@gatheringstars //luke & leoth
The hangar was quiet, but the ghost of celebration lingered in a few belongings scattered, haphazard, across the floor. Leoth wandered like a ghost or an afterthought, picking up discarded cups and bottles of alcohol. The Death Star had exploded into millions upon millions of tiny, glittering shards. Thousands or more dead, their DNA as scattered as the trash littering the hangar. A protocol droid wobbled up to him and the tinny "thank you" felt as if it echoed in the empty air.
He wasn't remorseful over the Empire. The Force was a neutral thing. It didn't discern evil from good. He still felt it shake him when the x-wing's missiles hit their mark. Like a thermal detonator. Like the wasteland that the Empire had left in their wake trying to eradicate Praxon from the galaxy, leaving the once verdant planet a husk.
It was late. He could feel the exhaustion settling in his bones. Leoth often found himself in the hangar at late hours when his mind wouldn't rest. There was something soothing about listening to the astromechs buzz as they glided past, or the uneven footsteps of a droid, the clack and clang of tools on durasteel. He often would search out Mykal at times like this, finding him in the usual place as he buried his arms in a ship. Mykal was not around, now, but there was someone in place of him.
Leoth had stolen glances of the rebel’s new hero among the crowd. It seemed he had found himself right in the thick of it, a bright spark of energy in the Force. Leoth was curious, but not enough to push forth his presence, and he had not intended to do so now.
“I see someone has come upon my secret hiding place,” Leoth said, though it was hardly anything like that at all. Just an area of the hangar almost closed off by crates and equipment. Mykal’s usual work space. “I do not usually find anyone here.”