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Evening was setting in on Talus, painting the field below the hill where the two young Zabrak lounged in the grass in hues of pink and yellow. They sat together in comfortable silence, Mari'ya hugging her knees with her familiar contented smile, Zjivago with his legs crossed, expression pinched with thought, while the little herd of nerfs grazed lazily below. There had been a lot to do that day, a lot of broken things to fix, a lot of hectic running around and shipments to prepare. Mari'ya was behind in work, and the busted shuttle had stretched her time even more thin. Everything was running on patched together work, not enough time between shipments to fully repair before sending off again. Before, she had seemed almost noticably stressed, but now that had melted away as if it never was.
This time of day was the best for reflection, she had told him some time before; after a long day of work and stress, the evening brought her a cleansing aura of peace he was almost jealous of.
Probably from her Jedi days, getting over all that mess so quick. He thought idly to himself, giving her a side glance before looking back to horizon. Best not to ask. Mari'ya was chatty, and easy to talk to even on difficult topics, but there was an anxious caution to bringing up someone's past, and Zji felt it wasn't his place. He shifted, uncomfortable with his own racing thoughts, and the spell of comfort and quiet was instantly shattered.
“Nuin?” Her gaze snapped to him, concerned. He regretting the movement immediately, feeling bad for tearing her out of her contemplative meditation.
“Ah, I'm okay. Just thinkin'.” Zji settled back a little, awkward now. Mari'ya was unrelenting; she had an awful habit of zeroing in on other's discomfort, and now was no exception. After considering him silently a moment, her feet slid down and she scooted closer. Zji regarded her, confused, opening his mouth to speak when she interrupted by taking his hand.
“What are you--?”
“I am going to read your palm!” Mari'ya declared, turning his hand over in both of hers, unfurling his fingers gently.
“..You know how to do that stuff..?”
“Nope!” His expression flattened, and his fingers curled back, ready to retrieve his hand and try to find out what sort of weird joke she was trying to pull, but she just gave him a quick 'shh!' and straightened them carefully once more. He breathed out, gave in, and held his palm flat while Mari'ya did her best to look intensely focused.
“Hmmm...” She traced a line with one finger, nodding as if understanding some sort of secret braille etched in the lines of his skin. “I see.”
“...You see what...?” Zjivago was almost afraid of the question. There was no real way to predict her. Mari'ya seemed to do things without thinking, without that anxiety, in stark contrast to himself. She made social interacting seem as easy as breathing; always with something to say, never concerned with what someone else might think. He wished vaguely he could be that at ease.
“Your hand says a lot, nuin. I can see it very clearly!” She didn't look up, planted firmly in her imaginary task, and he pursed his lips in response.
“You haven't said what, though.”
“Well...” Mari'ya paused, looking for place to begin her expert explanation, pressing a pointed finger against a single line of his palm “This line here says that you are good.”
“It says I'm.. good. How do you know that..?”
“I just do.” Matter of fact, positive, trailing the finger to another line. “And this one, it says that you are very wealthy.” His expression fell flat again, staring at her incredulously enough that it brought her to laugh. “I do not mean with money! I mean in other things.”
“Ah... Other things like..?”
“Mm.. Kindness, and good things. You do not need to be wealthy in money.” It would help, he thought in response to himself, though she seemed to ignore his sigh and move on with her explanation. “This one says that you are very smart and hard working... I think that you have very good lines, nuin.”
Zji took back his hand as she released it, looking down to the lines Mari'ya had singled out before turning his gaze back up to her. She was smiling, bright as the horizon, enough confidence in her words that they sunk in his chest, warm and real. He looked at his hand again as she pulled her legs back up, staying close. Her presence lent itself to that warmth, and the anxiety only tinged at the edges of Zjivago's mind now, where it had been so widespread before.
“You let your thoughts weigh very heavily on you. I think that you are doing just fine, with everything that you try to do; all of the effort that you put in. I am grateful that you have loaned me your skills. My farm would have had a hard time without you today... You have helped me and countless other people by fixing my ships, and that good kindness is something that is worth much more than money, nuin. That is what I think, anyway.” Mari'ya rested her chin on her knees, gazing down at the lumbering creatures below with adoration. He watched her instead, the pride in her face, the honest gratitude. Mari'ya wore her emotions like badges, clear as day on her sleeve. It was infectious, and there were others that would agree.
Not much like a Jedi anymore, I guess. But what do I know. He looked down at his hand once more, before curling his fingers into a fist, holding onto the warmth she had left behind. She was right, of course. Despite the struggles, he was happier now working for the company, helping people like her. There wasn't any sense stressing over it too much, faced now with the gentle evening and good company. Tomorrow was always a better day than yesterday could ever hope to be.
It seemed alright, now, just to be in today.
“...Daynas, oen'nuin.” He mumbled in Ul'Zabrak. It felt more meaningful to thank her in the language he knew Mari'ya was most comfortable with, and the resulting smile she rewarded him with told him he was right.
"Denadre."