- Joined
- Mar 18, 2014
- Messages
- 752
- Reaction score
- 0
Another day, another dollar. That’s how the saying is supposed to go. At least, that’s what Branden had been taught. Words, however, did little to assuage his howling stomach. He hadn’t eaten in days. It wasn’t because he lacked the funds to do so. He had enough capital to feed himself, yet he was not generating income. This meant that whatever money he had left was, out of necessity, precious to him. This was also a fact he loathed within himself. He was a Jedi in many ways, yet he also inhabited a galaxy that did not welcome his kind. In days gone by, he could have counted on the generosity of others. His mother and father often told him as much. Of the better days. Better times. In abject annoyance, he glanced out his viewport in hopes of distracting himself from his hunger. Below him the clouds over Naboo came into view. Clouds held little allure for the youth, though. He was not artistically inclined as his friends were. Where they saw shapes and imagery, he saw only clouds. This time was no different. Clouds of every sort lazily floated about the transport craft he’d taken passage on. Try as he might, he could not find solace in those clouds. Instead, he found himself consumed only further by his hunger. For a time, as he stared hard into the clouds, he thought he glimpsed images of his favorite meals. Fried meats and burgers filtered before his eyes, his mouth began to water, slather filling his maw. His stomach grumbled horribly. He blinked and the mirage dissipated. The inexperienced Padawan sighed. He swept his gaze from from the viewport to stare ahead. An elderly and portly human who smelt ripe was seated before him. His balding head was pockmarked with brown splotches. Curiously, Bran watched as that head slumped forward and heavy snoring followed soon after. Beside himself, he began to chuckle, but could not discern why. Overhead, a steward relayed their arrival upon Naboo. Spurned by this new information, Bran lazily cast his eyes towards the viewport once more. Azure glimpsed low clouds that blocked the sun. They glimpsed a flock of birds soar through the sky towards some unknown destination. They viewed the structure below the transport craft. The dozens of large, commercial transports that docked and unloaded their cargo. The closer his craft grew, the larger the beings became. They appeared less like worker ants and more like sentient lifeforms of every shape and size. Idly, the youth slicked a free hand through his dirty-blond hair, mussing it casually. Moments later, that hand fell to return upon the armrest as restlessness began to overtake him. His belongs were stored back on the secret compound, hidden on Zonju V. All he took was all he ever took. He wore his father’s armor, tailored to fit his growing frame. It was heavy and cumbersome, despite his tinkering, but that was not a detractor. He wore it everywhere, some days he slept in it. It brought him comfort, it provided constant passive training. It glimmered dully in the light reflected from the viewport. Alabaster tones, contrasted by dull, dark grey steel, black and orange. His mother’s lightsaber was hidden, tucked inside a hidden compartment in his backplate - a necessary evil unless some upstart end his life by claiming his head. He did not enjoy the idea of being someone’s meal ticket. His restlessness overtook him. His right leg began to twitch, the shake and shudder. The transport seemed to reflect his own eagerness. It shuddered as it neared the duracrete beneath its struts. Repulsor generators activated to compensate for the pull of Naboo’s natural gravity and the deceleration of the large, oblique craft. Minutes later and the transport touched down, docked on its pre-designated landing pad. The captain’s voice became heard over the stirring of the hundreds of passengers. He wished them a good day and welcomed them to Naboo. He thanked them for their patronage and then cut the line. The other weary travelers, rose - even the elderly and blubberous man. They rose to collect their meager baggage from overhead bins. Branden alone remained seated. He did not have anything stored overhead, nor below in the cargo hold. There was no point in shoving his way to the front. No matter how hungry he was, he was not about to be rude to strangers out of his own mortal impatience. Nevertheless, impatient he was. The tremors of his leg could not be contained. His neighbor, noticing this, offered to allow the padawan passage and despite his intentions, Branden rose to join the line of the mob trickling towards the exit ramp. After what felt like an excruciating hour, he appeared beneath the natural light of a natural star. He felt the heat of it upon his back, beneath his black hoodie and stifling armor. He squinted against the rogue rays that burst between the clouds. Reflexively, his hand rose to shield his eyes. Behind him, he felt the press of the crowd and was jostled and shoved forward. Absently, he began to move with them. He lacked a purpose for being here. The prospects of proper tutelage had seemingly dried up recently. So, instead of moping around in a lawless desert or some humid, tropical world, he decided, instead to tour the galaxy. Perhaps he would see new things and experience life? Perhaps, he would make it with a dame? He could not help but roguishly smirk at the thought or the reflection that he had labeled womankind as ‘dames.’ It was a small thing. Something, that would normally be forgotten, overlooked, but Branden was bored and in foreign land. His hunger led him deeper into the starport, past many a stall, shoppe and eatery where he could have bought food. He lingered in many such places, hungrily eyeing the menu and contemplating theft. His will overrode and reluctantly he moved on. Eventually, he found himself moving towards the city center of whatever city this was. His Force signature was muted, but not gracefully nor expertly. Yet, he didn’t trouble himself with the fact that almost anyone with a degree of training would still be able to spot him. He prided himself on the fact, that he was growing better at concealing his presence the more he practiced. Instinctively, his hands rose to the headphones that perpetually clung to his neck. They placed those headphones upon his head as a hand fished into his pocket for his father’s datapad. Skimming through his father’s music library, he found a worthy song to satisfy his mood and began to play it. Moments later, he was happily and aimlessly strutting down the street toward providence unknown. |