While the marriage was more just a contract than any sort of personal declaration for either of them, Obi-Wan finds himself and Padmé alone in the house on the lake that her family owned. Since it's a professional contract, the week-long sabbatical is never called a 'honeymoon', but to Obi-Wan, that's certainly what it feels like.
Alone and isolated with his new 'wife'.
It was always a possibility that he would end up in one of these arranged marriages, sub-contracted from the Jedi Order into personal protection. Life-long commitments aren't new to him. What he hadn't expected was to know, to be at least casual friends with, the person he ended up protecting. Married to.
Despite being raised in this environment and culture where 'marriage' often meant 'contractually obligated protection', it still feels far too intimate for him to reconcile with his Jedi training of having no attachments. Marriage is the ultimate attachment.
And Padmé... Padmé was no longer the fourteen-year-old Queen or handmaiden that he'd known. Surprisingly, they had kept in touch, though it had been more casual than actually being friends; but whenever they were both on Coruscant, or duty took him to Naboo - it happened more frequently now that Palpatine was Chancellor - they usually found time to meet up and chat for a while, perhaps grab a bite to eat together.
Now here they are. Together for life. No more need for catching up, as they are essentially obligated to live in each other's pocket, from now on. It's going to take some getting used to.
Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe, Obi-Wan begins wandering the space. He'd already (casually) checked all the rooms to make sure they were secure; now he allows himself to really see the details of the space, to register the decorations and furniture, in a way other than just 'that looks heavy enough to be used as a weapon or blockade'. There is a small itching at the base of his neck suggesting that he should say something, but he's long learned to ignore it.
If he's no longer supposed to ignore it where Padmé is concerened, it's going to take a while to re-learn. He's never been anything other than a Jedi.
It took six legitimate threats on her life before Padmé admitted to needing more protection than her usual guards could offer. There were places where they couldn't go, decorum to be upheld at state functions, and there was no way she could ever be relaxed with any of them in her bedroom... It was the last that had been the final straw, an actual attempt on her life that few knew about, and it was because of that event that she had insisted that Obi-Wan be the protector selected for this monumental task. Of everyone on the very short list agreed upon by the Queen's Advisory Council and the Jedi elders, his was the name that hadn't given her any hesitation. A friend to call companion while they both worked to make the galaxy a better place.
The large estate is quieter than she remembers, their footsteps echoing as they walked through the foyer and into the living spaces. She'd taken stock of the kitchen while he explored, making sure everything was as she'd requested, and then she'd poured the both of them a glass of wine. Holding one out for him to take, she lets out a deep sigh and finally begins to feel the slightest bit relaxed.
"Thank you." Two words that can do no justice to the gratitude in her heart for this man she'd called friend for so many years - not in the same way she'd been friends with her handmaidens or some of the others at the Senate, but still she counted him among that number.
"I don't think I've said that yet, have I? Thank you for agreeing to this arrangement, to pledging your life to protecting me when I know it's nothing like the life you'd thought to lead. I can never begin to repay you for this sacrifice."
One thing he'd forgotten in this strange whirlwind of negotiations and preparations, is that this is still Padmé. As Obi-Wan accepts the wine, he tips his head slightly at her words, his countenance relaxing and softening slightly. There's no one around except them, and Padmé's presence is familiar to him, blending in well with the background rhythms of the animals and other living creatures through the Force.
"It's no sacrifice." His voice is slow and measured. "I've learned - and it has taken me quite a while - to not try to anticipate where life will lead you. Because you will often be wrong, and quite frequently disappointed, even if in the end you do more good, and are much more satisfied than if you'd gone the route you expected. This situation was always a possibility, for me, and I knew that." He pauses, before smiling at her gently. "I'm glad it's you. I know you." His smile curls a bit more mischievously, and he holds the wineglass closer to his lips before commenting, "I know the sort of trouble you get into."
Another mission completed, another bit of downtime granted to Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Anakin Skywalker.
Anakin, as always, wanted to go visit Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, out of Senate for the season and back on Naboo. Obi-Wan really should have curtailed the frequency of the boy's visits to the Chancellor. Not that Palpatine seemed bothered by them; he seemed charmed by the boy, as much as a jaded politician could be, and Anakin had always been whip-smart and precocious, enjoying the company of adults and conversing with them. Obi-Wan just didn't have the heart to keep Anakin away from the one pseudo-friend he seemed to have.
Obi-Wan should have stopped the visit, but instead he'd agreed, letting Anakin stay in their rooms on Naboo, while he visited a nearby planet, trying - half-heartedly - to entice Anakin to join him, speaking of the natural waterfalls that changed hues as they fell, the lush gardenscapes of the local resorts on-planet. Anakin, as was typical, had no interest in nature, and waved him off with a wrinkle of his nose and a joking "have fun, old man Kenobi." To which Obi-Wan had responded "That's Master Old Man Kenobi to you, my young Padawan!"
It was night now, and the ethereal light that constantly played off the cascading waters reflects off the walls of the hotel room. Leaning forward on the bed, he presses a kiss to the naked shoulder beside him.
"We're missing quite the show," he murmurs. "Again."
Thank goodness Anakin never accepted the invitation, or this little vacation would be proceeding quite differently. Padmé had welcomed the regular break from Senate meetings, the list of committees she was now seated on having grown immensely in the past few months, and it had been easy to disguise her visit to the resort planet as one for pure rest and relaxation after a stressful political season. Only Cordé knew the truth, her one confidant in her entire entourage, and the person who helped her keep these rendezvous from being noticed by the wrong people.
"Somehow, I can't quite bring myself to care," she returns softly, turning to face the man beside her with a contented sigh. She hasn't felt this relaxed and at peace in weeks, everything warm and soft -- just like his beard. Lifting a hand, she trails her fingers along those auburn whiskers that tickled her skin in the best way. "Do you?"
Anakin never has, and probably never will, accept Obi-Wan's invitations to whichever 'relaxing and rejuvenating spectacle' the Jedi Knight says he's visiting after a mission; unfortunately, Anakin still isn't very adept at picking up nuanced emotions through the Force. He might be able to feel Obi-Wan's surprise, but the disappointment at the sudden change in plans would be quickly hidden and never noticed by his apprentice.
Now, Obi-Wan's thoughts are focused on the woman laying beside him, his eyes drawn to hers. He gently catches her hand as she finishes stroking his beard, drawing it up to kiss her fingertips. "I can't imagine anything more beautiful than what I see right before me," he murmurs.
“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
Four months ago, the universe changed and Padmé Amidala lost everything she loved.
