Post by caelum on Feb 3, 2020 14:42:40 GMT -5
Camilla remembered when she was young.
She had dreams, of course, every little girl had dreams about their future. When she was simply Cammy, she remembered playing with her cousins as they talked about their hopes for the future. A lot of the time it was the usual sort of fanciful imaginings that bored little girls got themselves into. A prince charming to sweep one of her feet was a common one (with the polite understanding that while you may have a prince charming, he wasn't as cute or charming or perfect as mine), then there was talk of horses and playtime and nights where maybe one's parents could tuck you in for once.
An innocent time, a better time. Foolish little girls, they'd dreamed of love and boys. They'd never dreamed about war.
The spaceport was a congested mess when she'd arrived. The initial invasion and subsequent retaking of critical ports had ensured that very, very, few remained in the aftermath of the war. All major spaceports prior the Archeri's arrival were destroyed, some by the Archeri themselves during the effort to carve a foothold on the planet, but most by republic forces attempting to deny the aliens any possible advantage. As a result, those spaceports that survived were local establishments more suited to intranational flight than the kind of space traffic that could make a coruscanti traffic controller sweat.
Camilla had elected to arrive in a republic vessel, a destroyer sent to enforce order in the area. The crew were a pleasant enough distraction, the captain, a transdoshan female by the name of Imloh Sakt, was unfailingly polite, and most of the crew seemed to look at her in awe. They'd never seen a Jedi before and most of the conversations were amusing enough, but she couldn't help but notice how long it took for the destroyer to receive authorization to dock. Rather, it wasn't that authorization took very long per se, but that it did take hours to order and arrange the 3 dozen ships between her and the docking array elsewhere so they could finally dock.
The door in front of her finally opened, and the first thing that crossed her mind was that the heat was unbearable.
The spaceport's lobby was a hodgepodge of a hundred different species in varied degrees of exasperation, impatience, exhaustion and fear. Most incoming people were engineers and republic specialists, and their clean cut uniforms contrasted vividly with the outgoing group. Dirty, harried and traumatized, the sheer numbness radiating from the survivors of the war here was palpable. It was almost a physical force, a dull tone in the air, and traversing it was like paddling through a bog.
Camilla received a few glances as she walked. Her clothes were a primary reason for that, she imagined. Long white robes, immaculately pressed and arranged around her, the contrast between her and the survivors was less than subtle. She imagined that in a different situation, they would have acosted her, the sheer difference in their experience spawning resentment. Anger.
Fortunately, things weren't yet so bad that people would accost a poor old woman. Still, it was better safe than sorry, and the Jedi leaned on her staff and continued walking.
She had dreams, of course, every little girl had dreams about their future. When she was simply Cammy, she remembered playing with her cousins as they talked about their hopes for the future. A lot of the time it was the usual sort of fanciful imaginings that bored little girls got themselves into. A prince charming to sweep one of her feet was a common one (with the polite understanding that while you may have a prince charming, he wasn't as cute or charming or perfect as mine), then there was talk of horses and playtime and nights where maybe one's parents could tuck you in for once.
An innocent time, a better time. Foolish little girls, they'd dreamed of love and boys. They'd never dreamed about war.
The spaceport was a congested mess when she'd arrived. The initial invasion and subsequent retaking of critical ports had ensured that very, very, few remained in the aftermath of the war. All major spaceports prior the Archeri's arrival were destroyed, some by the Archeri themselves during the effort to carve a foothold on the planet, but most by republic forces attempting to deny the aliens any possible advantage. As a result, those spaceports that survived were local establishments more suited to intranational flight than the kind of space traffic that could make a coruscanti traffic controller sweat.
Camilla had elected to arrive in a republic vessel, a destroyer sent to enforce order in the area. The crew were a pleasant enough distraction, the captain, a transdoshan female by the name of Imloh Sakt, was unfailingly polite, and most of the crew seemed to look at her in awe. They'd never seen a Jedi before and most of the conversations were amusing enough, but she couldn't help but notice how long it took for the destroyer to receive authorization to dock. Rather, it wasn't that authorization took very long per se, but that it did take hours to order and arrange the 3 dozen ships between her and the docking array elsewhere so they could finally dock.
The door in front of her finally opened, and the first thing that crossed her mind was that the heat was unbearable.
The spaceport's lobby was a hodgepodge of a hundred different species in varied degrees of exasperation, impatience, exhaustion and fear. Most incoming people were engineers and republic specialists, and their clean cut uniforms contrasted vividly with the outgoing group. Dirty, harried and traumatized, the sheer numbness radiating from the survivors of the war here was palpable. It was almost a physical force, a dull tone in the air, and traversing it was like paddling through a bog.
Camilla received a few glances as she walked. Her clothes were a primary reason for that, she imagined. Long white robes, immaculately pressed and arranged around her, the contrast between her and the survivors was less than subtle. She imagined that in a different situation, they would have acosted her, the sheer difference in their experience spawning resentment. Anger.
Fortunately, things weren't yet so bad that people would accost a poor old woman. Still, it was better safe than sorry, and the Jedi leaned on her staff and continued walking.