oh hey,,, mind if i just leave this here, thanks 0.0
(more oc stuff blah blah blah, give it a little read and let me know what you think!!! i’m not a writer by any means!)
The distant rays of rising suns along the dunes horizon cascaded into the glass of Trivick’s spacecraft, a small type found only by the grace of the galaxy during a runaway mission where his last ship had been demolished. Go figure. Mr. Too Good For Anyone was almost stranded for his own ignorance.
He, meaning the Rodian bounty hunter named Trivick, wasn’t in any means a conventionally likable individual. In fact, every soul that had ever run into him seemed to find some bone to pick. Unless you were Cyra.
Her eyes, deep and full of soul, the color of the wood on his amban rifle. The way they’d watch with intelligence, observing not only the landscape but *him*. Looking *at* him instead of through him. Trivick noticed that about her early on, the familiarity that she brought even if they’d never even spoken.
He shifted, a subtle movement of fingers twitching first as the fabric of his gloves became more apparent, his body fully awaking to the blinding sun that registered in only one eye. The other still engulfed in a darkness that would never be fixed.
With a sigh, Trivick sat up a bit straighter in the spacecrafts cockpit chair that he’d found solace in for a few hours of rest, something he didn’t treat himself with often but after a long bounty, it was needed. His mind reeled the more it came to, blinking through the haze in his vision with a scan over the ships controls.
The creaks and groans of Durasteel against the hot Tatooine breeze caused the silence around him to be less intense, even when his mind wasn’t focused on that at all.
It was focused on Cyra. Again.
He rose to his feet, boots light against the metal flooring with a steadiness that only came from years of hunting experience. He moved with a mission towards the back end of the ship he’d refurbished, brow bone already furrowed to narrow his eyes a bit with an expression that showed his antipathy for the galaxy around him.
Even then, with hope that his brain would transfix on something else, all thoughts always circled back to Cyra.
Her hands always felt like velvet, soft and untouched despite her constant fight for survival, something he knew quite well. Fingers that would twitch closer to his own until their pinkies interlocked atop a sabacc table, it was the only innocence he knew. And force be damned he craved that touch more than anything.
A low huff left his lips, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make a sound so similar to distaste, not because of his constant thoughts on one woman in particular but more so because of his feelings.
His boots stopped just as his body settled upon a mattress in the ‘captain’s quarters,’ an area apart of every spacecraft that allowed some sleep to anyone who found solace small confined spaces made of groaning metal. How inviting.
Over everything he needed more sleep. Just another hour away from the blazing heat and overwhelming chatter that followed the Mos Espa markets. Another hour to think about Cyra without nagging toydarians begging for credits.
With his back against the mattress and his good eye staring blankly up towards the durasteel above him, Trivick relaxed ever so slightly at the idea that he’d be seeing her again. Ma Muna Ja.
(Ma Muna Ja — My Pretty.)
jimmyeatworldofficial
titsay
2087
germansingergirl
kianamaiart
origamiaround
