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Hera doesn't know she has an accent until she's seventeen years old.
It's not like she doesn't know that other people don't talk the same way. She's met people who weren't from Ryloth, enough that she's able to understand them even though their lack of lekku makes their speech so flat, so sterile. She's a little sorry for them, that they lack the ability to express themselves like Twi'leks can, but they are as they are, and the Twi'leks are as they are, and things are just different.
But when she's seventeen, she leaves home, the sound of her father's recriminations still ringing in her ears. It's hard to find a flight school that isn't affiliated with the Empire, but Hera manages. It's not the cleanest or flashiest place in the galaxy, but it will certainly do for what Hera wants.
The hallways are maze-like, but she finds her way to what she thinks is the barracks. "Is this the right room?" she says to the people inside, clutching the strap of her bag, and of all the things she expects, a round of laughter is not among them. The cadets are also not what she expects, almost all human. She's struck by a sudden urge to run away, but she focuses on her breathing, focuses on what she wants.
"You must be Syndulla," one of the humans says, waving her over.
"That's me," Hera says, walking in.
"I've never met a Twi'lek before," someone says.
"You have the cutest accent," another one gushes. "Say something else."
Hera doesn't know how to respond.
"Say 'The reactor core is malfunctioning,'" the woman coaches, when Hera doesn't offer anything.
"The reactor core is malfunctioning," Hera repeats suspiciously, and there's general laughter.
"Come on in," a human says, smiling broadly, like she thinks nothing is wrong. "Your bunk is that one."
--
"Reactor," Hera says into the mirror when she's alone, willing the first consonant to lose its rasp, the last syllable to shorten, the missing consonant at the end to appear, the word to sound like it's supposed to. "Reactor," she says again, and she thinks she almost has it now.
"Prime the reactor," she says the next day, and someone laughs. Her tchun twitches in warning, but she doesn't say anything.
--
Hera doesn't know that her accent means something until her second week at flight school.
People think she talks funny, which is annoying, but with time she thinks she can make them stop laughing. She does sound different than them, and some people are assholes. She doesn't make the connection that they think she specifically sounds like a Twi'lek, not just someone who talks differently.
She learns this when one of the human males corners her as she's studying a maintenance manual. "You're Hera, right?" he says.
Hera almost says something snippy, but she's not here to make enemies. "Yes," she says.
"I love your accent," he tells, one hand braced on the wall above her head. "Your voice is so sexy."
"Uh," Hera says, turning away from him. "Thanks, I guess."
"I've never met a Twi'lek before," he says, and the way he says it makes Hera's skin crawl. "Is it true that-"
His sentence is cut off by angry beeping and the sound of an electrical pulse.
He yelps, hopping on one foot. "Watch it!" he says, looking down, and Chopper zaps him again, beeping as if to challenge him. "Your droid is psychotic."
"He's just a good judge of character," Hera says levelly, and to her great surprise, the guy takes the hint, shaking his head and walking away.
Hera bends down, wiping a fleck of dirt away from Chopper's surface. "We're going to have to work on that if I find anybody I actually like," she says, and Chopper beeps dismissively. "You're right. You have to like them too."
She thinks that will be the end of it, that the human will go nurse his wounded pride and leave her alone. Instead, she hears whispers behind her, like she's the one who committed the offense.
--
"Reactor," she says into the mirror. "Re. Ac. Tor. Reactor."
--
Until her third month at flight school, Hera thinks she can probably trust the other non-humans.
Her closest friend, perhaps her only friend, is a Cerean named Ki-Re. Ki-Re doesn't sound like a human either; maybe that's the only reason they bonded, but stronger friendships have been built on less. Either way, Hera is comfortable around her in a way she can't be with the rest of them.
She finds Ki-Re one day watching a holovid with some of the other students, a regular occurrence. None of them spot Hera when she walks in, so she hangs back and watches for a moment. The leading actress is dressed as a Twi'lek, and she has the fakest Ryloth accent that Hera has ever heard. She's apparently on a romantic collision course with a generically handsome human, as these things tend to happen in vids like this.
Hera must make some kind of noise, because Ki-Re looks up and spots her. Hera can see the moment that Ki-Re gets it, knows that she's fucked up. "Kriff," she says, hurriedly pausing the vid; it stops on a picture of the imitation Twi'lek and the human just about to kiss. "Sorry, Hera."
"It's not as bad as it could be," Hera says. "Most Twi'leks don't get speaking parts."
--
"Reactor," Hera says into the mirror; she doesn't even know if it's helping anymore, but by now it's become rote.
"Check the reactor core," she says, the words coming out flat and even and lifeless, and no one says anything.
--
Years later, she lies on her bunk next to Kanan, his hand warm on the small of her back. It's been a trying few days, and it's nice to be like this, alone together, calm.
"How come you don't sound like your dad?" Kanan asks, and Hera fights the urge to tense up.
"I left Ryloth," she says.
"That's a short answer to a big question," Kanan says.
"I left Ryloth," she repeats, "and it was better not to be from Ryloth."
"Fair enough," he says, rubbing her back. "Did you sound like that when you were younger?"
"Please don't," Hera says, and it comes out harsher than she intends.
"Sorry," Kanan says, sounding puzzled. "Didn't know it was a touchy subject." Hera knows by the way he pauses that he's not done. "The only Twi'lek I knew growing up was Master Secura, and she was raised by the Jedi. Most of us ended up sounding the same."
"People have assumptions about Twi'leks," Hera says, though she feels like Kanan already knows that much. "A Ryloth accent only makes it worse."
"But you get to be from somewhere," Kanan says. "Not everybody gets to have that."
"It's not worth it," Hera says.
Kanan pulls back, looking her in the eye. "Do you really think that?"
--
"The reactor core is malfunctioning," her mouth said.
I can't believe I'm doing this, her lekku said.
--
"Reactor," she repeated.
I'm better than this, her lekku said.
--
"Reactor," she said again.
I can do this for now, her lekku said.
--
"Check the reactor core," she said.
You simple-minded excuse for a flight crew, her lekku added.
--
"It's hard not to," Hera says, which is neither a yes nor a no.
"For the record," Kanan says, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I'd follow you no matter what you sounded like. I don't know if that's actually helpful or not, but you deserve to know."
"I know you would, love," she says, putting her hand over his heart.
You're one of the smart ones, her lekku say. I think I'll keep you.