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There are days when Kanan wishes the detection capabilities of the Imperial fleet were a lot less good than they are. Those days usually coincide with missions that involve a lot of sitting around in a dead ship, with a deactivated Chopper and a lot of time to kill until contact is made.

Like today, for instance.

Probably all day, too. Hopefully not into tomorrow.

"So," Kanan says, voice pitched low and not quite sibilant enough to be a whisper. "How do you feel about another round of I Spy?"

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" . . . You know I'm not actually going to have all this down by the time our pickup contacts us, right? I mean, I've definitely never been that kind of prodigy."

Caleb, either.

"Are there times when hearing the 'cho' doesn't mean strangers? Because I hear it here, too, and I don't want to focus on it if that's not . . . what it means."

She bites back a sarcastic response, instead keeping her voice, at least, reassuring.

"And I'm not much of a Twi'leki teacher. If you remember your one sentence a week from now, I'll be impressed with both of us.

"And cho doesn't mean strangers. It means 'your.'"

Beat. "... for a stranger."

"Somehow I knew this was going there."

He keeps his tone light, one corner of his mouth turning up at the corner.

"Rilokacho, right? And then shen . . . dor?"

"Riloka is home," she says. "So it's 'your home.' And shenal is 'see,' but it's you must see. It's me - nicely -" she feels the need to add, for some reason "- telling you to go see your home."

Good to know it's not a version of 'get the hell out of here', at least. Not that there's anywhere to go, but still.

(Someday Zeb is going to come along, and anything he teaches them about his language is probably going to be essentially that. Thanks, Zeb.)

"So a nicely poetic sendoff for when you're sure someone is leaving?"

"It's like - telling someone to get home safely. Or to come back home. Or..."

Again, she struggles to come up with the Basic words for it. "... like a reminder, that your home is out there."

"What about when your home's in here?"

"Then it means get back here as soon as you can.

"But... in a nice way."

"Sounds about right."

She sighs. "I guess I was always a little more direct. Even in Twi'leki."

"I wouldn't know what to do with you if you weren't."

It matches Kanan's style nicely, for one.

"Yelling at off-worlders was a big part of how I learned Basic."

Hera may be smiling again.

Edited 2017-05-09 02:06 (UTC)

"They had it coming."

Kanan is sure of that.

"It usually got their attention," she allows.

"Is it a tactic we should re-adopt sometime?"

Maybe it works better coming from a kid. But still . . .

"I don't think it'd have the same effect."

There's also nothing unusual about an offworld adult Twi'lek speaking in Basic, even if they are being... direct about it.

"And I don't have the same reasons for it anymore."

"Maybe I can try screaming in Twi'leki?"

He's kidding.

She rolls her eyes.

"I think we're doing okay as it is. And if we want screaming no one else will understand, that's what we have Chopper for."

Notice how she said that while he's powered down.

Edited 2017-05-09 02:46 (UTC)

Kanan has always said that Hera is an eminently sensible woman.

"It's the metallic blorping noise that is the height of terrifying, it's true."

Hera doesn't answer for a moment, looking back out to check their still empty view.

"Didn't you learn anything like this with the Jedi?"

He's quiet for a minute, gaze flicking down to where his hands hang empty in his lap.

Then --

"I think I would have, if there'd been an 'after the war' for us. During, there was only time to focus on strategy, on tactics, on leading the clone troops."

Edited 2017-05-09 03:06 (UTC)

"Or a 'before the war,'" she murmurs.

Hera takes a deep breath.

"I think it worked the other way for me."

He pulls himself out of his head, or at least he tries, going through a quick meditative pass because if anyone doesn't deserve to join him in stewing on the past, it's Hera.

Or at least not to stew in his issues.

"Oh?"

Hera looks out onto the stars again, maybe hoping that she'll be interrupted, that they'll see some distant movement that will tell them their contact has arrived.

But nothing comes, the space beyond them remains still.

"When I was a girl I was – a nightmare for my parents. I'd watch where ships landed and I'd run away to them. I knew to stay away from droids, but cargo pilots and clone pilots and smugglers – I'd just run right to them and tell them to explain their ships, to show me how they flew. Some of them threw me out, but I think a lot of them were so startled that this little girl had run right up to them, telling them what to do. That I wasn't afraid of anything."

She pulls her legs up into her chair, curling around them in a childlike sort of way.

"It terrified my mother. She and my father would tell me over and over again to stop, but I just ignored them. And she was right to be afraid, it's probably a miracle that the worst that ever happened was that some of the pilots were rough about kicking me out. But I didn't care when I got hurt, and I didn't care about my parents' threats. I just kept doing it. And I think they couldn't stand the idea of locking me up."

The problem with being both a parent and a freedom fighter.

"So my mother made this deal with me. That they'd stop yelling at me about it if I came back before dark, if I learned to use a blaster, and if I could prove I knew Basic and Huttese. Basic so I'd know if anyone was threatening me, and Huttese so I'd know when to run."

Well, shit.

"It wasn't safe not to know. Damn."