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First, there's the smell. It's so strong, and it hits Kanan all at once as they climb up into the narrow passages of the enormous sandcrawler. Somehow he hadn't noticed it on the Jawas before, but now it was so much so fast that he had trouble keeping his eyes ahead. It wasn't sickening, but strange, and so much at once - like burnt spices, bitter mint, the sharp scent of salt soured with a stale sweetness, warm moisture like condensation on hot steel, and a metallic tang like blood. Even in his worst days when he was younger, when he'd slept behind dumpsters or collapsed drunk under a cantina bar, or even sharing close quarters with injured and battle-fatigued clone troopers, he'd never experienced anything like this. If the smell is getting to Hera, she doesn't show any sign of it, so Kanan tries to do the same. There's enough to worry about when navigating the sandcrawler without getting distracted by the smell.

The passages are dark and very narrow – at some points they can lean forward, at others he and Hera have to get down and crawl in order to follow Tsedec. This was not a place designed for anyone other than Jawas, which makes sense. Kanan can't help but wonder if any non-Jawa had ever been in this sandcrawler before. He also has to conclude that Jawas can see much better in the dark than he can. There are only occasional low lamps, and once or twice he realizes what he thought were low lights were actually a pair of yellow eyes peering out from a slat in the wall of the passageway. There's nonstop chatter, as well as the occasional call of higher-pitched voices Kanan thinks must belong to children, though they only ever see fully grown Jawas.

Eventually, they reach a room Kanan is sure must be the center of the crawler. Like the passages around it, this room is dimly lit, but there's some kind of combustion chamber at the far side of the room that's so bright Kanan has to blink his eyes against the orange-yellow light. The room is large, tall enough for Kanan and Hera to stand with still a few meters above them, a wide rectangle that was clearly used as a gathering place. Small brown mats were arranged around the floor, and the somewhat battered metal walls were decorated, with long hangings Kanan realized were woven both with thread and old wires, and the dim light not from the combustion chamber came from small, strung lights, made from narrow tubes and mismatched vials.

Tsedec asks them to sit, which they do, settling on two mats in a corner close to the door they had entered. Another Jawa brings them protein bars and small cups of water. Hera again offers payment, which this time is accepted. With that, both Jawas nod quickly to them, and head back to the door, leaving Kanan and Hera alone with their meal. Within a few minutes, there's a loud screech and a heavy thud as the crawler lurches forward. That thudding continues as the crawler moves, becoming steady and constant, though still loud.

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Hera tugs her hood forward, it having slid slightly as they made their way through the crawler, before she picks up her cup to take a small sip.

"I hope this was a good idea," she murmurs.

Edited 2018-12-03 00:05 (UTC)

"Well, if it's not . . . " Kanan trails off, taking his own sip of water. He wants to guzzle it, but given that he doesn't know how long they'll be here or how much water will be on offer, he refrains.

"If it's not, I guess we'll find out soon enough? And at least Chopper's got the ship ready to go. Or he will have, by the time we . . . "

Okay, yeah, Kanan hopes this was a good idea, too. But it's too late to go back, so . . . here they are.

Edited 2018-12-03 00:08 (UTC)

They were relying entirely on the Jawas to keep their word, which wasn't a position Hera ever liked to be in. The Jawas could make a deal with the Empire, or even just sell them off to the Hutts. But the Jawas weren't known for that kind of trade. They hadn't created this situation, and their offer made sense. A gift for a gift.

She takes another slow slip from the cup, then snaps off a piece of the protein bar with her fingers.

"At least the suns are going down," she says. "It must get boiling in here during the day."

Kanan can still feel sweat trickling down his back. It's . . . remarkably uncomfortable.

"Yeah. That's . . . probably good for us, and by us I mean both of us. Not just me."

Um.

"I am kind of worrying about getting a leg cramp at some point, though. The tight quarters only make sense, but I'm not sure I'm built for sitting cross-legged this long."

Even with all the Jedi meditation training.

"It's only about twenty-four hours."

Hera leans back against the walk, chewing down the small piece of protein bar.

"You've been in tight quarters before, haven't you?"

"Not since I got this tall."

Kanan, too, leans back against the wall, holding his protein bar in reserve. He'll get to it. But maybe when it's a little less hot.

"And I used to be a lot more flexible."

A pause.

"As a kid. You know."

"I did figure that out."

She's managing with the heat a little better, but also sets aside the rest of her protein bar after one bite, not feeling up to more. Maybe it's nerves, or that she's uncertain of when she'll get another. She always hates that, too.