Her husband, her children, her home. Friends, family. Hope. Every last shred of what she held most dear was torn from her soul and she was left clinging to life with a broken heart, as if hanging on by bare fingertips. Hidden away in a remote village on an even more remote planet in the Outer Rim, she couldn't be farther from Naboo and Coruscant, from anything that reminded her of what she'd lost...
Everything reminded her. Each morning when she woke alone in the small bed rolled out upon the worn stone floor. When she walked the hour to the nearby village and saw the mothers carrying children while they worked. When she returned home from a long day of work to continue toiling by firelight. When she cried herself to sleep and prayed to the gods of Naboo that her children were safe. Each day that passed was like a thousand.
Each day that passed was harder than the last, and all that kept her going was a singular thought, a possibility that may never take shape: One day, her children might need her.
It hadn't been especially difficult to set Padmé up on a planet not far from Tatooine, where he could visit her if needed, keep an eye on her without her knowing how close she was to one of her children. The Outer Rim planets wanted nothing to do with the Republic, now the new Empire; for the most part the inhabitants kept their heads down and kept to themselves. Establishing the former senator as yet another refugee wanting anonymity hadn't taken much.
Obi-Wan hated to deceive her, letting her think her children were both so far away. But all these years of knowing her, he knew if she was aware of how close Luke was, she wouldn't be able to stay away. No matter how much she understood the risk, she wouldn't be able to help herself.
He understood that urge, because he had a hard time parting with her when he returned to Tatooine. She was broken, and he didn't know if time could heal her. He wasn't sure if time could heal himself, come to that. Anakin's betrayal had done so much damage to the lives of all those he cared about, those he proclaimed he wanted to protect at all costs.
There were days - many, many days - where he didn't leave his small hut in the desert. (He didn't know it, but already rumors were starting about the "hermit" who now lived in the wilderness outside of Mos Eisley.) He put away his lightsaber; buried it at the bottom of a chest of clothes and other sundry items that no one would think to dig through. A remnant from a life he had to put behind him.
But he could not abandon the Force. It still flowed through him, and slowly, he began to reconnect with it. At first, he had tried shielding himself from everything; tried turning his back on it. What had the Force ever done but bring death, and betrayal? No being should have access to that kind of power, for it only bred greed for more. Once arrogant and self-confident, Obi-Wan was a Jedi now broken, disillusioned.
But slowly, his grief lifted enough that he could again begin to see patterns, the past and present merging and weaving together to show what had happened.
He began meditating again. His grief was still strong, but other emotions began to take root. One word began to get echoed in his thoughts, and he clung to it.
Patience.
Years would unfold before anything could happen. He could do nothing but wait. Wait, and prepare himself mentally, and emotionally. He had time. That was all he had, now.
And then, one night like any other, the Force reached out to him. In a bout of fitful sleep, Obi-Wan had a prescient dream. Padmé, overcome with despair, unable to see past all that had transpired. Pushing her body until it was as broken as her spirit, unable to continue. After waking, he could still feel the echoes of her pain in his own mind and heart, as if they were tethered together by the Force itself.
Dreams, like any other sort of prophecy, were dangerous to try to fulfill, or subvert. In trying to do so, one could easily enable the very outcome they had been trying to avoid.
But Obi-Wan simply couldn't sit by and do nothing.
Packing a few spare clothes, he headed back to the planet he'd left Padmé on, intent to check on her, and help in any way that he could.
He arrived back on the planet five months after he had left, the current climate now nearing winter. It was late when he arrived where she now resided; such a meager, humble place, especially compared to the places he knew she'd been raised on Naboo. He knew she could live, could thrive anywhere, but it still hurt him to know this was how she was now forced to live.
Padmé deserved so much better. In all things. But they could not afford the scrutiny a better lifestyle would bring.
With the days growing colder, a fire at night was necessary, the stone walls of the tiny house doing little to keep out the chill. It was strange to think some days that she could find a datastream of all the latest news of the galaxy in the city half a day's walk away, digital gambling halls and holodrama theaters, but here in her 'home' and the nearby village, they were lucky to have running water. There were no droids to help with the daily work, there was not regular trade with nearby planets, and even the criminal syndicates seem to have left much of the planet untouched save for the larger cities. Her life was now so different from everything she'd known that some days it easier that way.
And there were days when it wasn't. The local language was difficult to understand without a translator, though she tried her best to learn more of it each day. She missed having someone to talk to, every word she spoke now little more than an outright lie. No one here knew who she was, what she had been through, and while of course it was better that way, it still wore away at her.
She had no connections here, no friends and no neighbors near enough to matter, so when she knock came at her door-- The knife was in her hand in seconds, instinct propelling her from her seat by the fire to the small kitchen, thin fingers stiff from sewing wrapping around the thick handle with determination. That same emotion propelled her forward, swinging the door open with the knife held just out of view.
And then she stilled, everything in her going quiet at the sight of the man on the other side of that door. The man who had left her here, who had taken her children to safety, who she wasn't sure she would ever seen again. There was a part of her that wanted to rage, to demand that he take her from this place, take her to her children so she could have some part of her soul back, but those emotions wilt before they come to anything real. She's too tired to make those rash decisions, to be angry at what has become of her life or happy to see the only friend who knows of her existence. She's too tired to be anything but the broken woman she is, and so she simply steps back from the doorway to let him inside, knife now hanging uselessly at her side.
Waking up in an unfamiliar room on an unfamiliar bed, Jacen felt a momentary surge of panic. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t; everything just hurt.
He closed his eyes to steady himself, breathing deeply against the pain. A few things began to come back — the massive solar storm, the coralcraft being torn apart, being forced into an escape pod by a travel companion he couldn’t put a face or name to. He remembered slipping into some sort of meditation, trying to find a semblance of peace even as he was hurtling through space, being pulled in all directions.
People had said that he and his siblings all had that charming, roguish look about them, courtesy of their father. But the years forced on him by the Vong during his captivity had hardened his features, bringing out that air of steely fierceness from his mother’s side of the family tree.
“The past has been there all along, reminding us: This time--maybe, hopefully, against all odds, we will get it right.”
Four years ago, the galaxy changed. Democracy had been crushed under the boots of an army that spread across the stars, washing away every trace of how things had once been, like a river flooding over a field.
Four years ago, Padmé Amidala lost everything she loved in that flood. Her husband, children, and home, friends, family and hope, all of it swept away on the tide. Every last shred of what she held most dear was torn from her soul and she was left clinging to life with a broken heart, as if hanging on by bare fingertips. Hidden away in a remote village on an even more remote planet in the Outer Rim, she couldn't be farther from Naboo or Coruscant, from anything that reminded her of what she'd lost... Or any who might remember her.
