notallofus | (no subject)

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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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)