"Sorry. It's a little stuffy in here, and hard to think."

He tries on a wry smile.

"But it's a lot better than most of our other options, so . . . I'll stop complaining."

Another pause.

"You holding up okay?"

"I'm fine," she answers. She takes in a deep breath - something she has to work out, as it is stuffy, and while the combustion chamber is burning out much of the odors of the crawler around them, the smell is still strong.

"This just wasn't how I was planning to end the day."

"Well, no," Kanan acknowledges, reaching out to rest his hand on hers, very briefly. He's careful to make sure it's the hand without the protein bar in it, because those can get sticky.

"But we haven't been captured yet, or shot at -- minus Chopper -- and that's not too terrible a record."

She actually lets out a small snort of laughter.

"Chop's gonna be such a nightmare when we get back."

Edited 2018-12-03 02:00 (UTC)

It's not that Kanan flinches, but --

"How careful am I gonna have to be not to get shocked? Any ideas?"

Hera shrugs. "We might be leaving in a hurry. Maybe he'll be distracted."

They carry on like this, speaking softly, as the crawler continues to lurch forward. There are no windows, no view to the outside from in here, and Hera images Mos Elrey growing smaller and smaller in the distance, the suns dipping lower in the sky. Soon they would be so far from anything - no settlement, not even a moisture farm would be in reach on foot, at least not before they became too dehydrated to move, or came across whatever else was crawling along these sands.

It was a position she had been more times than she could count, in the desert plains of Ryloth or the depths of space. But maybe this was part of why she preferred to be the one at the controls.

After more than hour, the door opens again, and a line of Jawas steps into the room. They move with near uniform ease, though they quickly divide from one another to spread out around the room. One carries a steel pitcher and a stack of cups like they'd given Hera and Kanan. Tsedec approaches them, nodding quickly to each of them before settling down on a mat near their corner. They're all speaking quickly, again it sounds like their words run over each others', and a few gesture around as though giving directions. The one who brought cups passes them out. Protein bars are also passed around, while others move close to the combustion chamber, setting alongside it what Hera recognizes are bits of small animals - dune worms, womp rats. The Jawas leave them until they've charred - Hera likes the smell of these, but wouldn't ask for anything as precious as real food.

Edited 2018-12-04 04:01 (UTC)

Kanan does his best to keep his nose from wrinkling, or his stomach from growling. A brief meditation trance helps a lot. (The charring meat smells really good on its own, but on top of all the other odors in the place it's . . . a bit much.)

"Uh," he says, very quietly.

"Hi?"

It has the feel of a ritual, but one in which he's unsure of his place. Or Hera's place. Not acknowledging it seems like the worse option, though, so . . .

But the Jawas don't seem particularly interested in them. Hera counts fifteen in the room now - maybe a quarter of the total number that must be in the crawler, but she knows they couldn't all fit in here. The others must be having their evening meal elsewhere. She has no idea if this particular gathering was anything out of the ordinary - maybe it happened every night, and a couple of outsiders weren't going to stop it. Either way, she has no idea what they're saying now. It's too fast, and true Jawaese, not the Trade talk they'd used before.

She looks to Kanan, and shrugs. The Jawas pass around the meat as well, none offered to Kanan and Hera, whom by now seem largely forgotten. Their talk quiets as they eat, the overwhelming smell in the room gives way even more to the scent of fire and burnt flesh, and for a few minutes, it's as quiet as it had been before, just the churn of the crawler around them.

And then one of the Jawas, wearing a particularly large belt and standing from their mat, begins to speak. The others, including Tsedec, stay quiet this time, listening attentively. Hera also listens, but she knows even if she could follow the sounds of Jawaese, she still wouldn't understand it.

Kanan barely understands any of the words, but the way the Jawas feel as they listen . . . it's not a meditative experience, but strong emotions are stirring among the group, and if he weren't so well-trained he might find himself washed away, if only briefly.

But he knows how to ground and center, how to pull his Force-senses back and let the world keep moving around him, and so he does.

Mostly.

He also musters a tiny smile as he looks over at Hera, a blink-and-you-miss it affair, because happy isn't exactly what's being conveyed here. But it's . . . it's not bad, it's just vast.

Their speech goes on for some time, but as the Jawa speaks, Hera notices how their voice changes. At first she thinks they're deliberately deepening their tone, but then at the same time the sound seems to climb, into a high, light buzz that spins around the room. Though she knows it's impossible, Hera gets the strange sense that she can feel the sound itself move, hitting the walls and racing through the air around her.

