for_everyone | (no subject)

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This should really be a simple job. All recon, and while Pamarthe isn't the easiest place to visit, what with its Imperial leanings and occasional massive storms, so many traders passed through its ports that it was simple enough to stay inconspicuous. The risks, all things considered, were low compared to the kind of jobs they sometimes pulled. If they could shut up, keeping their heads down and their eyes open.

Which –

"You're really making too big a deal of this."

They're still about thirty minutes out, the white-blue blur of hyperspace gliding along beyond the ship. Hera is leaning over the controls, authoring a mask for the Ghost's signature. Chopper blats from the cockpit doorway, and Hera rolls her eyes. "You don't have anything else to be doing right now?"

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"Good to hear you've got her settled down."

Hera rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Are you sticking around, Jope?"

"Nah, we're up in an hour." He glances up toward the sun, as it sinks deeper into the sea. "But hey, if you ever are looking for work -"

"Right."

Hera nods, and Jope claps her on the shoulder. "Me juuz ku, chik."

He steps away, disappearing into the dense crowd. Hera stays still for a moment as the others brush by them, and then draws her cloak about her again, pulling her hood lower over her face.

"You really do know people everywhere," Kanan says, because that's kind of always been true.

"So. Isis, huh?"

She lets out a breath.

Then -

"Let's get a drink."

"Here, or do we want to take the drinks with us back to the ship?"

Because drinking on Pamarthe seems like maybe it would lead to more problems.

But they could be problems worth having, so --

Hera knows they'd be better off reaching the ship as soon as possible, but -

"Over there." She points to one of the smaller taverns, overlooking a cliff. "That grotto Geda showed us is below it."

Kanan nods, moving in that direction, just a second or two behind Hera.

It's not the worst drinking establishment they've ever been in. It smells like salt and old fish, and the floors are cold and damp stone.

(Kanan is not thinking what they're damp with.)

But the drinks are affordable and actually have a kick to them, and there is a small table in a back corner -- near the kitchen door -- that doesn't have anyone sitting at it until he and Hera come in.

He leaves Hera to stake out the table while he goes to fetch some drinks. And maybe something fried to eat. Particularly if it's fried on a stick.

Hera spots two minuscule surveillance droids hovering over the room. They move in unimaginative, repetitive patterns, allowing her to note their blind spots. The table by the kitchen will work, though Hera slowly pushes it even closer to the door. Staff and patrons are flowing in and out, keeping up a constant level of noise.

Hera sits, her hood still tugged low over her face.

The crush at the bar is overwhelming, and Kanan's sleeve is definitely more damp than it used to be -- and smelling strongly of alcohol -- as he heads back to the table.

Being able to juggle both heavy stone mugs and two immense hunks of meat on sticks, plus two cups of sauce --

That's a life-skill.

(One of hte sauces is the most bitter they had. He tries, even when they're going to have what might be a heavy talk. Or what looks like it might be, anyway.)

"Good choice," he says, setting the food and drink on the table and settling himself into a chair. Maybe he's talking about the relocated table. He's also chosen the chair that leaves his back to the rest of the room, the breadth of his shoulders blocking most of Hera from easy view.

Hera waits, until they’ve split the mugs, until they’re ripping into the hunks of meat. She blinks from the food, up around the tavern again - the Rodian wandering into the kitchen, a Rishii perched against the opposite wall, one of the surveillance droids reaching the end of its path closest to them and swiveling away.

“All right,” she says, quietly. “Jope was - someone I ran a couple jobs with, a long time ago. Before I met you.”

"I figure it couldn't have been since. There's not enough hours in a galactic week for that to work."

He says that just as quietly, punctuating it with a slightly louder grunt of acknowledgment before setting the mug to his lips and swallowing heavily.

The level of liquid in his cup is not all that much lower once he's done that.

"You didn't expect them."

“It’s a big galaxy,” she answers.

“And only a few people would’ve remembered me. I’m surprised he did.”

"People who can recognize competence tend to remember it."

Kanan's voice is a little dry, because in his early days after M --

Caleb had a little trouble keeping that in mind, sometimes.

Hera falls silent again, taking the time to rip off another chunk of meat. She glances up, once.

“I was based in the Core then, mostly on Coruscant.”

Her voice even softer, “Because of - what happened, I couldn’t use my name, not there.”

‘Syndulla’ was well-known for the Free Ryloth Movement, and the attempted assassination of the Emperor.

He nods, pulling off a chunk of meat, chewing, and swallowing.

"Makes sense."

And she went back to Hera in the end, because that's who she is.

But --

"Any reason behind the name aside from it being . . . different?"

She shakes her head, though her mouth curls into a slightly twisted smile.

“Other than that I liked it when I was sixteen? And I used ‘Vao’ for my clan name - they’re enormous, so no one would’ve noticed it.”

"Is it still -- "

How to put this?

" -- viable?"

Which is to say, is this useful, or is it just a lot of added danger?

Her smile fades. She takes a very small sip from her mug.

“I stopped using it when I...”

Hera thinks on her words, her eyes flashing around the tavern again. “... when I wasn’t trying to stay within the law anymore. And it probably wouldn’t be a good idea, now.”

"Ah."

Kanan's nod is short, and half-distracted looking.

"I know a little about that. It makes sense."

It's not as if she doesn't know Kanan isn't his original name, even though it's been real for quite some time.

Hera glances up to him.

"That's the ... gist of it."

"Maybe as a distraction," he says, still quietly, bringing the heavy clay cup up to his mouth and holding it there, swallowing nothing again.

"When we're really running short of ideas."

Or not.

"You okay?"

She blinks back up, waits for the kitchen door to open again.

"It didn't end well."

"Most things don't, in our line of work."

He looks sad as he says it, reaching out to touch Hera's wrist briefly, as if stopping her from drinking more of what's in the mug.

"I'm sorry."

Hera doesn't reach for the mug. She watches the room for a few more seconds, and then looks back to him.

"I'll tell you later."

"Never's all right, too, if you want."

And then he sets to work on finishing his enormous hunk of fried meat on a stick.

Looking busy will explain the silence in this corner of the room, and the faster they finish the faster they can get out of here.

And what could go wrong with that plan?

"We'll see."

Hera finishes the hunk of meat Kanan brought, but only drinks about a quarter from her mug. Loathe as she is to waste anything, she doesn't want to test how much Pamarthe ale she can take.

Once they've finished, she leads the way back out of the tavern. Briefly, she considers making their exit through the kitchen, taking a back trail as far as can toward the spaceport. But instead, she heads back to the entrance, into the crowds beyond. It's grown darker and colder now, the paths lit by lamps hanging from the taverns and shops, hovering along the paths above them.

They've walked about five minutes when Hera sees them, collected under the hovering lights. About half were Bodach'i, the rest humans and Twi'leks. They're sitting on the ground to the side of the path, shivering but silent, watching the crowds passing them. All of them are wearing shock collars.

Hera stops. Her hood is still pulled low, leaving a shadow over her face.