[ His brow pinches for a second before he complies. The expression shifts into a wince as he uncurls his fingers, revealing a burn over the breadth of his palm. The skin is still bright red, the mark otherwise the only mark that might come even close to indicating manual labor. ]
[ there's no harshness to her tone. she reaches to her skirts, ripping idly at a piece of stray fabrics. gentle, though her movements nimble, rey bandages the burn lightly. ]
There. [ she tips her chin, a nod. ] That'll do until we get back.
[ with a crease in her brow: ] — Think you'll manage?
[ It's a matter-of-fact manner he's not used to, if only because the trappings of aristocracy have generally mean that most — apart from his father — put the demands of etiquette before getting to the point.
In echo: ]
I think I might. [ Then, in follow-up: ] Deal with this sort of thing often, do you?
[ there's a grin on her features as she tosses the strap of her bag back across her shoulder. rey tilts her head, another way of saying come if you're coming. the fly-away strands of ripped fabric whip behind her as she turns off and heads in another direction. ]
You should probably think about being more careful out here.
[ He flexes his hand once — it hurts, but less than exposure does — before following after her. It all (compounded with Plagueis' training) emphasizes just how idyllic Naboo is, lush greenery and generally clement conditions as opposed to endless sand and weather's extremes. ]
I'd say I'm growing accustomed to it, but I suppose there's no such thing as being anything more than a tourist in any system that's not your own.
[ her pace falls in rhythm as she lingers; a foot ahead, she still manages keep her gaze fixed on him. the sand they tromp through has been walked and run through millions of times over, but she knows it like the back of her own hand.
( accompany him back to his station and you'll eat for a week. ) she doesn't question it, doesn't bother making waves. but when he speaks of a world beyond her own, rey finds herself captivated. ]
[ He says it like he's reading it from a brochure, though — truthfully — there's no better way of describing the planet. ]
Lakes, swamps, peaceful wildlife — so long as you don't venture too deep into the water. Close to the Outer Rim, and largely untouched as such.
[ A beat passes before he looks back at her. (He knows the answer to the question before he asks it. He knows enough about the planet, about Unkar Plutt and the pittance of a wage he's paying the girl despite what he's receiving, himself.) ]
[ water — swamps, lakes, wildlife beyond the dusty junkers and scavengers like herself. she can hardly imagine; what might it look like up close? what might it feel like?
rey doesn't allow herself to stall, there's no point in lingering. she has a job to do, and she's nothing if not capable of doing it. with her staff over her shoulder, she continues on, shrugging lightly. ]
No. [ she sounds as if she's convincing herself as she says: ] There's nothing for me out there.
[ There's something sharp in his tone — the kind of edge that suggests he's trying not to be rude. His follow-up question is a little more balanced, a little more even despite being more prying. ]
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???
!!!
I was careless.
timelines idk idk
[ there's no harshness to her tone. she reaches to her skirts, ripping idly at a piece of stray fabrics. gentle, though her movements nimble, rey bandages the burn lightly. ]
There. [ she tips her chin, a nod. ] That'll do until we get back.
[ with a crease in her brow: ] — Think you'll manage?
wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, etc.
In echo: ]
I think I might. [ Then, in follow-up: ] Deal with this sort of thing often, do you?
so it shall be.
[ there's a grin on her features as she tosses the strap of her bag back across her shoulder. rey tilts her head, another way of saying come if you're coming. the fly-away strands of ripped fabric whip behind her as she turns off and heads in another direction. ]
You should probably think about being more careful out here.
no subject
I'd say I'm growing accustomed to it, but I suppose there's no such thing as being anything more than a tourist in any system that's not your own.
no subject
[ her pace falls in rhythm as she lingers; a foot ahead, she still manages keep her gaze fixed on him. the sand they tromp through has been walked and run through millions of times over, but she knows it like the back of her own hand.
( accompany him back to his station and you'll eat for a week. ) she doesn't question it, doesn't bother making waves. but when he speaks of a world beyond her own, rey finds herself captivated. ]
What was it like?
no subject
[ He says it like he's reading it from a brochure, though — truthfully — there's no better way of describing the planet. ]
Lakes, swamps, peaceful wildlife — so long as you don't venture too deep into the water. Close to the Outer Rim, and largely untouched as such.
[ A beat passes before he looks back at her. (He knows the answer to the question before he asks it. He knows enough about the planet, about Unkar Plutt and the pittance of a wage he's paying the girl despite what he's receiving, himself.) ]
—Have you never left Jakku?
no subject
rey doesn't allow herself to stall, there's no point in lingering. she has a job to do, and she's nothing if not capable of doing it. with her staff over her shoulder, she continues on, shrugging lightly. ]
No. [ she sounds as if she's convincing herself as she says: ] There's nothing for me out there.
no subject
[ There's something sharp in his tone — the kind of edge that suggests he's trying not to be rude. His follow-up question is a little more balanced, a little more even despite being more prying. ]
What's here, for you?