In those first months after she had come to this little world, every day had been excruciating. Everything reminded her of the life she was supposed to live and all that she had lost. Each morning she woke alone in the small bed rolled out upon the worn stone floor. She walked the hour to the nearby village to work for a meager wage, returning home late in the day to continue toiling by firelight. Each night she cried herself to sleep and prayed to the gods of Naboo that her children were safe. Every day that passed was like a thousand.
And then a thousand really did pass and somehow... things did get a little easier. The pain of her loss was a part of her now, a scar on her heart that no longer felt out of place. For so long, each day that passed had been harder than the last, and all that kept her going was a singular thought: One day, her children might need her. Now, though... Now she paid penance for her guilt in all that had transpired, going through the same monotonous daily routine. Wake, work, sleep. Again, and again.
She never expected that her life would change again so suddenly and without warning, but when does one ever expect to see a streak of smoke trailing behind a ship entering the atmosphere at the wrong angle and speed, that streak wavering as the ship tried to straighten itself - a valiant effort that failed in a spectacular crash in the forest so near her home.
For one split second, Padmé was afraid. The Empire, was this one of theirs? Would helping this ship lead to her discovery? Would this be her end? But those thoughts were left behind as instinct urged her forward along the path from the village, racing across the open fields and not hesitating to run headfirst into the trees.
Poe very rarely called himself the best pilot in the Resistance, but at the same time he never argued when someone else said it, though he did draw the line at 'best pilot in the galaxy', but just because he rarely said it himself didn't mean he didn't believe it. Though his personal brag was that he could fly anything, and it had so far proven true.
That only worked, however, if the ship he was in was actually flightworthy, and the borrowed A-wing was becoming increasingly less-so, between the dogfight and the solar flare and the last half-calculated jump to hyperspace, he was fairly sure it was coming apart around him, and BB-8's near-panic only added to that assuredness.
By the time she reached where he'd landed, and it was a landing as far as he was concerned, because even though the ship was wedged between two trees, it was still upright and he'd managed to get bot himself and BB-8 down and had gone back up for his emergency kit, talking to the worried droid as he did so: "I know, buddy, looked a lot softer from up top, trees usually do. But as soon as I get the chart scanner set up, we can figure out where we are, and that's the first step to figuring out how to get home, right?"
[ooc: figuring one of his pre-TFA scouting missions, just so she gets the happier, less-dented version.]
It had been quite a while since she'd last done any extensive running, her body so unused to it now that her lungs burned when she reached the site of the crash, the downed ship nestled among a cluster of trees that hadn't survived its landing. The design of the ship reminded her of the fighters that had been used during the Clone Wars, but ships had always been Anakin's area of expertise and not her own.
With that fresh pang in her heart, she stepped closer to the pilot and his droid (when did astromechs start coming in that design?) and called out, "Do you need any help?" Everything about her says average backwater woman, with her plain dress and hair pulled back into a simple tail, and she has to hope that if he is an agent of the Empire, he won't think twice about her.
Somebody get me a hammer, wanna break all the clocks and the mirrors And go back to a time that was different, a time when I didn't feel like there was something missing Now my body and mind are so distant, don't know how to escape from this prison♪
The galaxy had changed while Padmé Amidala slept.
Sleeping was the easiest way for her to comprehend what had happened to her. Some sort of stasis, an experimental technology kept from the Senate's knowledge, some thing had kept her alive all these years, unchanged, only to wake alone and without answers. It took days for her to grasp the magnitude of her situation, hiding on the outskirts of a city on an Inner Rim planet from the soldiers who walked the streets with terrible purpose. The years that had passed, the rise of the a power she had fought so desperately against...
Finally, she reached out to an old friend, an ally she stilled hoped she could trust. The plan Bail Organa put into place was elaborate and more dangerous than any in which she had ever taken part, but with the state of the galaxy she understood the risks. She was both liability and asset, but the Emperor could not know she was alive. Sheev Palpatine could not know.
It was a nightmare from which she would never wake.
With her hair cut and her dress plain, Padmé waited for the contact she'd been promised. What lay ahead for her was unknown, a safeguard for herself and the group fighting to restore the Republic, but she trusted Bail. Her faith in him was all she had left.
At last there's the sound of light, purposeful footsteps approaching. The young man who appears a moment later is about her own age, slight and somber. He takes her in with one quick, keen look, and says, "Are you the governess?"
It's the right phrase, enough to show he's the person she's waiting for, and it's given with easy civility, like the formality it is; he's already moving toward her as he speaks. He can't be mistaken. Even if there were some other small-but-dignified human woman standing there, he's taken care to memorize her face.
It's a little unnerving, all the same, to see it on a living woman. Cassian takes care not to let that thought show.
The words are expected and yet they still take her aback. Governess, as it she were being taken to care for children. Her children perhaps, who were alive and safe... but who she couldn't see because of the risk to that safety. Every day without them is agony, exacerbated by the loss of her husband and made worse still by the state of the galaxy.
Even breathing hurts some days.
"I am," she confirms, knowing it isn't necessary. "Thank you for escorting me." That is necessary, for the sheer fact he's risking his life for a stranger. If they were caught... Steeling herself, she straightens her back and picks up the small bag she carries. Her tone is casual but dignified, not quite business but not friendly either. Respectful, for he deserves nothing less for all he's doing. "Please, lead the way."
The galaxy had changed so quickly. Everything they had ever known about it had suddenly been turned on its head in a matter of days. The Jedi were no more, the Republic was now the Empire, and someone they both dearly loved was gone. But now they were fugitives, on the run from the very entity they had sworn to protect and preserve.
After the events on Mustafar, with Padme giving birth to twins, they had taken refuge on Alderaan under Bail Organa's protection. Their shared friend had issued reports of their deaths to help hide them from their pursuers. After Padme had time to rest and heal, they needed to go into hiding. They were issued new identities, given a small worn down ship, and supplies to last them for some time. In what had been a whirlwind of events, they eventually found themselves on the remote planet of Lah'Mu in the Outer Rim.
Kenobi was a common name, and rather unsuspecting despite the fact that there was a Jedi with it on top of the wanted fugitives list. Obi-Wan had decided to change his first name to Ben, an old code name he had used once or twice. While a single man with the name might stand out among records, one with a wife and two children would not be so easily noticed. Especially when they appeared to be an ordinary young family who were joining a group of settlers.
