for_everyone | Homecoming

Homecoming

Feeling drained after a mission is common enough, but Hera can feel a nervous energy off both crews now wandering their newly stolen Imperial carrier. Even after the two teams had come together under Hera's plan, she couldn't blame her crew for being reserved around the people who deceived and stunned them, even if it did all work out in the end, nor did she exactly expect the years' worth of tensions with her father to melt away after one reluctant moment of agreement. It's an enormous, empty ship, and the silence is pressing in as they start their six-hour trip to the rendezvous with the fleet.

But there is something that Hera learned very young was usually effective at calming tensions and lifting spirits. And so once she and Chopper have gone through the routine diagnostics and checks for trackers, and plotted their cautious route back to the fleet, she turns to the others collected on the now very quiet bridge, and suggests they begin to explore their new ship.

Specifically, starting with the galley.

The enormous commissary is found first, a long hall filled with durasteel tables and benches and a half-wall looking into the crew galley at one end, where pilots and Stormtroopers must have received their meals. Here they find deactivated droids and an enormous stock of basic space rations – powder that could mixed with boiling water for a breakfast gruel, protein bars for midcycle, packets that could be flashcooked into something resembling thin slices of meat mixed with mushy greens. They're vital, useful supplies – but not the most appetizing.

"What the officers eat," Numa suggests. "That's what we should find."

There is a separate officers' dining room, with a handful of polished wood tables encircled by chairs, instead of the long metal tables and benches of the commissary. In the adjacent kitchen are chilled cupboards of real fruits and vegetables – spinach and chokeroot and meilooruns. Frozen cuts of shaak and puffer pig, and whole jewelfish. Packs of spices were tucked into drawers, and bags of grain and flour were piled in the pantry. All of it should be inventoried to be distributed between the cells – but they would have time for that, and Hera isn't about to stop them from helping themselves in the meantime.

The top prizes are, unsurprisingly, in the captain's quarters. Her father quickly finds a liquor cabinet the captain had hidden in his desk, and tucked around the spacious cabin are packaged treats like zucchi chips and knockoff ryshcates. These are collected immediately, piled into the first box they can find and taken down to the commissary. Gobi and Zeb push the tables to the sides of the room, while Numa and Sabine drag four benches to the center. Ezra's chasing Chopper as the droid waves around a packaged cake Ezra had been after, and instead of being left alone with her father, Hera takes Kanan to the kitchen where the two of them brew strong cups of spice tea before anyone could break into the captain's liquor stash.

[ooc: The first song is more or less lifted from "Escoutas (Diga Diga Diga)," an arrangement of Old French folksongs by Luminescent Orchestrii and the Carolina Chocolate Drops. The second song is more or less lifted from "Come Back Alive" by Delta Rae.]

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Numa's eyes flicker, but her attention stays on Hera.

"We've had a victory today, Hera," she says, reaching out to take her hands. "We should celebrate."

Hera doesn't resist Numa's movement toward her, but she also doesn't answer at once, and now Numa does look to Kanan. "Doesn't she celebrate with you?"

Kanan just looks back, eyebrows lifting.

"Once we're done discharging all of our responsibilities, sure."

But technically they're still on-mission right now, as Hera reminded him.

So . . .

"And we'll be splitting up as soon as we reach the rendezvous," Numa shoots back. Her eyes flicker from Kanan. "Hera, we've missed you."

"I -"

Before Hera can finish, the comms crackle, and then the unmistakable thrumming a string drum. She turns back, to the kitchen, where Gobi and Chopper wave from dataport in the wall. Hera comes close to yelling at Chopper, but stops herself and turns back to Numa.

"You brought music for a mission?"

Numa grins. "Of course. Come on, Hera -" She tugs at Hera's hands, but now Hera resists, even as she's having trouble fighting back her own smile.

"No, I don't -"

There's a moment where Kanan's torn, because the opportunity to dance with Hera, or to hear her sing, is never one to be missed.

