket away from here.
now that sheās inside, he can finally put a deal on the table. if thereās one thing heās loyal toā itās that. it just all depends on if she feels the sameā and if sheās even willing to take it. if sheās not, sheāll have to figure out how to breathe on her own.-
though, to leave with it, youāll have to owe me something in return.
-he pulls the fabric from his wrists and hands, fresh cuts over badly healed scars red and sore. he opens and closes his stiff hand, holding back a hiss as he feels the ripped skin stretch. he turns to her, red curls over his eyes.-
do you have a ship?
-as a force of habit, she never fully turns her back to him as she goes to the container and pulls out the aforementioned mask. it is mostly clean and hopefully will get a good seal around her face even with the curve of her nose. she swipes a bit of dust from the rubber edges and she sweeps her cloak aside to hook it to her belt.
she side eyes the manā from how heās coughing, sheās not sure it will do much better than her scarf.
her brows knit together as she watches him expose his wounds, weeping and raw as if they never have had time to fully heal. she wonders how heād acquired such injuries before her gaze flicks up to answer him.-
i do.
-her spine straightens, a hand settling on the curve of her waist. she stares at him, daring him to ask her what she suspects he might. if he wants a ride, she wants to hear how heāll justify the trade of a simple mask to a trip on a space faring vessel.
he may appear tired and hurt, but she is no fool. desperation emboldens and strengthens even the weariest people. he isnāt surviving on luck alone. she is ready to defend herself if need be.-
-cal washes his hands in a milky water basin nearby, watching the liquid turn a pastel pink color. his gaze gets lost in it as he speaks.-
itās expensive to leave the city docks, if thatās where you landed.
-his tone keeps its coolness and confidence, though heās expecting laughter right in his face. the credits heās hiding are enough to do just that, and maybe get him off the next rock she drops him off at. heās never thought that far ahead.
i never expected to even get that far.
he grabs a clean wrap and begins to twist it around his hands again, one at a time. his mouth sets into a tight line as he meets her eyes, chin tilted down enough to do it.-
iāll pay the fare and iāll pay you.
-trilla turns her head slowly to the side as if to hear his words better. her jaw shifts a fraction, considering his offer. she can always do with more credits. fuel is not cheap this far out.
it will make this trip worth it. not that she considers it a total waste. the urgency in her bones has settled. she may be able to sleep tonight without visions of this monochrome world plaguing her.
she was led here to him. perhaps it is the will of the force that she leave with him too.
trilla wasnāt always so willing to listen, but these past years have taught her she can only really rely on one thingā the sensitivity she was born with. itās lead her to places and people she wouldnāt have encountered otherwise. and itās kept her safe from harm.-
that is acceptable to me. i have no further business on this world.
-sheās taken one step towards him, a hand reaching out to shake his, her eyes peering up past his unruly red curls into his.-
-calās brows threaten to raise, but he holds fast. theyāre not off the rock yet. heās not completely out from underneath this placeās shadows. he can save his eagerness for another day. itās dangerous to hold too much of it here.
he takes her hand and shakes it firmly, confirming their pact.
heās not expecting heto to pay him. if he were, he wouldnāt be asking this of this woman. but considering the job he did for the rodianā heās sure he doesnāt have more than a few days left alive here on lumora prime. the cult will be searching for him come tomorrow. maybe even sooner than that.
calās hand lowers back to himself, his gaze looking away from her. he clears his throat, humming under his breath before admitting something to himself in grukish.-
i didnāt think that would go so smoothly.
-he sniffs and switches back to basic as he turns away to put the kettle on.-
i could, uhā¦ offer refuge until morning. though, donāt consider it generosityā curfew is about to start and i donāt need my only way out of here killed.
-a curfew doesnāt concern her. she has a skill set most others do not that has helped her navigate worse obstacles. but, this is an opportunity to know more about this man that is feeling increasingly familiarā or at least resonates with herself. she dare not hope or even guess about him, but her intuition is rarely wrong.-
then i will stay.
-she looks about herself to find a rickety chair to sit upon. she wraps her cloak around her frame more securely and reaches up with a knuckle to wipe the build up of salt beneath her nostrils.
she grimaces at the flake that fall onto her cloak. she canāt wait to get off this planet and sheās not even been here a full day cycle yet. she squints at the manās back.-
once we are off-world, where will you want me to take you?
-cal grabs a piece of desert fruit from a clay bowl, holding it up to inspect it for any rot.-
someplace green. maybe with an ocean?