With Bail covering their tracks, they plunged into their new life. Acquiring an out of the way plot of land outside of a small settlement. A run down house already stood there, having been abandoned by previous owners who had decided this life wasn't for them.
Only a few days into having arrived, before they could fully get settled, a storm had proved that the structure wasn't as sturdy as they hoped. Thus the next day found Obi-Wan on the roof. The former Jedi Master of renown banging away as he tore off old roof slats and replaced them. He knew this would have to be done sooner or later, but it proved to be sooner as the leaks had been significant. He was not used to this sort of work, he had been a Jedi and a General in a war after all, but he would have to. This was their life now. He was just an ordinary man with an ordinary family living an ordinary life.
The days had gone by so quickly and in such a blur that Padmé could hardly keep them straight, the passage of time only really noted by the changes in her children. Already she could see them growing, tiny changes in their reactions, and already they were making it know that they were two different individuals. Rarely did the two sleep at the same time, and while Luke cried more often than Leia, the little girl's screams were more than loud enough to prove she had a perfectly healthy set of lungs.
Everything had changed. Her life, the galaxy, the future her children should have had. It was devastating to think of as a whole, her heartbreak over all that loss too much to bear in one lump sum. What made it possible to survive was the presence of the twins... and of Obi-Wan. Her dear friend who had lost as much as she but still chose to flee with her to safety on this far off world. She hadn't asked it of him nor had the strength to argue — she needed him, her children needed him.
And so here they were, Obi-Wan up on the roof while she cleaned up the water that had gotten absolutely everywhere in the house. The twins had eaten and Leia was somehow sleeping through the raucous while Luke examined the soft mobile of colors suspended above the crib (a gift from Breha before they'd left Alderaan). Both babies seemed completely at peace for the moment, so Padmé took advantage of the opportunity to haul the damp bedclothes outside to the line she'd constructed the day before and that had thankfully held up against the storm. The work was good for her; despite the ache in her soul, she still found solace in doing things with her hands, which helped immensely when sleep and true rest were in such short supply.
With the bedding situated, she moved to the edge of the house, calling up during a break between the banging, "Do you need any help?"
The work also helped to hide the ache in Obi-Wan's own soul as well. He really hadn't had much time to himself to dwell on the happenings that led to this point, and he was glad for it. The fact that he was not alone made it both easier, and yet added responsibility. Padme and the children were relying on him, and he had to be strong for them all.
When he heard her voice, Obi-Wan paused in what he was doing to look up. Raising a hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and offered her a reassuring smile.
"Thank you, but I have it covered."
He glanced over to the sheets that were now flapping about in the breeze on the line nearby.
"Besides, I'm sure you have your own hands full at the moment."
Between the babies and the fact hat she was taking care of the water inside the house, it was a lot to do. One thing they did not lack at least was the ability to work together.
One look and I can't catch my breath Two souls into one flesh When you're not next to me I'm incomplete
Soulmates. What a strange concept it is, the idea that there is a being out in the galaxy whom you are destined to be with. For someone whose life has been governed by reason and passion tempered by practicality, it's often hard for Padmé to accept as a reality. She's known only a handful of beings who have actually found that destined someone, most never having their identifier appear and learning to accept and embrace the love they do find in life.
Love itself is a thing she's had so little experience with. A few fleeting moments of attraction have been pushed aside all her life in order to focus on her career, on serving her people and following the path she truly feels she was destined for. Yes, she would like to have a family of her own one day — that had been her plan before Queen Réillata had requested her take up the role of Senator. And now, with so many years of work still not seeing the results she's pursued, she can't imagine leaving her post anytime soon. Her personal life can wait.
Of course, she needs to be alive in order to set her personal life aside. And as reluctant as she is to admit that additional security might be needed, the grief and guilt over the loss of a dear friend is far more effective at convincing her than any of Typho's entreatments. She would do this to avoid delays and further casualties. Reconnecting with someone she'd once trusted with her life is merely a small benefit in the grand scheme of things.
Obi-Wan understands the concept of soulmates, of course, has even been around those couples who have found their particular match now and again. He finds the concept a bit puzzling, and the reality fairly sweet, but it isn't something he considers particularly relevant to him, personally.
Oh, he's affectionate, warm, even loving but in a fairly ...unfocused way. He's even been attracted to people, though very rarely. It simply isn't where his attention lies. He's dedicated to the Order and that leaves very, very little room for anything else in his life.
Dedication to the Order is why, in spite of the rarity of Jedi being used as body guards, there's no complaint from him about his assignment. There are extenuating circumstances in play, too, and someone he remembers fondly from years ago, too, of course.
He takes the elevator in silence, relatively dignified and quietly composed when he walks in. The moment he goes to shake her hand to reintroduce himself, though, his composure cracks.
"No, it isn't." She stares at Obi-Wan for a long moment with a confused, almost distressed expression, which catches the attention of a few others in the room. Offering quick reassurances, she sends them away, Dormé retreating to her own room while Typho goes to check in with the security team.
When they are alone, she returns her attention to the man who is suddenly much more important in her life than she'd ever thought him to be. If she wants him to be. Is that how this works? She has dozens of questions, but the first that is voiced is perhaps not relevant to their present situation.
For years, this is all I've known, this has had my heart, this has been my home And now I'm scared to lose myself, scared of letting go♪
[ The galaxy had changed while Padmé Amidala slept.
Sleeping was the easiest way for her to comprehend what had happened to her. Some sort of stasis, an experimental technology kept from the Senate's knowledge, something had kept her alive all these years, unchanged, only to wake alone and without answers. It took days for her to grasp the magnitude of her situation, hiding on the outskirts of a city on an Inner Rim planet from the soldiers who walked the streets with terrible purpose. The years that had passed, the rise of a power she had fought so desperately against...
And she'd woken too late to join her children in the fight to right the wrongs she should never have allowed to happen. It is the guilt and grief that keeps her away from them now, two years after she'd woken — guilt and grief that drives her to search out any remaining Imperial units and share what information she learned with a contact in the New Republic. Small as it is, she spends every day working toward erasing the scourge of the galaxy that she'd enabled through ignorance and inaction. Because she has to keep her children safe in any way she can.
