Private The Sound of Rain on Water

[Iandre Athlea]

The beach had been Braze's fault.

Not directly, of course. He hadn't dragged her here, nor had he arranged the transport or packed the small bag resting beside her towel. But he had planted the idea. A beach. A change of scenery. Something fun. Iandre still wasn't entirely convinced she remembered how to have fun, but she had decided it was worth attempting before dismissing the concept entirely.

The coastline stretched before her in a sweep of pale sand and turquoise water, gentle waves rolling ashore in a rhythm older than governments, wars, and all the other things people insisted on making complicated. Naboo seemed unfairly beautiful at times. The kind of beauty that made it difficult to stay angry for long. She had spent most of the afternoon walking barefoot along the shoreline, sandals dangling from one hand while she collected shells she had absolutely no practical use for. A younger version of herself would have found the entire exercise ridiculous. The current version wasn't entirely sold on it either, but there were certainly worse ways to spend a day.

The sundress she wore was simple by design, a flowing burgundy garment that reached her calves and moved easily in the coastal breeze. No armor. No robes. No insignias. Nothing to identify her as a Jedi, a soldier, or a former representative of a government that no longer existed. Just a woman sitting on a beach with a growing collection of shells and entirely too much time to think. That last part remained the problem. Her gaze lingered on the horizon as sunlight danced across the water, and despite her best efforts, her thoughts occasionally wandered toward everything she had left behind. Somewhere ships crossed hyperspace lanes. Somewhere, politicians argued over borders and trade routes. Somewhere, people still needed saving. And for the first time in her adult life, none of it required her immediate attention.

The thought should have been liberating. Instead, it felt strange. She rolled a smooth shell between her fingers and let out a quiet sigh. "You're getting better at this," she informed herself dryly. "Only thought about rebuilding a government three times today." A small smile followed the remark. Progress, perhaps. Not much, but enough to count.

A distant rumble echoed across the water, drawing her attention upward. Dark clouds had begun gathering offshore, slowly swallowing the bright blue sky she had enjoyed all afternoon. At first, she paid them little mind. Naboo's weather was usually gentle and predictable. Then the wind shifted. Another rumble followed, deeper this time, and within minutes the sunlight was retreating behind a wall of gray. The first cold drops struck the sand around her, quickly followed by a great many more. "Of course," she muttered, gathering her things as the drizzle transformed into a proper downpour.

Laughing despite herself, Iandre hurried along the shoreline with her bag tucked beneath one arm, black hair immediately plastered to her face by the rain. The storm swept across the coast with remarkable enthusiasm, reducing the beach to shifting curtains of gray and silver. Through the downpour, she spotted a small seaside shop tucked just off the beach, its stone walls and weathered wooden sign half-hidden among a cluster of wind-bent trees. Warm light glowed through the windows, and someone had thoughtfully propped the door open despite the worsening weather. It wasn't much, but it was shelter with walls and a door that could be shut against the storm. More importantly, it was dry. Or at least dry enough. Climbing the short set of steps, she ducked beneath the stone roof and brushed rainwater from her face as the storm hammered against the coastline around her, content for the moment to simply wait and watch the sea disappear behind a veil of rain.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

He had always liked the desert. Burning sand beneath his feet. Waves of heat shimmered in the air and created minor mirages. The sun beating mercilessly on his bare torso. Sweat beading from his pores to run in rivulets down his body, intersecting faded scars of ancient battles, to briefly cool the fevered skin.

But he wasn't in the desert. It was a beach. The wind swept across the sand in a cooling respite from summer sun. He didn't mind the heat, but he appreciated the coolness. Even if the front of chilled air brought the portents of a storm. He didn't mind the storm either.

A smirk crossed his unshaven face as he moved to the edge of lapping water. Cold water caressed his feet and he squatted as the water receded. Left forearm balanced on his thigh, blue sith runes running from his palm and intricately scrolling round and round his arm until it reached his elbow. With his right hand he etched words into the sand with his forefinger.

It is what it is. It is not what it once was, and not yet what it will be. It is what it is.

As he finished his writing the water rushed back in to erode what was drawn. Sand swirled in the written grooves to create muddled water until the surf receded once more. Most of the impressions from the words were gone, a near clean slate. Only the words ‘It is what it is’ could be deciphered. Another surge of the surf and even that would be gone. A clean slate.

“Cin vhetin.”

It was one of the things which drew him to the mandalorians. The idea that you could recreate yourself into something new. You were not the sum of your parts or your past. Though they were a part of you they need not define who you were. Stagnation or growth. Growth meant the ability to go through a metamorphosis. To become something and someone new. If you possessed the strength, resilience, and fortitude to start anew.

The first drops of rain startled him from his reverie and he looked up. While others ran for cover he stood still with arms open letting the rain fall on and around him. Clouds blanketed the sun, dark skies changing the visage of the beach from bright and sunny to a misty, shadowed haven free of people. Thunder rolled in the distance, a promise of the storm approaching. A laugh welled up within him as he turned from the ocean and walked along the firm wet sand at the edge of the water.

The shirt tucked into his back pocket was pulled out and slipped on, a white short sleeve button up he gave up on buttoning as the wind whipped it to and fro around his body then out into the wind. To his right were a strand of windswept trees standing on either side of a shack like guardians bending in the storm yet resisting the effects as unmovable. Only deep roots kept the trees from falling.

“A lesson in life perhaps”, he mused to himself.

In his approach to the building he watched a drenched woman looking out at the waters and he smirked. Most people would have retreated from the fury of the storm. But this one gazed out without fear. Color him intrigued as he mounted the steps and entered the shack. The interior was well lit, a few tables and chairs scattered about and a bar running the length of the far wall. A few seats were taken at the bar but the establishment was otherwise vacant.

An employee raised his face in question when he turned to look out at the weather, standing several feet away from the woman who brushed the water from her face, rain dripping from the raven waves of her hair. He smirked and gave a slight nod of greeting.

“Great weather we're having eh”, he questioned before he turned his head to the waiting employee behind the bar. “Whatever you have on tap and … whatever the lady wants.”

He arched an inquisitive brow at his fellow weather watcher near the open doors.

Iandre Athlea