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It's not as though there's ever a good place to be on E Day. It did often make for a good distraction, depending on how much the local governors and ministers had invested in parades or other celebrations. Any major system would be required to put on some kind of ceremony, though especially in minor industrial colonies, watching the annual message from the Emperor might be the most expected of citizens and Imps alike. Regardless, it was a consistent, predictable break in Imperial patterns – which meant that the weeks leading up to Empire Day were always dedicated to coming up with plans to exploit it.

There was a plan for today, but they weren't planning to start until early evening. The quarries on this colony were worked throughout the day, and rather than give the workers additional time off, the message had been scheduled for deep in the night, when no shifts were scheduled, as it was too cold to run the quarries. In the meantime, Kanan and Hera had taken up seats in The Half Moon, a large, open canteen that catered in particular to the largely Twi'lek colonists. There are also groups of humans, and smaller numbers of Rodians, Sullustans, Suertons, but most are Twi'leks, workers and families grabbing meals between their shifts. Even with the long hours, and the shorter rest period they'll get tonight, most of the workers seem happy here, spouses and friends shouting to each other across the room, children running out from under the tables.

And it wasn't common for Hera to come across a place that served the kind of bitter dishes she'd missed off Ryloth. Fortunately for Kanan, those aren't the only options. He'd taken a table near the edge of the room, moving carefully as he did so, while Hera had taken similar, cautions steps toward the long counters at the front. After nearly ten minutes, she returns, carrying two trays and this time moving openly and easily.

She sets down one of the trays in front of Kanan. The dish looks like a hunk of meat, and a pile of pale grains mixed with stewed vegetables.

"It's done."

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His own posture eases a fraction, and he grins up at Hera a little crookedly.

"Thanks."

Maybe he's just talking about the food she's put in front of him -- and the fact that it's suitable for a human palate -- but probably not.

"Do they have any of your favorites here?"

"Mynock Nabat?"

Her own dish carries a white, spongy meat slathered in a bright blue sauce. It smells a little like scorched metal.

"Don't worry, you don't have to try it."

"I wasn't really afraid you'd make me."

His smile remains crooked.

"Given how horribly off-putting the face I pulled the first time was. At least from what you said."

Kanan, back then, thought he'd show willing. Bitter food is fine, he thought. The texture of mynock can't be that weird. He was wrong in so many ways.

She takes the seat across from him, and lifts her cup of tea from the tray.

"I didn't say you can't try it."

It was off-putting. But it was also pretty funny.

Hoist on his own petard.

"Uh. Maybe next time."

(Never again.)

He starts digging into his current meal, because if his mouth is full he can't say anything else ridiculous.

Hera also dips her spoon into her meat, which slips apart easily.

"It could be worse," she says, after a few minutes. "For an industrial colony."

It's ramshackle housing, and abundant signs of accidents and general lack of concern for the workers' safety. But there are fewer Stormtroopers, less surveillance, and families are permitted to stay together. They have seen much worse.

"It could be," he agrees, spooning a bit more of his food into his mouth.

"Here's hoping it doesn't come to that."

And if all goes well, maybe things'll get a bit better, instead.

"It's probably not a high priority for the Empire. So the local leaders have more control."

But she's barely finished her sentence when she glances up. She's not one to miss the sound of Stormtrooper boots against the floor, and a group of five of them have just entered the dining hall and lined up along the door.

Hera's not the only one who looks up - a hush falls over the room. The clink of cups and utensils slows, children stumble back to their parents. Everyone waits.

Kanan doesn't lower his hand to his side, just keeps his spoon in his hand, stirring the contents of his plate carefully.

It's good he and Hera have already cased where the exits are, and mapped out a good route back to the Ghost if need be.

"Ugly?" he asks in an undertone.

Hera glances back at him, but doesn’t move. If they were planning a massacre, Hera doubts they would have only sent five troopers. Maybe they already noticed the surveillance feed had gone off in here, but she hadn’t imagined the response would be so fast.

But then about fifteen TIE pilots follow the troopers into the dining hall. They’re talking loudly, some laughing and joking, most holding their black helmets under their arms. Most of the other diners watch them now, still silent, but Hera turns her eyes back down to her food. The reason for the troopers has become clear enough.

The pilots first crowd around the front counters, some stepping hesitantly around those already waiting but others just shoving to the front. In the silence, their voices carry over the room.

“First chance for something besides rations for months and it’s this tailhead cr-“

“Hey, why aren’t the holoscreens on?”

The screens behind the counters blink to life, broadcasting scenes of E Day parades from around the galaxy. A few of the pilots cheer as they collect their trays, then head for the tables, many of them shooing away diners already seated. There’s no argument - anyone in the pilots’ path quickly hurry out of the way, finding somewhere else to sit. As they do, others relax slightly, some beginning to talk quietly again, or returning to their meals. But aside from the pilots, the room remains much quieter. Children stay near their parents, and no one new enters, and no one tries to leave.