A few of the others stand, and begin to speak too, their voices also changing, speaking deeply yet with that same higher song to them. It doesn't sound like voices, but like wind whistling among stones, or the hum of her ship's engine, all rising into the mechanical clicks and churns of the crawler around them. The room feels more crowded, as the sound feels so solid to her that she could flinch, like a note could bounce one way and hit her.

Kanan shifts position a little, pressing his shoulder against hers, taking deep breaths even as his eyes remain closed.

There's no way out of this but through, not that he can see. There's a ringing in his skull just between his eyes, and while he can use the Force to take away some of the buzzing in his eardrums, there's not much he can do for Hera.

But he would if he could.

"Breathe," he says, in a quiet undertone, trying to keep his voice below that of the Jawas. "With me."

It takes a moment for her to discern his words beneath the strange kaleidoscope of sound around them. But before she understands completely, she reaches out, and curls her hand around his, pressing her fingers into his wrist.

That helps. She can feel his breath, can concentrate on making hers match his rhythm.

It's not that it's painful - in a way, it's beautiful, as much as it's strange. But it overwhelms her much more than the smell had, so much sound, low and high at once, deep vibrations that could rattle this small, tightly closed room. Yet when she closes her eyes, when her breathing falls in time with his, the sound coalesces. As though she'd been trying to hear every dissonant note, rather than letting them come together.

She thinks, at once, of the night sky. Deep, dense black with thousands, millions of tiny shards of light. She sees it so clearly, as though the sound were drawing it closer to her, making the stars sharper, the darkness deeper.

There's connection here, between the Jawas and their crawler, the air and the metal walls around them, the crawler itself and the sand beneath its treads, the two suns in the sky and everything else below . . .

Kanan can feel it all, letting the song wash over him, vibrations traveling up through his fingertips and down through his feet, both pressing against the floor (and the blankets). He can almost imagine he feels the pulse of Hera's blood through where her hand grips his, but that's ridiculous.

Surely.

He breathes deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, and while it isn't a trance, he feels . . . quieter -- and more connected -- than he has in quite some time.

Their voices fade, after a few minutes, but then another takes a turn. They don't all lead - maybe five stand, and lead these voices, by the time it seems it's done. And it can't take that long really, an hour, maybe a little more. But it feels longer, as though all of it would need more time.

Hera becomes more comfortable with the sound as it continues. It lets her notice other details, the way the smell of the room changes, the a few repeated words and phrases that seem to direct the flow of their speech. She keeps her hold on Kanan, but with her free hand, she reaches down to the floor, pressing her fingers to it. She feels vibrations on the metal like ripples in water.

As they go quiet, and stay that way, the voices back to a soft chatter, their footsteps shuffling along the floor as they all rise from the mats - Hera feels exhausted. All that nervous energy drained out of her, it takes some effort for her to open her eyes.

When she does, she sees Tsedec standing in front of them, bright eyes watching them.

Edited 2018-12-08 00:27 (UTC)

Kanan, too, opens his eyes once the vibrations die down, exhaling gently. He tries hard not to start when he notices Tsedec, and mostly fails.

Good job, Force senses.

"Uh."

He swallows, throat gone dry with all his silences.

"Hi?"

Edited 2018-12-08 03:14 (UTC)

Hera lets go of Kanan's hand and leans forward from the wall.

She's really, really hoping their response wasn't too... strange? Noticeable? But however intensely she had felt that sound, she's sure what Kanan was feeling wasn't just that.

"What's going on now?" she asks. Tsedec gestures with his arms toward the door, and gives in answer in Jawa Trade that she can understand well enough to confirm -

"Sleep."

Kanan looks from Hera to Tsedec and back again. Twice. Part of his senses are still wrapped up in the music, and may be for some time. It was -- it was bigger than a story, and more than sound, and --

Anyway.

"Is there anywhere we'll fit?"

"I guess we'll find out."

At least this time, they don't have to move very far. It's back to crawling as they exit the room, but then Tsedc leads them to a ladder straight up through a wide tube, and then another long, low lit corridor, before stopping in the middle of it. They reach out and slide open a door, which was set into the wall so that to Hera, it had been barely visible.

The room is very small - the ceiling a little more than a meter off the floor. It's completely dark, except for a red glow that emanates from the floor, running just along the edge the walls, so that Hera can tell the room is maybe three meters wide. There's a block of darkness on the floor - as she steps into the room, she can feel that the floor isn't solid, but a length of metal grating, wide enough for her to just stick her fingers through.

The block of darkness, she realizes as she feels it, is a thick mat, softer than the ones they'd sat on before. It's long and wide enough for even the two of them to rest on, though they won't have much room beyond that.

