Profoundly random
When The Galaxy Pauses
"Sometimes the best thing in the world is a good book and a warm plate of food."
________
Equipment — Coded datapad, a holo-book, his Lightsaber.
Clothing — Casual civilian clothing.
Theme — Is there free breakfast here?
________
The sky had cleared by the time Emery reached the café. A light breeze came down the plaza streets, tugging at his jacket as he stepped off the main walk and into the narrow side alley where the tables were scattered. It wasn’t crowded. Just a few locals seated along the wall under cloth awnings, most of them murmuring over drinks or idly watching the world slip by.
He blended in, mostly. The coat helped, plain and travel-worn, neutral enough to go unnoticed. The boots were dusty. The bag slung over his shoulder was nothing special. Only the lightsaber at his hip, resting quietly beneath the hem of his jacket, marked him out from any of the other passersby.
Not that anyone here seemed to care. That's fine, Emery didn't really want to be noticed today.
He ordered something warm and quick, one of the dishes he remembered vaguely from younger years, though it looked smaller than it used to. He didn'’t ask about it. He just gave the vendor a small nod, gave him money, and, carried the plate to a quiet table along the side, where the sun hit the stone just enough to keep it pleasant.
A holo-reader hovered in one hand. It glowed dimly with lines of text from an old novel he’d picked up off a station shelf during his last resupply. The kind of book that wasn’t trying to be much of anything. Soft story. Old places. A character who didn’t say much.
It suited him.
He wasn’t reading too seriously. The sentences slipped byy. His gaze often drifted, drawn to the sound of footsteps on pavement, the clink of glass behind the counter, the scent of something sweet from another table. It wasn’t noise. It was something else. A kind of rhythm. Unspoken familiarity from his early childhood years here.
Chandrila always felt like this, in the quiet hours. Emery enjoyed it.
He took a slow bite. Let the food settle without thinking much of it. The book dimmed again, then brightened as his thuumb brushed the side. A page turned. Somewhere nearby, across the street, someone laughed. Not loudly. Just enough to catch in the air.
Across from him, the chair remained empty. For now.
He didn’t look up. Just sipped from the cooling drink and turned another page.
Let the moment breathe.
There was no urgency. No mission waiting. Just a quiet seat, a simple meal, and the long hush of a city that still remembered how to be calm.
He didn’t mind sharing the table. If someone stopped, he might even ask them about the weather.
Maybe.
Tag —
Braze
He blended in, mostly. The coat helped, plain and travel-worn, neutral enough to go unnoticed. The boots were dusty. The bag slung over his shoulder was nothing special. Only the lightsaber at his hip, resting quietly beneath the hem of his jacket, marked him out from any of the other passersby.
Not that anyone here seemed to care. That's fine, Emery didn't really want to be noticed today.
He ordered something warm and quick, one of the dishes he remembered vaguely from younger years, though it looked smaller than it used to. He didn'’t ask about it. He just gave the vendor a small nod, gave him money, and, carried the plate to a quiet table along the side, where the sun hit the stone just enough to keep it pleasant.
A holo-reader hovered in one hand. It glowed dimly with lines of text from an old novel he’d picked up off a station shelf during his last resupply. The kind of book that wasn’t trying to be much of anything. Soft story. Old places. A character who didn’t say much.
It suited him.
He wasn’t reading too seriously. The sentences slipped byy. His gaze often drifted, drawn to the sound of footsteps on pavement, the clink of glass behind the counter, the scent of something sweet from another table. It wasn’t noise. It was something else. A kind of rhythm. Unspoken familiarity from his early childhood years here.
Chandrila always felt like this, in the quiet hours. Emery enjoyed it.
He took a slow bite. Let the food settle without thinking much of it. The book dimmed again, then brightened as his thuumb brushed the side. A page turned. Somewhere nearby, across the street, someone laughed. Not loudly. Just enough to catch in the air.
Across from him, the chair remained empty. For now.
He didn’t look up. Just sipped from the cooling drink and turned another page.
Let the moment breathe.
There was no urgency. No mission waiting. Just a quiet seat, a simple meal, and the long hush of a city that still remembered how to be calm.
He didn’t mind sharing the table. If someone stopped, he might even ask them about the weather.
Maybe.
Tag —
Braze