-he wipes any salt off of it with his fingers before pulling it apart with his strong grip. the juices from it leak into the bowl and calās mouth waters at the sight of it. heās starving.-
iād be partial to batuu. maybe takodana.
-he turns to her, holding out the other half of the fruit.-
i hear pabuās lovely this time of year.
-trillaās eyebrows lift and she blinks a few times fast. all beautiful, green and blue places. far cries from this desolate scape. from another glance about his humble hovel, she ventures a guess to him.-
i take youāve been here awhile then?
-she eyes the dripping fruit, her stomach pinching to remind her she hasnāt eaten since midday galactic standard time. she takes the offered piece, sniffing it before sampling the moist flesh. her taste buds thank her. itās heavenly after the coating of dust she swallowed.-
-he sits down on a stool heās too big for, knees spread as he leans forward to peel the skin off the fruit. what peels away exposes pastel pink flesh with a taste satiating enough to be a well enough meal. something to hold off his hunger until it gets too painful.
he drags the pad of his thumb over his bottom teeth, the sweet juices from the fruit painting his tongue. he keeps his gaze down.-
long enough.
-he sighs through his nostrils as he takes a bite, speaking in between chews.-
this planet wasnāt always as bad as it is now. once the empire dug itās claws in, it changed, itā¦
-he swallows and shakes his head, recalling the memories that are not his. heās never learned to gain control of his curse.-
ā¦lost all sense of serenity. there used to be peace here.
-her emerald orbs absorb the deft motions of his fingers over the fruitās body. her breathing shallows through her nose. the fragrant citrus scent lingers in her olfactory glandsā¦
itās a burst of color, tangible and tasteable, in the greyscale of the environment. just like the shock of red that is his hair.
she likewise subtly licks away the remnants of the juices on her fingers before replying in her low tone.-
that is not an uncommon story these days.
-a short silence falls over them and she looks to the faint glow coming through a small porthole of a window.-
pabu is closest. i will stop there to refuel. you can decide whether or not the island is for you; if not, iāll make port on batuu.
-no soul who has lived on this planet for a prolonged period of time has perfect eyesight (the constant infrared from the black sun wonāt allow it)ābut for the first time in years, cal feels like he is seeing clearly. perfectly.
he follows her gaze out the porthole, his gaze almost empty while his thoughts run rampant in his mindās eye.
why is he not questioning her presence? what he did could be considered dangerous, bringing a stranger into his hidden abode, but itās like he lost all sense of logic and worry when theyād started to speak. maybe he saw someone in need, though he knew quickly she wasnāt that one someoneā but him.
itās almost embarrassing: to need. he needs a way out. he needs help. having an outsider here confirms that he is just another helpless wayfarer the empire has bullied into poverty and starvation and submission. heās been a victim of them for decades. what will he do when heās free? is anywhere in the galaxy free?
that night, he doesnāt sleep. instead he packs, collecting all of his belongings and placing them into a ratty knapsack. he owns practically nothing, which he hopes is a little more relieving to the stranger that he wonāt be much added weight.
when morning does come, he places on his mask, gods willing, for the very last time. he suddenly canāt stand the stench of salt, albeit heās been inhaling it for years. his sunken eyes find hers, cal oblivious to the very visible exhaustion painted on his features. heās aged decades in one night. itās almost like the planet is trying to keep him by weighing him down.
he murmurs down to her by the door, not bothering to look back as it slides open.-
lead the way.
-it hasnāt escaped her notice that they have not divulged their identities to one another, but in this era of imperial surveillance and cataloging, any scrap of self is understandably worth protecting.
the night passes slowly. sleep does not come to her, but to her passengerās eyes, she probably looked as though it did. her breathing was slow and shallow. her eyes shut and her face relaxed. a stasis of sorts. not quite sleep but not quite meditation. a tool she developed to calm her mind and bodyā to store up the mental and physical energy she might need later.
he is stirring all around her until dawn, a warmth in her mindās eye. like a sore and open wound festering. she makes a small expression of disconcert at her own graphic comparison, her eyes opening slowly before gathering her cloak at her waist to stand from the chair. it creaks loudly.
her shoulder brushes his as she glides through the open door to scan the road outside. aside from what appears to be typical morning activity in the monochrome city, all is clear and remains clear on their way to the port. she allows her unexpected companion to pay her exit fee and soon finds herself back into the familiar sanctuary of her vessel.
she removes her mask and sighs when the ramp lifts to seal the salted dust out for good. itās then that she sees just how much space the man takes up in the main hold of her ship. heāll no doubt need to turn sideways and duck through some of the doorwaysā¦-
you can bunk in hereā a cot folds out of that far wall there. fresher is the first door on the left on the way up to the cockpit behind me.