For now, the way has led her to a backwater planet and a settlement being covered in a coating of snow. The few locals still out in the swiftly falling white move quickly toward their homes or the nearest inn or bar, seeking shelter from the brisk wind. With her hair cut and her dress far plainer than it had ever been, she moves less quickly than the others, taking her time and stepping carefully through the inches of snow already on the ground, watching her surroundings just as carefully while looking for anyone of particular note. ]
[The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Cassian Andor was burning out. Having been an agent for the Alliance at an age where he shouldn't have known (and been part of) the horrors of war, perhaps it made sense that everything he had seen and done was starting to weigh heavily upon his thin shoulders.
In no uncertain terms, Draven had told him to get his shit together or risk being grounded indefinitely until Alliance psychs proclaimed him fit for duty and he no longer apt to take unnecessary risks or put himself in danger as a way of … indirectly killing himself. He was sure that he'd hit the breaking point eventually, but for the time being, there was always something to be done, and Cassian continued to be the best man for most jobs.
Here he was, trudging through the gathering snow, keeping a lookout for his contact - who he assumed was not one of the locals who were mostly all scurrying for shelter away from the storm. There, he thought, watching a little longer as she walked, that's her. Decidedly not a local. Not at all prepared for the weather. Tha was his contact.
Cassian changed his trajectory to intersect with hers, his voice low and steady as he neared close enough for her to hear.]
You'll catch your death of cold out here dressed like that. I know a place.
“the desert is a natural extension of the inner silence of the body.”
[ Uli can't help but to be reminded of his arid homeworld every time he steps out of his (allegedly) climate-controlled cube and into the glaring sunlight that bears down on the center of the camp like a cruel glare. The uncomfortable grittiness of the sand trapped between his socks and the otherwise-bare skin of his ankles as he crosses camp to greet the LAAT as it touches down on the landing zone - that's familiar too.
He's hardly the picture of civilized society as he savors the downwash of the landing from a safe distance, Republic jumpsuit unzipped to the waist in an attempt to allow body heat to leave through the sweat-yellowed tee shirt of his desert phase skivvies. The harsh sunlight glints off the twin dogtags that separate him from the Republic's cloned soldiers as he waits for the brownout to clear—his draft board took ownership of his body in every other way, but there's no identification chip implanted in his wrist. Uli Divini had the good fortune of being born and not cloned.
He knows better than to step into the blinding cloud and get a lungful of sand, so he waits, holding a rag over his nose and mouth to filter out the few sharp particles that make their way to where he stands. Man-made thunder booms on the horizon, familiar enough by now to be identifiable as Republic shelling, not Separatist. It still means wounded in a few hours, though, so they'll need to be quick in getting the new nurse set up.
By the time the sand has settled back into its rightful place on the ground and formed a thin layer over the LZ, the chief nurse's latest acquisition is already stepping out of the transport. She looks sorely out of place simply from the lack of grime on her person, though he knows it won't last long - Amidala's face isn't glistening like it probably will be in about five minutes; her hair lacks the unwashed look the weight of sweat has given his and every other human's, but that, too, will come with time.
Uli waves with the arm that isn't holding up the rag and makes a sweeping come-here gesture. They have to get out of the way before Drenn can get off the ground, and judging by the stacks of boxes strapped down in the hold, she's got other things to do today. He shouts his greeting, partly because of the distance and partly because of the low, loud hum of the LAAT's idling engine. ]
Right this way! And don't worry about the shelling, those are ours, not theirs!
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Arranged Marriage - Can Never Be - Into More
Alone and isolated with his new 'wife'.
It was always a possibility that he would end up in one of these arranged marriages, sub-contracted from the Jedi Order into personal protection. Life-long commitments aren't new to him. What he hadn't expected was to know, to be at least casual friends with, the person he ended up protecting. Married to.
Despite being raised in this environment and culture where 'marriage' often meant 'contractually obligated protection', it still feels far too intimate for him to reconcile with his Jedi training of having no attachments. Marriage is the ultimate attachment.
And Padmé... Padmé was no longer the fourteen-year-old Queen or handmaiden that he'd known. Surprisingly, they had kept in touch, though it had been more casual than actually being friends; but whenever they were both on Coruscant, or duty took him to Naboo - it happened more frequently now that Palpatine was Chancellor - they usually found time to meet up and chat for a while, perhaps grab a bite to eat together.
Now here they are. Together for life. No more need for catching up, as they are essentially obligated to live in each other's pocket, from now on. It's going to take some getting used to.
Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe, Obi-Wan begins wandering the space. He'd already (casually) checked all the rooms to make sure they were secure; now he allows himself to really see the details of the space, to register the decorations and furniture, in a way other than just 'that looks heavy enough to be used as a weapon or blockade'. There is a small itching at the base of his neck suggesting that he should say something, but he's long learned to ignore it.
If he's no longer supposed to ignore it where Padmé is concerened, it's going to take a while to re-learn. He's never been anything other than a Jedi.
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The large estate is quieter than she remembers, their footsteps echoing as they walked through the foyer and into the living spaces. She'd taken stock of the kitchen while he explored, making sure everything was as she'd requested, and then she'd poured the both of them a glass of wine. Holding one out for him to take, she lets out a deep sigh and finally begins to feel the slightest bit relaxed.
"Thank you." Two words that can do no justice to the gratitude in her heart for this man she'd called friend for so many years - not in the same way she'd been friends with her handmaidens or some of the others at the Senate, but still she counted him among that number.
"I don't think I've said that yet, have I? Thank you for agreeing to this arrangement, to pledging your life to protecting me when I know it's nothing like the life you'd thought to lead. I can never begin to repay you for this sacrifice."
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"It's no sacrifice." His voice is slow and measured. "I've learned - and it has taken me quite a while - to not try to anticipate where life will lead you. Because you will often be wrong, and quite frequently disappointed, even if in the end you do more good, and are much more satisfied than if you'd gone the route you expected. This situation was always a possibility, for me, and I knew that." He pauses, before smiling at her gently. "I'm glad it's you. I know you." His smile curls a bit more mischievously, and he holds the wineglass closer to his lips before commenting, "I know the sort of trouble you get into."
He takes a sip to keep himself from laughing.
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Secret Rendezvous
Anakin, as always, wanted to go visit Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, out of Senate for the season and back on Naboo. Obi-Wan really should have curtailed the frequency of the boy's visits to the Chancellor. Not that Palpatine seemed bothered by them; he seemed charmed by the boy, as much as a jaded politician could be, and Anakin had always been whip-smart and precocious, enjoying the company of adults and conversing with them. Obi-Wan just didn't have the heart to keep Anakin away from the one pseudo-friend he seemed to have.
