Eli Vanto (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
numbersaremusic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxofmisfits2020-12-22 04:42 am
numbersaremusic) wrote in boxofmisfits2020-12-22 04:42 am
Entry tags:
Lysatran Summers are Better
Toeing the space between outright rebellion and not being caught as a thorn in the Empire's side was a thin line to walk. Never mind that the Vantos were not very well-known outside of small circles, even within Wild Space.
Eli's decision was not made lightly. Having only had a brief stint in Myomar's academy, it wasn't hard to perceive the corruption between the seams, not to mention the xenophobia that was so heavily prevalent around the Core worlds. It grated on him, the prevalence of such views and expressions. He knew he'd never find himself comfortable there. He stayed only as long as necessary for flight training before formally withdrawing to another academy to finish up the basics and get to work properly.
Resuming work of delivering supplies was a step up, but not entirely his own end goal. No. A carefully attuned listening ear and some observations, and the current supplies were headed for a rebel outpost just outside of the Empire's reach. His outward persona changed to fit the circumstances. He couldn't simply be Eli Vanto. And he couldn't allow his name to involve his family in such dangerous matters. "Horatio Figg" was the demeanor he'd named for such work. Pretending to be someone else made it easier to separate himself from whatever needed to be done, should the going get too rough that words alone bore no fruit.
Bandits, however, picked on the weak, or plain folks who just rubbed them wrong. The cluster of planets had an inviting look to him. Were this any other moment than a dogfight he was losing, engine and controls dead and other operations and lights quickly failing, he doubtless would have taken the time to admire the view of the wayward planet he was propelled to.
It was all too happy to drag his failing ship into its orbit.
At such a velocity, repeated impacts resounding against the front, and then repeatedly against the undercarriage, his body kept jarring in such a way that he worried he'd faint from the repeatedly intense sensations of vertigo, his head first barely pillowed by his arms against the console, arms and legs braced to protect the rest of his body from the impacts.
What felt like an eternity later, the ship slowed to a halt, and for a moment, he wondered if what he felt was even real. Was he even still alive, or was he dead and gone, brained upon the console, from the initial impact with the planet's surface?
Unstrapping himself from the barely-intact seat, Eli shakily stood up, hands pressed flat to the dead controls beneath him. His limbs felt both light and heavy, and he could see some distinct trembling in his fingers, and some weakness in his legs.
The adrenaline drop, probably. He was banged up, but nothing felt sprained nor broken, thank the stars.
After ascertaining that his ship would not blow up on him if he breathed funny, only then did he let himself marginally relax. Still, bandits were not the type to let even crash remains go untouched. Even if not now, it was only a matter of time before they followed.
Armed with only a single blaster at his hip, Eli took the time to check himself more thoroughly for any injuries as the adrenaline continued to wear off, leaving him feeling increasingly like a boiled noodle. Able to peer skyward through the broken transparasteel panel, he could see the small shapes of the ships just barely within the planet's atmosphere, but close to the barrier between the planet and space itself. Until in a wink, they were away.
Why weren't they coming now? What had made this situation so unsavory to try to profit from?
But that was a thought for future Eli, as he started to register the pain in his extremities - mostly bruises. He wasn't dead, then. That was good.
Heading towards the main door, Eli attempted to activate it, only for the interface to not respond. Some brute force, however, was sufficient after a period of struggle.
Maybe it wasn't smart to open the ship this quickly, and he looked skyward to check the pirates' location again, as if maybe them leaving was a trick of the light.
It wasn't.
Backing away again and sliding the door mostly shut, Eli took the time to poke and prod at the ship's interior parts. with a tool at hand, it seemed that the engine was completely shot - nothing short of replacing it would fix a damned thing for it.
Other components could theoretically be powered by other sources, if he could figure out the wiring.
Clicking his tongue, he leaned up against the wall with a sigh, mentally going over the inventory he had. If he was careful to only eat his fill and no more, he could have enough food to last him two standard weeks. Water, even less. He'd need to find a fresh source. And the food supply was limited, so if he could supplement his supplies with anything from this planet, that would be good.
There was no telling when, or if, help would arrive. Bracing himself, he resolved to act as if no help was coming.
Pulling open an emergency hatch, he retrieved a heat lamp, as well as one purely for light, and what spare blankets he could find. It would be best if he could use this as shelter as long as possible, and maximize what he can do with what he has.
Based on the breeze coming in, carrying with it warm air, the season is either an approximate mid-spring or early summer. Eli wondered if this overlooked planet had any sentient life on it.
And if so, who? And would they make his life easier or harder?
Still trembling a little, Eli rocked back to his feet, deciding to at least get out and about a little and shake off the unnerved feelings clinging to him regarding his miraculously-evaded brush with death.
Using that time to find a water source would be a good expense of his time.
With a sigh, Eli shoved the door back open again and looked around, squinting at the midday sun. It was warm out, but not unpleasantly so. Felt not too different from Lysatra's spring, honestly.
Good. Probably.
Pulling a short knife from his boot, Eli looked around to check his surroundings. Enough trees to mark his way by, at least, so he wouldn't get lost if he was careful. In the back of his mind, Eli counted his steps as he began to search, wanting to know the exact distance between his broken ship and any places of note.
no subject
"Ah, it's a cargo vessel. Probably thought I had something worth taking. Or if nothing else, stress release from firing on a ship that can't really fight back well. Way I see it, they'll come back at some point. Either for the cargo - or to make sure they killed me. Possibly both."
No matter how much he thought he's a small enough fish that he'd be overlooked, he clearly wasn't.
"So if they come back like I think they will, might be best for you to hide until they leave. Wouldn't want ya to get involved, you know?"
It's his mess, anyway. Well, started by pirates, but there's no reason for Thrawn to get involved when it's life or death.
no subject
"You are a courier then? Or perhaps a smuggler?"
Eli carrying cargo of some kind certainly implies that he's one of those two professions. That last question isn't accusatory, but merely a simple question.
/dusts this account off
But can he fully trust this stranger, Chiss or not? That, Eli isn't certain of.
Fortunately, he's used to having to toe this line between fib and truth. And being a courier isn't wrong, either. Courier to one, smuggler to another.
He doesn't miss a beat, body language still calm so as to not give away the omission.
"Courier, yeah. Family's been in this trade for a few generations now, myself included. At least this shipment I have has mostly preserved food and easy rations, and depending on how long we're stuck here, might as well not waste it."
Not that he thinks they'll lack for food, but still...
Eli continues to follow, attention focused on not just memorizing the way, but also listening for any sounds or signs of threats. That includes keeping a good eye on Thrawn's body language. Hopefully his gestures aren't too dissimilar from humans' in intent and meaning.
His gesture to follow, with two fingers in particular, is also of note. Should he use a similar gesture with a different rhythm of the wrist or finger count, he'll notice. He also keeps an eye out for any changes in Thrawn's gait, though honestly, he already notices that the Chiss has far more grace navigating this place than himself.
No wonder Thrawn knew where to throw a rock.
The look of him further, from behind, is, well. Chiss hair is far prettier to see than the tales could ever convey. (And if his gaze happens to skim over anywhere else, it's just in the habit from watching body language.) It compliments the flower-like blue hue of his skin.... (Nope, nope, going to shove that thought into the closet with the rest of his original thoughts about the appeal of the Chiss, and throw away the keycard.)
no subject
He soon emerges into a clearing, where he's made his camp. There's a hut with a pair of generators hugging it, a stone campfire, and various boxes. It's made to look like he's been here for years.
"You are welcome here whenever you wish, Eli."