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"Water or rye?" Cal asks idly as he sets down the second cup. He already knows what the answer will be, because the chrono above the sink is flashing a cheerful “03:42” at him.
"Water," his companion says roughly. She scoffs. "As if I'd drink anything else at this sort of time."
Certainly not, unless she actually wants to spend the majority of the day miserable. All the spirits they keep in this household have an alcohol percentage that is... generally much higher than what is typically on the market. To accommodate their abilities to purge it from their systems, of course. And the fact that both of them struggle to get drunk on the best of days.
Cal smiles at her, fills both glasses with water, and slides the larger of the two across the counter. "Of course."
Masana makes a harsh but otherwise meaningless sound, picking it up. "Stars?"
"Always."
When they step outside, Cal shivers- there is a chill in the air, and he knows that winter is nearing for this planet.It won't be long until he needs to start wearing thicker clothes again, or a jacket or cloak.
Cal slowly eases into one of the outdoor seats, learning against the hard surface of the chair. Just thinking about it makes his neck and shoulders tingle with the ghosts of a sharper pain. He needs to buy cushions for it, at some point, but...
The thought has always been off-putting. He has spent so many years ignoring luxuries like soft, plush blankets and pillows and cushions, their sensations so deeply unsettling against his skin.
He can rest, now, but that paranoia will never truly go away. That uncanny sense that too much comfort is nothing more than a ploy, a trap, a daydream.
Masana settles into her own chair with nothing more than a low rumbling in her throat. She always sounds so terribly displeased, even after so many years. A learned instinct that has not had the incentive needed to be dulled. Cal knows better than to look only at the surface, however. She is content.
Cal looks up at the night sky. A smattering of stars dusts the depths. Stars he has visited, and those he never will. In an hour or so, they will vanish as the sun starts to rise above the horizon. He has seen this same sky hundreds of times, but they will always be a wonder to see. Even now, even after so long.
He traces lines across them with his eyes alone, watching the shapes form like a childhood game of connecting dots. It has never grown old.
"Vader," he says, and lifts one hand to point out the general shape of it. Yesterday, some of those stars had been part of a scrap-rat, and there is something fitting in that fact, he supposes.
Masana hums. "Looks like a chump."
A laugh bubbles up, unexpected, and- it is good, he thinks. That he can still find things to laugh about. He does not know why it has gotten so much harder to laugh, now that the worst is over. Now that the Empire is gone, and the Republic can rebuild itself. Maybe he thought that the galaxy would magically be fixed up into what it used to be.
Maybe he had simply tricked himself into thinking he still cared. He fought long after it was no longer his to fight for, and now he has nothing more to show for it except scars and aching joints.
Masana waves towards the East. "The Emperor's puny little wrinkled face."
It takes him a moment to find where she is aiming. A cluster of stars that two days ago had been part of the shyyyo bird. Cal is fairly certain that Palpatine's forehead had been part of the symbol of the Jedi Order a few weeks ago. "I can see that."
They stay quiet for a while, after those first two constellations. Vader and Palpatine had been some of their greatest fears for- a long time, really. Because of what they did to Masana and Trilla. Because of the Purge, and Cere's murder. They were horribly present threats for so many years that it is still hard to believe that they are dead now.
Twenty-four years changed everything about the galaxy. And yet- the stars above Cal now must still be the ones that were above this very spot fifty years ago, a hundred years ago. Perhaps, with some shifting, a thousand years ago.
It has been the people that changed, not the galaxy itself- except for the planets that the Empire decided to entirely annihilate.
Cal spent so many years fighting against the Empire, against its remains. Twenty years of his life, and more. By the end of it, it simply had not been his fight anymore. It had not been his for a long time. He gave so much, and yet- even still, the Empire reigned supreme. And even if that battle is no longer there, no longer exists- all the other problems in the galaxy are not his to fix.
It is his time to rest. All the fights out there, right now, are for others to handle. He has played his part and even more.
Rest still feels unnatural.
Cal looks towards a crescent-shaped gathering of stars. Eight days ago, they decided it was the symbol of the Republic, if incomplete. Fifteen more before that, it was the symbol of the Empire.
And yet... and yet.
Cal reaches his hand up, physically tracing the shape he is thinking of as he whispers, "Death star."
No, none of the fights that remain in this galaxy are his to take care of, but there are still things he can do, and places he can see, and people he can meet. He has earned his peace, and yet-
Masana sighs. "Should've grabbed the liquor after all."
A weak wheezing is all the noise he can make, at first. Overall, it is probably not too far from the sound of a dying bogling.
The sky is starting to lighten, by now, slowly. The stars fade against the paler blues and grays. Soon enough, they will be drowned out by vivid golds and mauves.
He stands, slowly, and even that small motion makes his knee let out a crack loud enough that Masana side-eyes him, as if her non-robotic joints haven't been creaking lately as well. Cal still grimaces at the sensation of it.
"Hey, 'Sana?"
"Hm?"
"What do you say about finding a new adventure?"
"I'd say that Trilla is losing a hundred creds."
Right. She did make a bet with Merrin a while back, didn't she?