Obi-Wan should have stopped the visit, but instead he'd agreed, letting Anakin stay in their rooms on Naboo, while he visited a nearby planet, trying - half-heartedly - to entice Anakin to join him, speaking of the natural waterfalls that changed hues as they fell, the lush gardenscapes of the local resorts on-planet. Anakin, as was typical, had no interest in nature, and waved him off with a wrinkle of his nose and a joking "have fun, old man Kenobi." To which Obi-Wan had responded "That's Master Old Man Kenobi to you, my young Padawan!"
It was night now, and the ethereal light that constantly played off the cascading waters reflects off the walls of the hotel room. Leaning forward on the bed, he presses a kiss to the naked shoulder beside him.
"We're missing quite the show," he murmurs. "Again."
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"Somehow, I can't quite bring myself to care," she returns softly, turning to face the man beside her with a contented sigh. She hasn't felt this relaxed and at peace in weeks, everything warm and soft -- just like his beard. Lifting a hand, she trails her fingers along those auburn whiskers that tickled her skin in the best way. "Do you?"
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Now, Obi-Wan's thoughts are focused on the woman laying beside him, his eyes drawn to hers. He gently catches her hand as she finishes stroking his beard, drawing it up to kiss her fingertips. "I can't imagine anything more beautiful than what I see right before me," he murmurs.
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𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓈
Her husband, her children, her home. Friends, family. Hope. Every last shred of what she held most dear was torn from her soul and she was left clinging to life with a broken heart, as if hanging on by bare fingertips. Hidden away in a remote village on an even more remote planet in the Outer Rim, she couldn't be farther from Naboo and Coruscant, from anything that reminded her of what she'd lost...
Everything reminded her. Each morning when she woke alone in the small bed rolled out upon the worn stone floor. When she walked the hour to the nearby village and saw the mothers carrying children while they worked. When she returned home from a long day of work to continue toiling by firelight. When she cried herself to sleep and prayed to the gods of Naboo that her children were safe. Each day that passed was like a thousand.
Each day that passed was harder than the last, and all that kept her going was a singular thought, a possibility that may never take shape: One day, her children might need her.
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Obi-Wan hated to deceive her, letting her think her children were both so far away. But all these years of knowing her, he knew if she was aware of how close Luke was, she wouldn't be able to stay away. No matter how much she understood the risk, she wouldn't be able to help herself.
He understood that urge, because he had a hard time parting with her when he returned to Tatooine. She was broken, and he didn't know if time could heal her. He wasn't sure if time could heal himself, come to that. Anakin's betrayal had done so much damage to the lives of all those he cared about, those he proclaimed he wanted to protect at all costs.
There were days - many, many days - where he didn't leave his small hut in the desert. (He didn't know it, but already rumors were starting about the "hermit" who now lived in the wilderness outside of Mos Eisley.) He put away his lightsaber; buried it at the bottom of a chest of clothes and other sundry items that no one would think to dig through. A remnant from a life he had to put behind him.
But he could not abandon the Force. It still flowed through him, and slowly, he began to reconnect with it. At first, he had tried shielding himself from everything; tried turning his back on it. What had the Force ever done but bring death, and betrayal? No being should have access to that kind of power, for it only bred greed for more. Once arrogant and self-confident, Obi-Wan was a Jedi now broken, disillusioned.
But slowly, his grief lifted enough that he could again begin to see patterns, the past and present merging and weaving together to show what had happened.
He began meditating again. His grief was still strong, but other emotions began to take root. One word began to get echoed in his thoughts, and he clung to it.
Patience.
Years would unfold before anything could happen. He could do nothing but wait. Wait, and prepare himself mentally, and emotionally. He had time. That was all he had, now.
And then, one night like any other, the Force reached out to him. In a bout of fitful sleep, Obi-Wan had a prescient dream. Padmé, overcome with despair, unable to see past all that had transpired. Pushing her body until it was as broken as her spirit, unable to continue. After waking, he could still feel the echoes of her pain in his own mind and heart, as if they were tethered together by the Force itself.
Dreams, like any other sort of prophecy, were dangerous to try to fulfill, or subvert. In trying to do so, one could easily enable the very outcome they had been trying to avoid.
But Obi-Wan simply couldn't sit by and do nothing.
Packing a few spare clothes, he headed back to the planet he'd left Padmé on, intent to check on her, and help in any way that he could.
He arrived back on the planet five months after he had left, the current climate now nearing winter. It was late when he arrived where she now resided; such a meager, humble place, especially compared to the places he knew she'd been raised on Naboo. He knew she could live, could thrive anywhere, but it still hurt him to know this was how she was now forced to live.
Padmé deserved so much better. In all things. But they could not afford the scrutiny a better lifestyle would bring.
Stepping forward, Obi-Wan knocked on the door.
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And there were days when it wasn't. The local language was difficult to understand without a translator, though she tried her best to learn more of it each day. She missed having someone to talk to, every word she spoke now little more than an outright lie. No one here knew who she was, what she had been through, and while of course it was better that way, it still wore away at her.
She had no connections here, no friends and no neighbors near enough to matter, so when she knock came at her door-- The knife was in her hand in seconds, instinct propelling her from her seat by the fire to the small kitchen, thin fingers stiff from sewing wrapping around the thick handle with determination. That same emotion propelled her forward, swinging the door open with the knife held just out of view.
And then she stilled, everything in her going quiet at the sight of the man on the other side of that door. The man who had left her here, who had taken her children to safety, who she wasn't sure she would ever seen again. There was a part of her that wanted to rage, to demand that he take her from this place, take her to her children so she could have some part of her soul back, but those emotions wilt before they come to anything real. She's too tired to make those rash decisions, to be angry at what has become of her life or happy to see the only friend who knows of her existence. She's too tired to be anything but the broken woman she is, and so she simply steps back from the doorway to let him inside, knife now hanging uselessly at her side.
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a space-time rift brings forth a grandson
He closed his eyes to steady himself, breathing deeply against the pain. A few things began to come back — the massive solar storm, the coralcraft being torn apart, being forced into an escape pod by a travel companion he couldn’t put a face or name to. He remembered slipping into some sort of meditation, trying to find a semblance of peace even as he was hurtling through space, being pulled in all directions.
People had said that he and his siblings all had that charming, roguish look about them, courtesy of their father. But the years forced on him by the Vong during his captivity had hardened his features, bringing out that air of steely fierceness from his mother’s side of the family tree.
