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.
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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.