notallofus | (no subject)

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This had proved to be one of the smoothest jobs they'd ever run. Hera, acting as a graduate assistant who had ended up at the administrative building when she'd meant to get to the xenobiologly labs on the other side of campus, had distracted the guards long enough for Kanan to slip in and out of the Imperial liaison's office without any trouble at all. Then again, neither the office nor the files inside were overly protected – the Empire didn't seem too concerned with anyone slipping away with their notes on Bar'leth University's faculty. It wasn't a weapon, or some exploitable resource, so maybe that wasn't surprising. But there were contacts in the rebellion who could use the information on which academics might be sympathetic, and which might be in imminent danger from the Empire.

And so they finish far ahead of their scheduled rendezvous with the Ghost. Kanan changes out of his maintenance uniform disguise, though Hera keeps her civilian clothes, and with little else to do in the meantime, they wander along the edge of the campus, its famous natural and cultural history museum looming not far in the distance. Most students and faculty have cleared out by now, but the paths and column-lined buildings are illuminated with white lanterns, keeping the campus bright as the cool evening sets in. The paths are lined with flower beds, and ahead of them is a wide pond, still enough to reflect the gymnasium just beyond it.

It's a very peaceful place, on the surface. But they had already read enough of the files they'd recovered to find that under that surface, it's anything but.

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"My parents met at a college in Nabat."

She sounds a little wistful, at that. It's not a part of her parent's lives she would ever really know.

"Before my father was expelled."

"How long did it take him to get thrown out?"

Kanan can't imagine it was very long, given what he knows of Cham, and how he is when he believes in something. It's clear in Hera, for one.

Edited 2018-03-17 14:04 (UTC)

Hera lets out a low laugh.

"Six months. His ideas weren't all that popular back then."

"I would've bet on four," Kanan offers.

"Did you ever think you'd go to a school like that? Or, I mean. Did you ever want to?"

“No.”

She says it a little quickly, and after a few seconds adds, “I wanted to go to a flight academy when I was younger, but it would’ve been impossible. And then I found a way to work without it.”

A little quieter, “And that college where my parents met was destroyed in the Clone Wars, anyway.”

"A lot of things were," Kanan says.

And --

"I'm sorry."

Hera glances up at him. And then, she looks around, across the darkened campus. There are two students sitting on a bench nearby, a few figure waiting near a hoverbus stop in the distance, a few lights shining through windows.

And then she realizes this is all unnecessary. There’s no one here who knows or cares who they are.

So she reaches over to Kanan, and takes his hand.

Kanan's eyes widen for a moment, even as his fingers fold reflexively through hers, warm and not even slightly damp.

His smile is small, and very sweet, and he squeezes her hand lightly, because he can.

Hera smiles back, even if she has to put some effort into not breathing too deeply, or glancing away.

“Maybe we can find something to eat,” she says, when that silence has lasted long enough.

“But it’ll probably be expensive here.”

"Probably," Kanan agrees. His own cheeks are maybe a little flushed, but it's dark enough that's not readily apparent.

"But maybe we can rustle up some Corellians who are ready to bet on some piloting."

"I'm not planning on any races tonight."

She shakes her head, and starts to turn her steps, toward the campus edge and the city beyond.

"This direction's probably our best bet."

"You say that," Kanan says, "and yet . . . "

He trails off, mouth quirked in a smile even as he follows her toward the edge of the university campus.

"But no, you're right, it's not the day for casual entertainment."

They wander out into the city that surrounds the stretch of campus. It's busier, and louder, as speeders race buy and other pedestrians make their way among shops and homes and restaurants. The austere lighting of the campus gives way to bright, blinking signs in windows and glinting traffic lights. Within a few blocks, there's a small bar that looks slightly less crowded than the others, though before Hera and Kanan reach it, a speeder slams to a halt in front of it, a group of already rowdy-looking humans and climbing out of it. They're old enough that they might be graduate students, or younger faculty. Hera stops short as they come together to head into the bar.