But he doesn't want to try pushing her into it, but also it seems like maybe . . . maybe this is something she'd regret missing.

So after a momentary silence --

"I can keep an eye out -- or Chop can -- if you want to enjoy yourself for a little."

Thanks a lot says her wry expression. "I'm not sure that's -"

"Oh, Hera." Numa stops tugging as the beat of the song picks up. "We miss you. We miss your voice."

With a glance to Kanan, "I can see it on your Jedi, he knows what I mean."

Kanan's eyes go wide.

No fair blaming this on him! His face wasn't even doing anything!

"Hey," he says, trying not to think about the caught-out flush on his face. "That's up to Hera to decide."

He just works here!

(But it is nice, when she chooses to sing.)

Yeah, no one's missing the blush on his face.

"Oh, I know," Numa says, "I remember one of your favorites."

She calls something to Gobi in Twi'leki - he nods, but it's Chopper that plugs into the dataport.

The music changes from drums to a string instrument, maybe a viol, beginning a steady but upbeat melody. Hera's eyes lift in recognition at once, and now she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling.

"Ah, you see?" Numa says. Behind her, Gobi approaches from the dataport. "There it is."

Edited 2021-03-07 18:22 (UTC)

"I can, uh," Kanan says, seeing Hera's face start to light up. "Go somewhere else? If, uh. If you all want to . . . "

He's pretty sure she doesn't want him to go, but honestly isn't sure how else to suggest she can sing if she wants to, without looking pushy.

"Or, uh, I don't have to?"

The rest of the crew, however, doesn't seem to share Kanan's idea. Sabine, her helmet set aside, raises her eyes from her tea, while Ezra and Zeb have stopped splitting their snacks to openly stare at Hera and Numa.

Their eyes on her mean Hera doesn't notice Chopper zooming over until he slides between her and Numa, and starts spinning along to the music, his arms waving wildly at his sides.

And that's all that Hera can take. She presses her hands to her mouth and bursts out laughing.

The crew's staring doesn't seem like it's going to stop anytime soon. At least it's accompanied by slowly dawning smiles, so that's something?

Kanan, meanwhile, shakes his head and scrubs his hand through his hair.

"Guess that means we're doing this."

Edited 2021-03-21 22:09 (UTC)

Gobi walks over to Numa, taking her hand as the voil continues, joined by what sounds like a quitarra. They don't quite dance, but their steps move in rhythm to the music, tapping along the beat against the Imperial durasteel floors. Sabine's the first one who starts tapping her boot along with it.

Hera glances at Kanan when he speaks, but feels one of Chopper's claw hands at her fingertips. Gobi sings first - the words are Twi'leki, and very very fast, as though stringing in as much he can between the beats. Numa joins him, their voices racing each other across the melody.

There's a very, very brief interlude, just long enough for Hera to meet Numa's eyes.

The song, the speed is easy to remember. Hera stands, her voice weaving into a harmony with Gobi and Numa.

(Behind her, Chopper waves his arms in victory.)

Kanan can already feel his heartbeat pick up at the sound of Hera's voice, breath speeding up a little to match.

-- to be fair, the harmonies between all three Twi'leks is arresting, as well.

He does have enough attention to spare, however, to look toward Chopper and -- not at all surreptitiously -- lean down for a high-five.

Mission accomplished!

Here's hoping no one tries to make Kanan sing.

Dancing, though . . .

Hera's love of music is no secret, but she rarely played music from home on the Ghost. It was too visceral, too close, not something she was sure she could share, or something she'd be able to stop if she did. If her father hadn't been here, she would have refused. But she knows without having to ask, without having to look - he'll be the one to stay undistracted.