-she continues, her tone steeling a fraction.-
i believe you are intelligent enough to understand this, but i will say it anywayā though i may travel alone, donāt assume i am an easy target. it will be your last mistake.
-calās lip is curled up humorlessly as he looks down at her, a brow lifted. thereās a word in grukish for women like her; some of them consider it a compliment, others take it as bait for an incoming insult. heās not sure what she would consider itā and theyāre practically strangers, so he keeps it to himself though it resonates in his head.
firallia.
girl on fire.
he feels she fits the description, considering how quickly her embers ignite to a flame.
the mask heās worn his whole life comes off with a pop, leaving behind a red mark around the bottom half of his clean shaven face. he says nothing to her as he walks away, wondering to himself if he looks any at all intimidating enough for her to feel like she has to warn him sheāll kill him if him if he tries anything. itās a fair warningā but cal only kills for credits. she neednāt worry.
he still stays quiet, though.
cal bends to pass through a doorway to explore the rest of her ship. his knapsack plops down into a jump seat as he caresses his bandaged hands over the steel of the hull, quick flashes of the shipās memories playing behind his eyes. nothing formidable enough he can translate into a full pictureā but enough to satiate any worries he might be unknowingly feeling.
this curse of seeing is a nuisance. one he fails to control every time. he never actively tries to use it, but nowadays, itās been becoming increasingly difficult to control. it makes him overwhelmed, overstimulated, worried, anxious, all of it. he has to carry the burdens and memories of people he doesnāt know. witness deaths and births and murder and crime. he swears some things still haunt his dreams to this day.
he hums to himself before returning to her, finding her in the cockpit of her ship. he stands in the doorway for a moment before knocking on the frame twice. courtesy is something he should be practicing more now that heāll be moving off world of probably the galaxyās most uncivilized planet.
his tongue is heavy with his accent, speaking in almost broken basic.-
i would like to sit in the passenger seat, if youāll allow me.
-trilla sheds her heavy cloak while the man explores what amounts to her home. she has no where else to call her own. the world she was raised on is at the heart of enemy territory now, burned beyond recognition. she sometimes dreams she will one day return, but she realizes it is little more than fantasy.
it is safer for her to be in constant motion anyway. it makes her unpredictable and not easily hunted down.
as if the man knew her anxieties, she feels his own. her steps slow beside the area heās secreted himself away too, peering at his back for a bloated moment before moving on up to her pilotās chair.
she feels most comfortable in this spot, her hands on the controls. sheās the master of her own fate when sheās at the helm of her ship. her insecurities and her worries fade enough to quiet her mindā something sheās still learning to do, despite the many years of practice.
there is someone who could help her with that, but that would be admitting she needs assistance to begin with. no, best to remain as she is, a wanderer seeking only what the force wills her to.
speaking of.
trilla looks up at the manās knocks and nods, waving a hand to the seat beside her. she begins to take her vessel up into the atmosphere, the pale wasteland fading beneath them like a bad dream.
she glances over to him, noting in the better lighting just how exhausted he appears. and alsoā¦ that her suspicion is correct. he canāt be any older than she is.
she brushes her hair behind her shoulders as she leans forward to input the hyperdrive data that will take them to pabu. as she pulls back on the lever to send them into the slipstream of stars, she says almost off-handedly.-
my name is trilla.
-cal sits with a soft thump, his broad figure dwarfing the chair he sits in. for someone who has had to scrape food from half-eaten plates, he has never once lacked in size.
ā¦he briefly takes in all of this. it hasnāt quite hit him yet that heās getting off the rock. he hasnāt been on a ship since that fateful day as a childā¦ will this bring back memories he buried decades ago?
heās surprised at himself for being this calm. for feeling this relaxed. this means more to him than heās feelingā¦
he then looks down at himself. his clothes are as bland as lumora prime and as covered in salt as his lungs are. he can still taste the iron that coats his throat, even now that he breathes in recycled air. itās not fresh by any means, but itās better. cleaner. he hopes maybe enough time away from the sand will clear his breaths and heal this horrible cough.
i want to breathe again.
his hands curl closed before opening again on his thighs, a soft sigh escaping him at the sight. the blood in his hands is red, swelling with the tightening of his skin. the scars on them are pink, whitening when they pull. the buttons on the circuitry board before him are yellow, blue, greenā¦
he is suddenly growing more overwhelmed by the moment. how is there so many colors?