Kanan follows half a beat behind Hera, extending one hand out so he doesn't bump into either her or a very close wall.

"It's . . . cozy."

He's going to get a neck cramp, he can already tell. That, or fracture his skull while forgetting that the ceilings are low. Still, this is keeping them from becoming either captured or dead, so he'll take it.

"Thanks."

"Thank you, Tsedec," Hera says, sitting up on the mat to look back at them. Tsedec watches them for another moment, and then says something Hera doesn't understand, before the door slides shut again. She's going to assume that that's some form of 'good night.'

With the door shut, they're in near total darkness. She leans back, lying down along the edge of the mat, tilting herself so that she could look down to the floor. Through the metal grating, she can see where the red light is coming from - the combustion chamber that had been part of the room they were just in. Hera realizes they must be directly above that room, the other lights in it having been darkened, leaving only the fire still glinting. It's also dying down, to that soft red.

Hera doesn't turn to face him. She doesn't see much point in that. But after a few seconds, a few churns of the crawler around them, she asks, "How are you?"

Edited 2018-12-08 03:46 (UTC)

Kanan, meanwhile, has twisted around so he can tuck his knees up without taking up too much vertical space, breathing deeply with his eyes half-closed. He can't hear the voices anymore, nor their echoes, but he can feel the thrum of the crawler around them, the rhythm of both is own breathing and Hera's, the slow pounding of his heart --

"That was -- that was amazing," he says quietly, still a little stunned. "I still feel caught in it, a little. Sorry."

He tries to turn to look at her, even though he really can't see in the mostly-darkness.

"How are you?"

"I don't know."

She stays turned away, her body right along the edge of the mat. With one hand, she reaches out, touching her fingers to the metal grating.

"I'm not sure what they thought of our... reaction."

Hera knows it probably doesn't matter. Kanan hadn't done anything that would make others think 'Jedi.' At least, not that Hera knew. Maybe the Jawas knew different, but it seemed that they were safe. Still, she's not sure she entirely understands what just happened.

"Well," Kanan says, after a long moment of silence, "they haven't tried to kill us yet. And I don't . . . "

He frowns, taking another deep breath. There's still a heavy scent in the air, but it's less oppressive than it was in the other room. And maybe he's getting used to the heat.

"I don't feel like anything's wrong. Not that that means much, but -- "

"All right."

Her lekku twitch, in lieu of shaking her head. "No, it means a lot, Kanan."

He smiles a little, there in the dark.

"Yeah, okay. But it isn't everything, so I vote we still keep an eye out."

Kanan fights the urge to stretch, because there's really nowhere for any of his limbs to go. He takes a deep breath, pressing his ribs into the mat, trying to feel the grating below that, just to have something to focus on.

It doesn't exactly work.

She stays quiet, still moving her fingers along the grating. The red glow below is growing dimmer.

"Did you understand what was happening? Any of it?"

Kanan opens his mouth, closes it, swallows once, and tries again.

"History, I think. Not the facts of it, but the . . . shape of it. The feeling of memory. They have a long past, the Jawas."

Edited 2018-12-09 01:33 (UTC)

"Once I got used to it ..."

She takes a breath after that. "It was like - I could see things more clearly in my mind. Just, whatever was already in my head, like the sound was helping me picture it."

Kanan holds his breath for a moment, focusing on the feel of it in his lungs, worried (maybe) about the question he's about to ask.

"Was it . . . was it good? What you were thinking of. While they were singing."

Hera presses her fingers, and her hand, down against the grate, shifting her weight so as to turn over. Away from the edge of the mat, and toward him. It doesn't make any difference - she can't see him at all. But she can hear and feel his movements well enough to know how little space there is between them.

"It wasn't anything in particular," she says. "The sky, star patterns. The desert outside."

The sound of Hera moving, turning over -- Kanan can recognize that even in the dark. She's close, so very close. His skin pebbles with goosebumps, if only for a few seconds. He shivers.

"The now?"

She doesn't answer. Hera looks down in the dark, roughly to where she thinks her hand is resting against the mat. She imagines how far she could move it, before she'd run into him.

"Maybe we should try to sleep," she murmurs.

"Maybe," Kanan agrees quietly.

He can feel his fingers twitching, and it would be so easy to reach out -- he can feel just where she is --

But no. They really need to be well-rested when they get where they're going.

So, without saying anything else, Kanan lets himself drift off to sleep. He can only hope Hera is able to follow.

Edited 2018-12-09 02:15 (UTC)

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