Kanan keeps his expression smooth and easy, though he hasn't picked up his spoon again.

His appetite went somewhere with the arrival of the troopers and pilots, and it looks like it's going to stay there for a while.

"Happy Empire Day."

His voice is flat, but also quiet. It's going to look really conspicuous if they get up to move, which means conversation is going to be even less meaningful than it usually is, off the ship.

Hera dips her own spoon back into the spongy meat. She takes her time, glancing up to Kanan and down to her plate, nodding occasionally as though he were speaking to her.

But she's listening to them. As much as she can hear them, though they make it easy. The pilots yell across their tables to each other, about the food, wondering if they'll be permitted to come back. She learns that they're stationed at the small outpost on the far side of this moon - a remote posting, to say the least, so they likely won't top of their class. That's worth remembering.

A few times, they comment on the other diners. One shares that she's never seen so many non-humans in one place before. Another that he's never seen a Twi'lek outside a holo.

Hera blinks quickly up to Kanan, and rolls her eyes.

Kanan meets her gaze and jabs his spoon sharply into a large piece of meat, cutting it into two.

He eats one, gaze turning to the pilots, some of whom are drinking more than others. They're not sloppy about it, but he can see the color picking up in their cheeks, their eyes gone a little too bright.

This, he can tell, is going to be trouble.

Edited 2018-01-16 04:08 (UTC)

Hera can hear it in their voices. She keeps her eyes down, but listens attentively as she spoons her way through her mynock. She catches a few callsigns, a few comments on their dispatch schedules. Then suddenly -

"Hey, turn that up!" One of the pilots yells it toward the counter. The hall falls silent again, and the staff startle, before one of them hurries to increase the volume of the holovid screen. The dining hall is filled with the triumphant, upbeat yet overwhelming chords of the Imperial Anthem. The holo displays an enormous orchestra, likely on Coruscant, and a few of the pilots begin to loudly sing along. More quickly join in as the music continues.

"Come on!" One of the pilots turns out to the other diners, raising her glass. "Honor your Empire!"

No one else makes a sound. Hera watches their eyes flicker to one another, or down to their tables.

One of the littlest children opens their mouth to sing and is quickly hushed by a parent.

This catches the attention of one of the more enthusiastic -- and enthusiastically drunken -- pilots, who points and shouts, "That, there. See? 's not patriotic, that isn't! We could be in a hotbed of traitors right now!"

Kanan very carefully sets down his spoon and picks up his glass, instead. Just in case.

Across from Kanan, Hera flattens her hands on the table. The other pilots have fallen silent. The only sound in the room comes from the vidscreens. The mother who hushed her child is sitting very still, eyes down, one hand fixed on her child's shoulder. She doesn't look up as the pilot takes a step toward her, but her child does, raising her hand up in a short wave.

The pilot stands over her for nearly a minute, then abruptly turns. "You."

He's pointing to another diner, at the next table. There's a collective flinch, but the others at the table stay where they are, don't slink away. The Twi'lek he's pointing to does look up, but doesn't say anything.

"Come here." When they don't move, the pilot repeats it, this time beckoning with his free hand. "Come on, tailhead, get over here."

Very slowly, the Twi'lek rises from their seat. The pilot comes forward, clapping an arm over their shoulders and pulling them into the knot of other Imperials. He lifts a bottle from their table and shoves it into the Twi'lek's hands. "There," he says. "Why don't you teach her the words."

The bottle doesn't shake in their hands, but the Twi'lek stutters slightly as they answer. "I - I don't -"

"I said -"

The pilot's sidearm comes out. There's a gasp along the surrounding tables, and even some of the other pilots inch away uncomfortably. The Stormtroopers at the door lift their own weapons.

"- teach her -" The pilot points his blaster toward the Twi'lek's chest. "- the words."

Hera shifts her weight forward, about to rise to her feet -

But their voice breaks out. Soft but steady, the Twi'lek is singing, and after a few notes, the pilot joins in. The other Imperials take up the song again as well. Rather than lower his blaster, however, the pilot swings it around the room. The others quickly get the point, and a low murmur breaks out around the room, dully reciting the anthem.

Hera lowers herself back to her seat, and closes her eyes.

Edited 2018-01-17 02:10 (UTC)

Kanan would reach out to take Hera's hand and hold it tight, but that would also likely get attention in this too-tense room, so he doesn't.

He nudges the toe of his boot against hers, instead.

And he keeps his own head down, breathing in rhythm with the song, so it looks like he's singing along.

But he's not going to.

Her eyes blink open as his boot touches hers. She swallows down, and then begins to mouth the words, though she puts no voice behind it. Though she hates to think it, Hera hopes they're too far out of the way too be noticed.

It goes on for several minutes, before the pilot holsters his blaster. The Stormtroopers lower theirs again, and the drone of the anthem begins to dissipate. The pilot claps the hostage Twi'lek along the shoulders again, and they return to their table, the bottle still in their hands.

