[ As she makes her way into the area cordoned off for the vigil, on the platform raised in front of the gaming parlour, Rey finds herself wondering what she’s doing by coming here. She knows some of the other hosts will be in attendance, both her Nestmates and some Broodmates, the latter being some consolation in the wake of her newly-healed injury. Perhaps it will distract her from her own concerns. In her efforts to fit in she's donned the airy, loose-fitting white clothing given to her upon her awakening, left her dark hair unbound and unrecognizable, loose about her shoulders; the last thing she wants at the moment is to call unnecessary attention to herself.
Perhaps, also, she will use the time and place to write her own eulogies in her head for those she’s recently lost.
Most of the speakers giving platitudes to the dead, though, do so over holographic projection — an extranet connection, she deduces — and to Rey this is surprising. How meaningful are their eulogies to the deceased and their families, if they aren’t even present in person? From what she can glean of the spoken words there’d been an explosion, and several deaths, and judging by the group of protesters on the fringe of the gathering there is more than bad blood after the fact.
She straightens her spine, feeling another pull of the scar and answering flare of pain along her spinal column. Rey tries to concentrate fully on the vigil before her, but there’s a keen sense of misplacement, mainly for the lightsaber she no longer possesses. She feels naked without it, despite only having owned it a short few days.
It’s then that she opens her senses fully and feels the hackles on the back of her neck raising, needles along the length of the puckered scar along her spine. She turns and sees Ren on the opposite end of the outskirts of the crowd, staring at her intently — how long he'd caught on to her presence, she has no idea — and at his hip, clipped to his belt, the hilt of a very familiar weapon.
Unable to help herself, she bristles along the unintentional connection. ]
'local thief stands around feeling smug when he should be guilty' - ftfy
Perhaps, also, she will use the time and place to write her own eulogies in her head for those she’s recently lost.
Most of the speakers giving platitudes to the dead, though, do so over holographic projection — an extranet connection, she deduces — and to Rey this is surprising. How meaningful are their eulogies to the deceased and their families, if they aren’t even present in person? From what she can glean of the spoken words there’d been an explosion, and several deaths, and judging by the group of protesters on the fringe of the gathering there is more than bad blood after the fact.
She straightens her spine, feeling another pull of the scar and answering flare of pain along her spinal column. Rey tries to concentrate fully on the vigil before her, but there’s a keen sense of misplacement, mainly for the lightsaber she no longer possesses. She feels naked without it, despite only having owned it a short few days.
It’s then that she opens her senses fully and feels the hackles on the back of her neck raising, needles along the length of the puckered scar along her spine. She turns and sees Ren on the opposite end of the outskirts of the crowd, staring at her intently — how long he'd caught on to her presence, she has no idea — and at his hip, clipped to his belt, the hilt of a very familiar weapon.
Unable to help herself, she bristles along the unintentional connection. ]
( That’s mine. )