- Joined
- Aug 3, 2015
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TAIKAHA HILLS, 07:00 LOCAL TIMEDANTOOINE, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES
As far as Imperial territories went, there were worse places to hide than Dantooine. On looks alone it was far superior to any of the industrialized worlds, with clean air, more space, and less of the frazzling noise pollution that came with living in or near the city. Dantooine was certainly a developed world, and it had its own answers to what it thought city living might be, but the central hub of Garang couldn't hold a candle to Anaxes or Bastion in terms of traffic, size, or frustration. Despite its location near the heart of the Empire's expansion, it was a good place to lay low; and with a small pocket of allies in the Hills, safety - for the moment - was more or less guaranteed, though not for long.
Glancing out across the ianthine grassland, Paloma watched as a small herd of iriaz galloped around a bilba tree, their green hides shimmering in the early morning light. Though the prison had been quiet, its silence only punctuated by errant screams at odd hours of the night, life on the farm was genuinely peaceful. She had no intention of staying, but there was a part of her that wondered whether or not it might be best to simply cut ties with her past and settle down somewhere remote, not unlike what their hosts had done. Former Knights themselves, they distanced themselves from the group well before the attempt on the former Dark Lord's life, and instead turned to a simpler life. One of raising and slaughtering livestock for profit, capitalizing on the galaxy's taste for 'ethically-sourced' and 'free range' protein.
The man at her side, small and gruff and nearing his seventy third year, had never been a part of the Imperial Knights. But he knew of their struggle - of what they had endured, and what they hoped to achieve - from his eldest daughter, the woman who graciously offered Paloma and her escaped comrades a place to stay. They stood on the porch in silence, drinking from mismatched mugs, before the man finally cleared his voice to speak.
"So." Upsher's voice matched his hands: weathered, gnarled, and thick from a life spent working the land.
"Hm?"
"You think they'll come?" There was a healthy dose of skepticism in the man's voice. He was a realist, through and through. Even when Paloma smiled, subtly self-assured that rescue would soon appear, his cynicism remained unmoved.
"I do, yeah."
"Isn't that kind of --"
Cutting him off, the woman interjected a laugh, playfully trying to guess his next words.
"Naive? Hopeful?" She'd been called worse, surely. But Paloma was something of an idealist - even if life was hard, she always tried to see the best in people.
"Selfish." He didn't roll his eyes, but the impatience was clear in Upsher's dry, flat tone. There was something mildly paternal about it, the way he looked at her and so deftly took the wind from her sails, that Paloma couldn't help the way her smile immediately fell.
"I -- I don't.."
"Making your friends come all the way out here - its dangerous. What happens if they get intercepted? Ain't like you've got ships of your own."
There was no denying the man was right. Pausing, Paloma let out a breath she hadn't consciously held in, sighing as she gave a short shake of her head. The smile, smaller this time, returned.
"Yeah. But they won't."
"How you so sure?" Squinting, the farmer peered up at the redhead, his wrinkled face twisted up with doubt.
"I just -- I just am. Something's telling me to have hope. Maybe the Force? I don't know." Flustered but not ready to back down from her optimism, Paloma turned to the half-full mug of espcaf in her hands, shaking her head at the blurry, darkened reflection that greeted her. The two Knights sleeping in the basement were her responsibility, now. Their safety, their survival, was paramount. But endangering the lives of Rebel soldiers.. was it worth it? Was she really acting out of selfishness, out of fear?
It was too late for second guessing. The transmission had been sent, their rescue was confirmed. All they had left to do now was wait.
"But they'll come. I know they will." Turning on her heel, Paloma moved back inside the farmhouse to refill her mug, blinking away the first hint of frustrated, terrified tears that threatened to shatter her relentless optimism.
Glancing out across the ianthine grassland, Paloma watched as a small herd of iriaz galloped around a bilba tree, their green hides shimmering in the early morning light. Though the prison had been quiet, its silence only punctuated by errant screams at odd hours of the night, life on the farm was genuinely peaceful. She had no intention of staying, but there was a part of her that wondered whether or not it might be best to simply cut ties with her past and settle down somewhere remote, not unlike what their hosts had done. Former Knights themselves, they distanced themselves from the group well before the attempt on the former Dark Lord's life, and instead turned to a simpler life. One of raising and slaughtering livestock for profit, capitalizing on the galaxy's taste for 'ethically-sourced' and 'free range' protein.
The man at her side, small and gruff and nearing his seventy third year, had never been a part of the Imperial Knights. But he knew of their struggle - of what they had endured, and what they hoped to achieve - from his eldest daughter, the woman who graciously offered Paloma and her escaped comrades a place to stay. They stood on the porch in silence, drinking from mismatched mugs, before the man finally cleared his voice to speak.
"So." Upsher's voice matched his hands: weathered, gnarled, and thick from a life spent working the land.
"Hm?"
"You think they'll come?" There was a healthy dose of skepticism in the man's voice. He was a realist, through and through. Even when Paloma smiled, subtly self-assured that rescue would soon appear, his cynicism remained unmoved.
"I do, yeah."
"Isn't that kind of --"
Cutting him off, the woman interjected a laugh, playfully trying to guess his next words.
"Naive? Hopeful?" She'd been called worse, surely. But Paloma was something of an idealist - even if life was hard, she always tried to see the best in people.
"Selfish." He didn't roll his eyes, but the impatience was clear in Upsher's dry, flat tone. There was something mildly paternal about it, the way he looked at her and so deftly took the wind from her sails, that Paloma couldn't help the way her smile immediately fell.
"I -- I don't.."
"Making your friends come all the way out here - its dangerous. What happens if they get intercepted? Ain't like you've got ships of your own."
There was no denying the man was right. Pausing, Paloma let out a breath she hadn't consciously held in, sighing as she gave a short shake of her head. The smile, smaller this time, returned.
"Yeah. But they won't."
"How you so sure?" Squinting, the farmer peered up at the redhead, his wrinkled face twisted up with doubt.
"I just -- I just am. Something's telling me to have hope. Maybe the Force? I don't know." Flustered but not ready to back down from her optimism, Paloma turned to the half-full mug of espcaf in her hands, shaking her head at the blurry, darkened reflection that greeted her. The two Knights sleeping in the basement were her responsibility, now. Their safety, their survival, was paramount. But endangering the lives of Rebel soldiers.. was it worth it? Was she really acting out of selfishness, out of fear?
It was too late for second guessing. The transmission had been sent, their rescue was confirmed. All they had left to do now was wait.
"But they'll come. I know they will." Turning on her heel, Paloma moved back inside the farmhouse to refill her mug, blinking away the first hint of frustrated, terrified tears that threatened to shatter her relentless optimism.