"Do you think we're going to see her again?"
Boil blinks, shaken from his concentration. They've been squashed on the floor, in the space between their bunks for a while. Waxer has a smudge of green paint on his cheek, Boil notices with a snort. Typical.
They're not long off-shift after the Ryloth campaign - bodies aching, but still too high strung to fully relax. Hence, the painting. Boil still isn't sure how, exactly, Waxer had managed to finagle green paint for their newest bucket additions, but he's not worried. Waxer's friends with everyone, some vod or another would happily have traded it to him for a favour.
They'd spent the first hour touching up their golden orange markings, scuffed and dust-marred as the colour had become. Cuisses, vambraces, and greaves were drying on their racks, careful blankets on the bedding to prevent smudging.
Boil had watched Waxer add another tally mark to the temple of his helmet. Another mission completed, another safe return to The Negotiator under General Kenobi and Marshall Commander Cody's watchful command.
The two of them hadn't exactly discussed their new icon, they rarely needed words for these things. Waxer had cracked open the green and grinned up at Boil, who just nodded and started painting.
The little Twi'lek girl had wormed her way past their soldiers' demeanours and they were smitten. Boil can only pray to the Force that she's safe, will stay safe, through the war. It is not a pleasant time for civvies.
All they have is hope. Hope that she will grow up, strong and healthy. Grow up with the knowledge of her two nerra, who did their best to protect her where they could. Hope, was what kept them marching on and on, after all. So what else could he tell his brother? He could hardly lie to him, promise him Numa's future (and theirs, but they don't talk about that either. Ever). So all Boil could do was tell him the only truth they had, had ever had, would ever have -
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