But her eyes flicker from the group almost at once, as she catches sight of the speeder. Once they're inside, she takes a step closer. It's large enough to comfortably hold a driver and four passengers, its elaborate bodywork of cool blues and violets glittering under the street lamps and flashing signs, and Hera moves along it until she finds the the logo -

"SoroSuub Corp," she says, glancing back to Kanan. "Probably one of the most expensive you can get."

"Someone's family's well-off, looks like," Kanan acknowledges, smile gone crooked.

"You think they have any idea how to get the most out of this thing?"

He's got a weather eye on the door, because could be that group of humans has something to say about anybody taking a closer look at their ride.

"Not from the way they pulled up."

But she takes a step back from it, moving toward the bar door instead. "Still want to go in?"

Kanan hangs back a moment, considering.

Then --

"I could use a drink," he says at last, "and it'll be interesting, watching the rich in their own element."

"Just remember we're not rich."

And their drink budget is pretty limited.

"We'll get one of something fancy to split, and then I'll drink water."

Kanan has a plan!

Edited 2018-03-19 01:33 (UTC)

The bar is small, painted in deep, dark colors and dimly lit, a little busier than its exterior would suggest. Hera spots a couple surveillance droids floating along the ceiling, and she keeps her face carefully turned down as she searches for a space to sit. The only open table is next to the group they'd watched enter. She nudges Kanan toward it.

The table is metal, a small circle drilled to the floor, two narrow chairs next to it and a flickering, imitation candle at the center of it. The moment they sit down, a serving droid brings menus and two glasses of water. With ice.

Hera still stares at the glasses for a second, before looking down to the menu. "At least the water's free," she notes.

Kanan, too, keeps his face turned away from the surveillance droids, taking Hera's direction toward a table. He only makes a mild sort of face at having to sit beside the rowdy older students with the fancy speeder.

Not that a bar isn't a place he'd expect to find people just that bit too intoxicated. But there's not supposed to be any fighting tonight, which is easier when there are fewer potentially-brash people about.

Ah, well.

"It's the ice that gets me," Kanan says.

"I know they don't need moisture farmers, in a place like this."

But she can't help imagining just how valuable even the beads of condensation on her glass would be on some worlds.

"They could export just a hair above cost and still make a mint," Kanan says. "They won't, of course. But they could."

It's so hard for some places to be generous. (Most places, if he's being honest).

And, of course, that's when a blond man at the adjacent table -- cheeks far too pink for someone who hasn't drunk at least two Corellian whiskeys -- lifts up his voice and over-enunciates his last few words.

" -- a hot alien of my own! Have you seen those Pantorans?"

Hera lowers her head, though it'll do nothing to hide her lekku. She's ready to ignore the conversation, and instead try to focus on finding something palatable on this menu -

"You're crazy, Brock -"

"That's Hutt stuff, the Empire's won't go for it -"

The blond shakes his head, speaking quieter (or what he likely imagines is quieter), "No, it's already happening -"

Her eyes stay down, but that's when Hera stops reading.

"My mother says -- "

"Oh, your mother's already drooling for -- "

That last is the blond again. And now, of course, several other members of the group are joining in on the increasingly-pointed teasing.

"Her husband's a centenarian, what else is she going to -- "

And, from the center of the table, slurring only a little drunkenly --

"Just think of all the tentacles!"

Kanan exhales, attention focused on that table, even as his gaze is scanning the menu.

"You know, suddenly I'm not real thirsty."

Hera raises her eyes to Kanan, but just barely shakes her head. Her hands are flat on the table. It's a few more minutes of guffawing and snickering from the next table. Hera lowers her eyes again, knowing it's likely not worth her time -

"No -" The blond breaks in among the snickering, loud, but his voice goes quiet again. "My father's got a contract in Umbara, since the takeover. More doonium than they can ship and the cost -"

There's just a low whistle, and the others start to murmur, a mix of nervousness and awe. Hera closes her eyes.