And the spell works fast. She can smell campfires, fresh fungus bread, feel the cold stone halls of her family's compound and the light from Ryloth's moons. Numa smoothly takes the call, Gobi and Hera the response. It's the kind of old folk tune that's been picked at and stitched together over time, the Twi'leki lyrics rotating among stories of taming a wild blurrg, a woman injuring her leg as she hunts a mazer, men gossiping as they cut caves into earth, and the returning chorus always for another story, and another.

The three don't dance, exactly. They stand close together, watching each other, seeming to egg each other on. Their feet move to stamp to the beat of the song - Hera doesn't even notice when she starts.

Once that rhythm has been fully established, and the energy of the room is up, Kanan joins in on the stamping.

They're singing fast enough that he can't quite catch all the words, but he can follow the chorus after three repetitions.

And really, getting to see Hera sing is always a treat. Something in it calls to her, even if the rest of the galaxy makes her self-conscious about, and here and now --

Here and now she's letting that music take her away, and Kanan's not going to let anything interrupt that.

Not anything.

(That's right, Zeb, you stay right where you are.)

At some point, Numa takes her hand. Hera isn't completely conscious of it until their voices start to soften, as the song winds to a close. The call of the song's chorus becomes a near-whispered chant, and Hera feels how tight her own grip is on Numa's hand.

Hera is dimly aware of clapping, a whoop from Sabine, the durasteel floor still seeming to rattle under her boots. But Gobi takes her other hand, and Numa pulls them both so close to her, that their breathing is louder than any of it. The crack in the formality, in the distance Hera had felt from them shattered with a flood that followed - the loneliness, isolation, yearning that she'd long since learned to set aside since she'd chosen to leave Ryloth.

Her eyes close, and Hera breaths in, her face pressed into Numa's shoulder, and smells the soft tang of dust off the desert, carbon and must.

When they move apart, Hera can finally feel her crews' eyes on her. Her fingers linger on Numa and Gobi's; she can't yet make herself meet their eyes. But she looks to Kanan.

Edited 2021-05-02 17:40 (UTC)

She'll find him looking back, blue eyes clear and only the tiniest bit wistful. He's smiling, small and a little sweet.

It's good to see someone get to have a taste of home again, even if it can never be long enough.

Hera certainly deserves it.

Kanan lifts his chin after a moment, as if to say 'go on'. He and the rest of the crew aren't going anywhere.

And it's good to see Hera like this. It's a gift for Kanan, too.

Hera feels Numa's hand clasp stronger on hers again, the other woman doesn't wait for her to turn back to whisper, "We've really missed you, Here."

And she does look back to Numa, and Gobi, and smiles at both of them, briefly tightening her grip on their hands. But then her eyes flicker to her father.

Someone else might look to him and see distance, indifference. But Hera knows how little she's actually lost of her father, of her family, in the how she knows that look at once. The stoicism isn't indifference, it's patience. The look of someone who hasn't yet found what they're looking for.

Song isn't just about joy or relief. Sometimes it's about catharsis.

Hera finally has the nerve to look back not just to Kanan, but to the rest of her crew. Her smile is tight, but then, she winks.

Then, she turns back to Gobi and Numa, and asks, "'Et Ritua Euwae Shentak'?"

They blink, glancing at one another, briefly surprised by this choice. But they don't take long to look back, to nod, and they quickly release her hands.

"Chop," she calls over. "You can turn that off. We'll do this ourselves."

Chopper's head spins as he detaches from the wall, and without needing to be asked, he whirls right over to her.

Edited 2021-05-13 03:04 (UTC)

Kanan takes a second to parse the title, wondering if it's something he's heard Hera sing before. It doesn't sound familiar, and without more context, it seems like it's not something for non-Rylothians to sing, so he's not worried about that.

But -- See you safe again -- it doesn't sound like a bad sort of message. Maybe it'll mean something to her father, too.

It's always good to think that things can change.

Kanan can hope for that, too. And in the meantime, he gets to listen.