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓊𝓈
Four years ago, Padmé Amidala lost everything she loved in that flood. Her husband, children, and home, friends, family and hope, all of it swept away on the tide. Every last shred of what she held most dear was torn from her soul and she was left clinging to life with a broken heart, as if hanging on by bare fingertips. Hidden away in a remote village on an even more remote planet in the Outer Rim, she couldn't be farther from Naboo or Coruscant, from anything that reminded her of what she'd lost... Or any who might remember her.
In those first months after she had come to this little world, every day had been excruciating. Everything reminded her of the life she was supposed to live and all that she had lost. Each morning she woke alone in the small bed rolled out upon the worn stone floor. She walked the hour to the nearby village to work for a meager wage, returning home late in the day to continue toiling by firelight. Each night she cried herself to sleep and prayed to the gods of Naboo that her children were safe. Every day that passed was like a thousand.
And then a thousand really did pass and somehow... things did get a little easier. The pain of her loss was a part of her now, a scar on her heart that no longer felt out of place. For so long, each day that passed had been harder than the last, and all that kept her going was a singular thought: One day, her children might need her. Now, though... Now she paid penance for her guilt in all that had transpired, going through the same monotonous daily routine. Wake, work, sleep. Again, and again.
She never expected that her life would change again so suddenly and without warning, but when does one ever expect to see a streak of smoke trailing behind a ship entering the atmosphere at the wrong angle and speed, that streak wavering as the ship tried to straighten itself - a valiant effort that failed in a spectacular crash in the forest so near her home.
For one split second, Padmé was afraid. The Empire, was this one of theirs? Would helping this ship lead to her discovery? Would this be her end? But those thoughts were left behind as instinct urged her forward along the path from the village, racing across the open fields and not hesitating to run headfirst into the trees.
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That only worked, however, if the ship he was in was actually flightworthy, and the borrowed A-wing was becoming increasingly less-so, between the dogfight and the solar flare and the last half-calculated jump to hyperspace, he was fairly sure it was coming apart around him, and BB-8's near-panic only added to that assuredness.
By the time she reached where he'd landed, and it was a landing as far as he was concerned, because even though the ship was wedged between two trees, it was still upright and he'd managed to get bot himself and BB-8 down and had gone back up for his emergency kit, talking to the worried droid as he did so: "I know, buddy, looked a lot softer from up top, trees usually do. But as soon as I get the chart scanner set up, we can figure out where we are, and that's the first step to figuring out how to get home, right?"
[ooc: figuring one of his pre-TFA scouting missions, just so she gets the happier, less-dented version.]
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With that fresh pang in her heart, she stepped closer to the pilot and his droid (when did astromechs start coming in that design?) and called out, "Do you need any help?" Everything about her says average backwater woman, with her plain dress and hair pulled back into a simple tail, and she has to hope that if he is an agent of the Empire, he won't think twice about her.
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only a decade late
shh shh is fine (and omfg popover menu sorry about that)
𝓐 𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝔁𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭
Sleeping was the easiest way for her to comprehend what had happened to her. Some sort of stasis, an experimental technology kept from the Senate's knowledge, some thing had kept her alive all these years, unchanged, only to wake alone and without answers. It took days for her to grasp the magnitude of her situation, hiding on the outskirts of a city on an Inner Rim planet from the soldiers who walked the streets with terrible purpose. The years that had passed, the rise of the a power she had fought so desperately against...
Finally, she reached out to an old friend, an ally she stilled hoped she could trust. The plan Bail Organa put into place was elaborate and more dangerous than any in which she had ever taken part, but with the state of the galaxy she understood the risks. She was both liability and asset, but the Emperor could not know she was alive. Sheev Palpatine could not know.
It was a nightmare from which she would never wake.
With her hair cut and her dress plain, Padmé waited for the contact she'd been promised. What lay ahead for her was unknown, a safeguard for herself and the group fighting to restore the Republic, but she trusted Bail. Her faith in him was all she had left.
Re: 𝓐 𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝔁𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭
It's the right phrase, enough to show he's the person she's waiting for, and it's given with easy civility, like the formality it is; he's already moving toward her as he speaks. He can't be mistaken. Even if there were some other small-but-dignified human woman standing there, he's taken care to memorize her face.
It's a little unnerving, all the same, to see it on a living woman. Cassian takes care not to let that thought show.
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Even breathing hurts some days.
"I am," she confirms, knowing it isn't necessary. "Thank you for escorting me." That is necessary, for the sheer fact he's risking his life for a stranger. If they were caught... Steeling herself, she straightens her back and picks up the small bag she carries. Her tone is casual but dignified, not quite business but not friendly either. Respectful, for he deserves nothing less for all he's doing. "Please, lead the way."
wow I super did not mean to leave this hanging for six months, jesus
these things happen to all of us, no worries
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A New Life
After the events on Mustafar, with Padme giving birth to twins, they had taken refuge on Alderaan under Bail Organa's protection. Their shared friend had issued reports of their deaths to help hide them from their pursuers. After Padme had time to rest and heal, they needed to go into hiding. They were issued new identities, given a small worn down ship, and supplies to last them for some time. In what had been a whirlwind of events, they eventually found themselves on the remote planet of Lah'Mu in the Outer Rim.
Kenobi was a common name, and rather unsuspecting despite the fact that there was a Jedi with it on top of the wanted fugitives list. Obi-Wan had decided to change his first name to Ben, an old code name he had used once or twice. While a single man with the name might stand out among records, one with a wife and two children would not be so easily noticed. Especially when they appeared to be an ordinary young family who were joining a group of settlers.
With Bail covering their tracks, they plunged into their new life. Acquiring an out of the way plot of land outside of a small settlement. A run down house already stood there, having been abandoned by previous owners who had decided this life wasn't for them.
Only a few days into having arrived, before they could fully get settled, a storm had proved that the structure wasn't as sturdy as they hoped. Thus the next day found Obi-Wan on the roof. The former Jedi Master of renown banging away as he tore off old roof slats and replaced them. He knew this would have to be done sooner or later, but it proved to be sooner as the leaks had been significant. He was not used to this sort of work, he had been a Jedi and a General in a war after all, but he would have to. This was their life now. He was just an ordinary man with an ordinary family living an ordinary life.
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Everything had changed. Her life, the galaxy, the future her children should have had. It was devastating to think of as a whole, her heartbreak over all that loss too much to bear in one lump sum. What made it possible to survive was the presence of the twins... and of Obi-Wan. Her dear friend who had lost as much as she but still chose to flee with her to safety on this far off world. She hadn't asked it of him nor had the strength to argue — she needed him, her children needed him.