his eyes then find the stars behind the glass and he tries to look at each and every single one of them. thereās so many. theyāre in a sea of them.
his eyes glass over and reflect the blue streaks pulling past the ship. blue. so much blue. endless, beautiful blue.
as many and as quickly as they are coming, he doesnāt allow the tears to escape. a habit heād formed weeks into living on lumora. he cannot waste his moisture, no matter how emotional he feels. a habit he hopes to break when he finds himself drinking all of the water his body can safely manage to hold.
at the sound of her voice, he is brought back to the cockpit of her ship. he briefly looks at her, taking in her face now that thereās a name attached to it. her skin is a deep bronze and her hair is a raven black. her clothes blue. a darker blue than the hyperspace streaks, but still equally as easy on the eyes, no matter how damaged by infrared they may be.
he blinks at her before responding softly.-
you can call me cal.
-he adds after clearing his throat quietly.-
how long will the ride take?
-already he is softening in her perception of him. the wary exterior heād portrayed to her on lumora prime is sloughing off of him with every klick they put between them and that salt rock. in her mindās eye, he is like a prisoner unshackled and stretching his limbs for the first time in forever.
she knew from the moment they met that he wasnāt the blaster he pointed at her. that he was more than common rabble. his generous acceptance of her into his hovel had confirmed that. and now, the way his breathing changes beside her tells her that heās deeply and earnestly feeling as wellā
his eyes are glossy when they meet hers. her russet lips twitch and flatten into a faint smile. this is clearly a long time coming for him. she feels validated in her choice to bring him on board. the force is working here. she feels it keenly.
she consults her readouts before looking to him again. the light of hyperspace flickers across his face, showing in starker values just how much of a toll lumora primeās environment took on him. cal.-
a half day. hopefully enough time for you to acclimate before getting thereā
-her mouth snaps shut with an expression like sheās just recalled something. she swivels in her chair to stand and take two steps to a panel in the cockpitās back wall. it pops open to reveal a medpac that she promptly rifles through. she gives a small hum when she finds what sheās searching for. she returns to her seat to hold out a small, blue rectangle that resembles a bandage to him.-
this is a hydrapatch. stick it on your arm. it will help, i assure you.
-he looks at the bandage with a curious expression after she hands it to him, taking it in his wrapped hands carefully. thereās a moment of hesitation before he peels the white covering back and places the adhesive side down on his bicep. thereās no immediate response which leads him to assume he will have to wear it long term.
he remembers his manners, speaking almost as if the words are pulled out of his mouth.-
thank you.
-his cheeks burn. usually a mask covers any blushes he may produceā¦
he clears his throat again, grimacing slightly at the pain. saliva coats his throat to alleviate it.-
i hope i am not intruding when i askā but i was wondering if you had a change of clothesā¦ and access to a shower.
-cal doesnāt know the last time he bathed. heās found other ways to refresh himself to avoid a smell or discomfortā but now that heās away from the rock, he was hoping to be free of it, too.-
-trilla isnāt used to having guests, but that doesnāt mean sheās never had them. she presses a few buttons on the console and stands again. she gestures down the hall from the cockpit.-
follow me.
-they both have to crowd into the fresherās doorway for her to show him how to operate the shower that sprays out over the waterproof interior of the roomā a design choice to save on space.
she can feel the warmth of him again against her arm as she has to maneuver around him in the hall to reach her storage locker in her berth.-
hopefully these fit you.
-she hands him a cream tunic and dark pants. they were left behind by a pastā¦ guest.-
you will find soap and a towel in the cabinet beneath the sink in the fresher. and if you wish, i can run your soiled clothes through a sonic wash. just leave them outside the door.-
-cal takes the clothes from her and murmurs his thanks once again. he wonders if (considering his size) theyāll even fit himāand thereās a fleeting thought of wondering where she even got themābut the fact sheās offering is enough. more than.
once alone inside, he strips to nothing. he canāt remove his old clothes quickly enough.
when the heat of the water begins to wash over him, it almost hurts. he hisses, sunburned skin stinging like nettles with each droplet of water. with a quick wave of his hand, he turns the nob to a colder setting, relief washing over him like the sand that drips from his figure.
he first cleans his hands, the ones that still ache from hetoās job just two days ago now. theyāre still stained pink from someone elseāsāand his ownāblood. he feels disgusting having followed through with it for money he didnāt even get to hold in his hands. stabbing the rodian didnāt make him feel any better either.