Edited 2021-05-17 23:04 (UTC)

Chopper raises his little arms up above his front plating, a familiar readiness to the movement, and then goes still. Hera, Numa, and Gobi are also silent, coming close together and then also going still, primed but unmoving. Among the crew, Ezra starts to whisper, but Sabine shushes him.

In his seat, Cham Syndulla leans forward.

And then, Hera stamps her foot. Once, twice, and then the others join in her a fast-paced pattern, clapping their hands, slapping their knees, stomping their feet, with Chopper drumming along his plating. The rhythm echoes along the walls, reverberates in the durasteel floors, continuing on for nearly a minute. Before Hera begins to sing.

While the last song had been playful, the three of them slinging the lines back and forth like a game, Hera's voice now is low, even close to harsh. The song is fast, keeping with the pace the four of them beat out, the Twi'leki words recounting searching for a loved one, in the caves, on the mountains, across the deserts and through jungle and forest -

Numa and Gobi join her in a forlorn chorus, ringing out, en et nala, en et nala, et ritua euwae shentak

Kanan finds himself tapping his toe along with the driving rhythm, not as complicated as the patterns Hera, her father, and the others are keeping, but there's something about the sound that draws him into even this tiny bit of motion.

The lines are fast enough he can't keep up with all the words, but he knows it's about a journey, about seeking, and about consistently not finding. But the love stays, and the search goes on.

He can't really anticipate the ending, whether it will be happy or sad, or whether the search will ever truly be finished.

But the journey, like the song in this moment, keeps going.

Hera's voice drops deeper as the verses continue, as the searcher, having looked everywhere for their beloved, cries out into the nightlands, walks through the darkness, walks without direction, without sight, only desperation to drive them. They lose their way, their sight, anything else they can feel of themselves to the night, until left only with jainet jainet - your name, your name

When Gobi and Numa join in the chorus again, the words don't sound forlorn anymore. A hot anger kindles beneath their voices, driving the beat, their clapping and stomping gradually faster.

And at last, the searcher sees their beloved, and Hera knows from each different time she's heard it, to let her breath shake as it tries to keep up, to break up the words as she inhales.

I call to you I call to you
and you know me no better than I do

Cham Syndulla's expression doesn't change, but he leans in, and joins into the final, furious chorus. I will see you safe again

Edited 2021-06-20 08:27 (UTC)

Kanan feels his heartrate pick up as the anger in the song grows, breath coming sympathetically fast. The words go by too quickly for him to follow the precise story, but he catches glimpses of the dark, the winding journey, the desperation.

He can feel the distant echo of it in his own memories of his time on the run, a fellow-feeling that has very little to do with deserts, but -- he can get there from here. A little.

And there's something . . . some tension drawn tight and snapping when Hera's father leans in to finish out the last chorus.

They're none of them safe, not yet. But perhaps someday they can be. All of them.

It's a good dream to strive toward. And really, that's all Kanan (and Caleb) had ever wanted.

That, and Hera.

Gobi, Numa, and Cham fall silent over the final words, leaving them to Hera. A moment of silence drags after she finishes, as the Twi'leks stay quiet, and the rest of the crew hesitate, unsure of how they should respond.

"Hera?" It's Sabine, her voice tentative. And when Hera looks up, she's smiling. She releases Gobi and Numa's hands, but stays close to them, beckoning the others over to their small circle, to join in their embrace. Ezra scrambles up, Sabine and Zeb share a glance before following.

Cham stands, but turns away from them. It wouldn't be easy to notice, but so close across the steel floor, a Twi'lek could feel his very slight shaking, his trembling breath. And so they don't look at him, allowing him his space.

There's a moment where Kanan wants to say . . . something, to help Hera by adding a support to the newly rebuild bridge between them.

But there isn't any magical words that will do that. And for this, for this he's not a Jedi. He's just himself, just someone working for the rebellion, trying to leave the galaxy better than they found it.

And so he stays silent, smiling at Hera and joining the circle of her people and her crew.

Where he belongs.

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Homecoming

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