Character
| Location | Lantillies, Mid Rim
12:55
Itzhal Volkihar stretched his legs across the breadth of the enclosed cabin, his boots tapping a faint rhythm into the laminate hardshell of the backstop, the chronometer in the corner of his HuD ticking down.
12:56
Thick shadows distorted by the frosted glass, scrambled past, their lumberous form hunched over a grey frame that rattled with every step, the sound slipping through small gaps in the seams of the door. Aromas filtered into the cabin, filling the cramped air with the scent of roasted meats and rich stews. Itzhal's mouth watered in response, but he dismissed the hunger with a mental note—focused on the task at hand.
12:57
He leaned back against the rough, scratchy texture of the seats, glancing at the fluctuating data in the corner of his HuD. Blue light dissipated with a blink of his eyes, the ominous timer switched out for lines of information: names, arrival times, departure times. Outside, the heavy footsteps continued, punctuated by the swish of a doorframe and muted conversation, their voices barely discernible against the rattle of the metal trolley.
Itzhal strained to discern the words, reaching up to cup the side of his Buy'ce, the sound amplified—background racket erased, the essentials remained.
"Anything for the trolley?" the lumbering shadow said, an offer twisted by the deep rumble of their voice, a threat left in their wake.
"N-no," responded the voice inside, catching on the simple word; sensors picked up on the shake of their head, the incessant tap of fingers searching for an outlet. "I don't need anything."
Seconds passed without words, a silence without context, unwilling to share its secrets. His finger rapped against his Buy'ce, a wave of sound signals displayed on the left side of his visor, none of them quieter than the ambient sound of the repulsorlifts or the faint wisp of wind outside, dispersed by the speeding rush of the fast-moving train. Hesitantly, his hand wavered towards the leather holster at his hip, a finger slipping beneath the release catch.
An echoing chuckle grinded against the silence, a raspy clatter of vocal cords that scraped against the stillness of the train cart. "Suit yourself."
Air hissed through the pistons attached to the door, sealed closed with three massive fingers that slammed against the controls. Another hand clamped against the metal handle of their trolley, rattling once again, as they carried down the corridor with thunderous steps and a murmur of amused grumbles. On the other side of the cart, muffled by the seal of the door, a faint sigh carried over the acoustic sensors attached to the Lawkeeper's beskar'gam.
12:58
Tags:
Niijima Izumi
Niijima Izumi