washing the salt out of his fresh wounds is the next most undoing act, a relieved noise escaping the back of his throat as the sting alleviates into something more tolerable. itās as if lumora prime was made to hurt itās inhabitants, only created by the universe to inflict death and injury. not even the empire could be so evil to him.
not even the order.
while he wishes it was so easy to wash the rest of it away, he will be forever effected by the planetās harshness. his eyes will forever be burnt to the point of minor cataracts, his skin aged from the sun. he doesnāt even know how old he is, but if heās counted right, heās just over thirty. the fact that he is even thinking and considering such minute details about himself proves heās a free man now.
soap is washed into every crevasse and hill and divot on his body, soaked into his hair and forced underneath and out of his nails. when he is free of dirt and sand and salt and blood, he tilts his chin up and opens his mouth to drink the water falling on to him, his throat pulsating desperately to swallow it. he has to quiet a moan as the coolness of it coats his innards. they had felt shriveled and dead inside of him, hanging on only by his sheer will to not die soā¦ pathetically.
when heās clean, he dries himself after finding the towel sheād promised would be is exactly where it is. he studies this version of himself in the mirror, realizing just how bright his red hair is when itās not tainted blonde with sand. he didnāt know heād been a spec of color dampened by a black and white world. had he just never noticed? or forgotten this aspect of himself?
the clothes she offered him are a bit small, but theyāre something other than rags. something new. clean. the pants are tight around his waist and backside but hang off of his legs awkwardly. his socks are a bright white. the tunic clings to his chest and arms. both pieces smell good, tooāsomething he never had the luxury of being.
the door slides open and he notes his missing clothes, reminding himself to thank her for taking them. heāll owe her a bit more for allowing him to use her facilitiesā he owes her that, too.
cal debates returning to the helm but decides he could use a restā¦ he feels safe just enough to let his eyes close for a little while, considering how long the trip will be.
with a quiet groan, he lays down, back aching from how soft the cot is. he didnāt know it could hurt to feel good, too. but the ache is welcome, considering how quickly it goes away when his body relaxes into what feels like a liquid state.
he closes his eyes, promising himself itāll just be a few minutes, before heās asleep and breathing evenly for the first rest heās had in years.-
-calās clothes are nearly beyond helping. trilla makes a face at them as she gives them a quick rinse before dropping each piece into the small metal barrel fixed into the bulkhead.
she washes out the chalky residue left in her utility sink and sets the machine to itās longest cycle. she wonders what color the clothes will emerge as.
she pauses beside the fresher door, oddly put at ease by the sound of someone else using her home. strange. she hadnāt noticed her loneliness until now.
heās using up a significant percentage of her fresh water, but pabu will have plenty to resupply her with. itās been several years since she last made port there, but the memory is fond. it was a place of much needed respite after a particularly troubling adventure.
not-so-funnily enough, that had taken place on a barren world as well.
she pushes thoughts of jedha aside and enters her quarters. trinkets and treasures line shelves on one side of the room. some much more valuable than others, but all equally important to her.
in her youth, she was allowed very few belongings. she makes up for that now by filling her most intimate space with these things. she touches a small piece of petrified wood from a spire of batuu and then pokes a finger into the soil of a slow growing succulent from felucia. the music box a child has given her on a space station sits in the alcove above the head of her bedā the twiālek girl couldnāt take it with her on her next transport because it took up too much room in her bag. room her parents needed to fill with āmore important thingsā.
she lets it play and wonders where the girl is now. happy, she hopes.
her mood darkens just then and the music box snaps shut without her touching it. she rubs her hands up and down her thighs, realizing sheās sat down on the edge of her bed. sometimes she loses time like this, lost in reveries that turn sour with remembrance.
the shipsās water pump has fallen silent. a proximity alarm chimes gently in the cockpit. exit from hyperspace is imminent. hours have passed.
she returns to the helm and sinks into her seat with a harsh sigh just as the ship jolts back to real space. below her is a glowing blue gem amidst the abyssal backdrop of space.
she taps out a directive on the navicomputer and allows the autopilot to take them on a gradual descent into the atmosphere while she goes to inform cal of their arrival.
he is quite asleep when she finds him. it seems almost a shame to wake someone so deeply slumbering.-
cal. we are here.
-she takes a step closer to the side of the cot to lean over him slightly, noting how much more alive he looks since his shower. his hair is brighter and the freckles across the bridge of his nose are prominent...-