And so here they were, Obi-Wan up on the roof while she cleaned up the water that had gotten absolutely everywhere in the house. The twins had eaten and Leia was somehow sleeping through the raucous while Luke examined the soft mobile of colors suspended above the crib (a gift from Breha before they'd left Alderaan). Both babies seemed completely at peace for the moment, so Padmé took advantage of the opportunity to haul the damp bedclothes outside to the line she'd constructed the day before and that had thankfully held up against the storm. The work was good for her; despite the ache in her soul, she still found solace in doing things with her hands, which helped immensely when sleep and true rest were in such short supply.
With the bedding situated, she moved to the edge of the house, calling up during a break between the banging, "Do you need any help?"
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When he heard her voice, Obi-Wan paused in what he was doing to look up. Raising a hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and offered her a reassuring smile.
"Thank you, but I have it covered."
He glanced over to the sheets that were now flapping about in the breeze on the line nearby.
"Besides, I'm sure you have your own hands full at the moment."
Between the babies and the fact hat she was taking care of the water inside the house, it was a lot to do. One thing they did not lack at least was the ability to work together.
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destined to be;
Love itself is a thing she's had so little experience with. A few fleeting moments of attraction have been pushed aside all her life in order to focus on her career, on serving her people and following the path she truly feels she was destined for. Yes, she would like to have a family of her own one day — that had been her plan before Queen Réillata had requested her take up the role of Senator. And now, with so many years of work still not seeing the results she's pursued, she can't imagine leaving her post anytime soon. Her personal life can wait.
Of course, she needs to be alive in order to set her personal life aside. And as reluctant as she is to admit that additional security might be needed, the grief and guilt over the loss of a dear friend is far more effective at convincing her than any of Typho's entreatments. She would do this to avoid delays and further casualties. Reconnecting with someone she'd once trusted with her life is merely a small benefit in the grand scheme of things.
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Oh, he's affectionate, warm, even loving but in a fairly ...unfocused way. He's even been attracted to people, though very rarely. It simply isn't where his attention lies. He's dedicated to the Order and that leaves very, very little room for anything else in his life.
Dedication to the Order is why, in spite of the rarity of Jedi being used as body guards, there's no complaint from him about his assignment. There are extenuating circumstances in play, too, and someone he remembers fondly from years ago, too, of course.
He takes the elevator in silence, relatively dignified and quietly composed when he walks in. The moment he goes to shake her hand to reintroduce himself, though, his composure cracks.
Because she's glowing.
"This is not good."
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When they are alone, she returns her attention to the man who is suddenly much more important in her life than she'd ever thought him to be. If she wants him to be. Is that how this works? She has dozens of questions, but the first that is voiced is perhaps not relevant to their present situation.
"Why now? This is not the first time we've met."
pursuit of purpose;
Sleeping was the easiest way for her to comprehend what had happened to her. Some sort of stasis, an experimental technology kept from the Senate's knowledge, something had kept her alive all these years, unchanged, only to wake alone and without answers. It took days for her to grasp the magnitude of her situation, hiding on the outskirts of a city on an Inner Rim planet from the soldiers who walked the streets with terrible purpose. The years that had passed, the rise of a power she had fought so desperately against...
And she'd woken too late to join her children in the fight to right the wrongs she should never have allowed to happen. It is the guilt and grief that keeps her away from them now, two years after she'd woken — guilt and grief that drives her to search out any remaining Imperial units and share what information she learned with a contact in the New Republic. Small as it is, she spends every day working toward erasing the scourge of the galaxy that she'd enabled through ignorance and inaction. Because she has to keep her children safe in any way she can.
For now, the way has led her to a backwater planet and a settlement being covered in a coating of snow. The few locals still out in the swiftly falling white move quickly toward their homes or the nearest inn or bar, seeking shelter from the brisk wind. With her hair cut and her dress far plainer than it had ever been, she moves less quickly than the others, taking her time and stepping carefully through the inches of snow already on the ground, watching her surroundings just as carefully while looking for anyone of particular note. ]
no subject
Cassian Andor was burning out. Having been an agent for the Alliance at an age where he shouldn't have known (and been part of) the horrors of war, perhaps it made sense that everything he had seen and done was starting to weigh heavily upon his thin shoulders.
In no uncertain terms, Draven had told him to get his shit together or risk being grounded indefinitely until Alliance psychs proclaimed him fit for duty and he no longer apt to take unnecessary risks or put himself in danger as a way of … indirectly killing himself. He was sure that he'd hit the breaking point eventually, but for the time being, there was always something to be done, and Cassian continued to be the best man for most jobs.
Here he was, trudging through the gathering snow, keeping a lookout for his contact - who he assumed was not one of the locals who were mostly all scurrying for shelter away from the storm. There, he thought, watching a little longer as she walked, that's her. Decidedly not a local. Not at all prepared for the weather. Tha was his contact.
Cassian changed his trajectory to intersect with hers, his voice low and steady as he neared close enough for her to hear.]
You'll catch your death of cold out here dressed like that. I know a place.
“the desert is a natural extension of the inner silence of the body.”
He's hardly the picture of civilized society as he savors the downwash of the landing from a safe distance, Republic jumpsuit unzipped to the waist in an attempt to allow body heat to leave through the sweat-yellowed tee shirt of his desert phase skivvies. The harsh sunlight glints off the twin dogtags that separate him from the Republic's cloned soldiers as he waits for the brownout to clear—his draft board took ownership of his body in every other way, but there's no identification chip implanted in his wrist. Uli Divini had the good fortune of being born and not cloned.
He knows better than to step into the blinding cloud and get a lungful of sand, so he waits, holding a rag over his nose and mouth to filter out the few sharp particles that make their way to where he stands. Man-made thunder booms on the horizon, familiar enough by now to be identifiable as Republic shelling, not Separatist. It still means wounded in a few hours, though, so they'll need to be quick in getting the new nurse set up.
By the time the sand has settled back into its rightful place on the ground and formed a thin layer over the LZ, the chief nurse's latest acquisition is already stepping out of the transport. She looks sorely out of place simply from the lack of grime on her person, though he knows it won't last long - Amidala's face isn't glistening like it probably will be in about five minutes; her hair lacks the unwashed look the weight of sweat has given his and every other human's, but that, too, will come with time.
Uli waves with the arm that isn't holding up the rag and makes a sweeping come-here gesture. They have to get out of the way before Drenn can get off the ground, and judging by the stacks of boxes strapped down in the hold, she's got other things to do today. He shouts his greeting, partly because of the distance and partly because of the low, loud hum of the LAAT's idling engine. ]
Right this way! And don't worry about the shelling, those are ours, not theirs!