The other diners stay silent as the pilots finish up their meals. Their loud conversation continues, but eventually, a few begin to encourage the others to set their drinks aside. They'll have to be back on base soon. There might be messages from their homeworlds waiting for them. A few of them continue to shout, even breaking back into song, but at last, they're collecting up their helmets, heading back toward the doors.

They leave their trays and bottles on the tables, though no one rises to collect them. Not until they're out the door, and the Stormtroopers have followed them.

It's still several minutes before conversation begins to pick up around the dining hall again. Hera reaches for her spoon, her hand trembling slightly.

Kanan picks his own spoon back up, stirring the sauce on his plate without lifting anything to his mouth. He has not missed the faint tremble in Hera's hand, but it seems cruel to draw attention to it.

Except --

"More reason to make sure everything goes off smooth."

Caleb was never great at serenity, but Kanan has gotten a lot better at channeling his anger into a thirst for justice, instead.

It's something.

"Right," she answers. "I think I picked up a few things, anyway."

Maybe they'll help. They won't hurt.

It's about five more minutes before the staff are confident enough to turn the holoscreens off again. This picks up the volume of the conversation, though it's still much quieter than it had been before. The trays are collected up, new visitors begin to peek into through the doors, and many of the diners begin to quickly finish their meals and make their way out.

And then, there's another voice, singing another upbeat but much sweeter melody.

"Amtder, amtder stal -"

It's another child, a girl sitting on a nearby table. Most of the other diners hush at once, stopping where they are, some turning, mouths covered or simply staring. The girl's father also shushes her, and she begins to whine, now in Basic. "But we sang the other song -"

Hera glances back up to Kanan, and then back down, with a smile that usually doesn't precede the smartest things she does, but -

"Ruane, kasrou zet shentek." It's the next verse. She sings it loud enough for others to hear, but keeps her eyes down, as though it could be just for herself.

Kanan doesn't know the words, really -- if there's a chorus he might be able to pick it up -- but he does look up and meet the occasional pair of eyes, quickly.

They tend to belong to people who look like they want to join Hera. (Or feel like they want to join in.)

He gives them a quick, crooked smile, looking away again very deliberately.

Come on, he thinks, keeping his Force-presence folded in on itself. He's not about to take someone's choices away. They're not the Empire.

Come on.

The girl nearby, delighted, immediately starts to sing again. Her father is too stunned to stop her this time, and quickly, other children take up the song.

"Vrentre nacgal wachatrio -"

A wave passes over the room, as those watching seem to realize that no one is stopping them. The Stormtroopers don't return, no alarm sounds. And then, nearly every head turns as one among them stands. The Twi'lek from before, who with a much fuller voice this time, joins them in the final verse of the chorus -

"Reina reinatre lomptrio."

There's something satisfying about being here for this moment. It's the sort of moment all of this work he and Hera do is in service of. But more than that, it's people being able to have moments like this all the time. Constantly. Whenever they like.

Without worrying about who's watching, or who will be hurt, or whether their children will starve or their planet will burn.

Just this.

And since he's not singing, Kanan starts actually digging into his meal, careful not to chew too loudly. This is a moment for Hera, and her people, and --

Anyway, the food is really good.

Other non-Twi'leks look somewhat bemused by this sudden outbreak, but others stomp or even clap along with the rhythm of the song. The pace grows quicker as those singing start from the beginning, and though most of the adults stay seated, the children begin to run and jump again, or rock along with their parents and one another.

It's the kind of thing Hera hasn't seen in a long time. The spontaneous beauty that erupted as tensions ran high after a Separatist raid, before a planned attack, or when supplies were low.

They continue until they run out of words, and there's a smattering of applause, while some of the children continue to echo the chorus. And then, after a few seconds of quiet murmurs, the conversation in the room picks up again. It's all over even quicker than it had begun, but now, the talk is louder, back to as it had been before the Imperials walked in.

Hera glances back at Kanan, pressing her lips together as though she could possibly hide her smile.

Kanan is grinning right back at her, because he can't even help himself.

Some of it is the moment -- a lot of it is the moment -- but some of it is her, too, her happiness and her satisfaction. It's as if a dislocated joint has, however briefly, slipped back into place.

He can only be glad of it.

"I think I like it here," l he says. Hopefully it conveys all he means, as well.

She nods, reaching to lift her spoon again.

"It's been a pretty good day."

And hopefully, they can keep that up.

"Yeah," Kanan says, still looking at her. "It really has."

It takes some effort to stop watching the curve of her smile, the way it changes the lines of her face and makes her look less exhausted.

It takes even more effort not to think about the fact that he just got to hear her sing.

But this is not the time, it is definitely not the place, and he really should eat to keep his strength up. So Kanan, too, picks up his spoon and resolutely goes back to eating.

Edited 2018-01-18 04:09 (UTC)

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