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Of Sith And Street Rats
Between thinking it best to steer as far away from the Core as possible given the current regime, and needing repairs to his ship, he finds himself on some backwater planet in the middle of nowhere. Not only that, but so far as he could tell, there were only a handful of cities worth the name with one of them being the capital city. Which was also oh-so-imaginatively named Capital City. It seemed to be his best bet, so it was the one he chose to land at.
While his ship was undergoing repairs, he heads out into the city. The workers don't need him breathing down their necks, so he may as well see what, if anything, was of interest. So lightsaber firmly hidden in his jacket, and anything the mechanics didn't need access to firmly locked, he heads out. May as well start with the market. Wherever it is.
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With the shift of subject, Ezra shrugs halfheartedly. How is supposed to describe that anyway? He'd acted on a whim, a feeling too nebulous for an eight year old to understand completely. If he said it was his instincts, would the man just laugh at him? Instincts are what his dad used to say he had whenever he tried to explain stuff like this. But his instincts had been wrong this time.
"I dunno," he finally says. "You were just... better, and... and you had shiny boots an' nice clothes."
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"As for my clothes..." He shrugs. "Fair enough. I can afford it, so I may as well get some that are good enough quality to last for some time. Hopefully a few years."
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He's warming up to the conversation a little now, so after another bite of sandwich (and another bit stuck in his pocket), he adds a little bit to shine up his reputation. "I just knew from lookin' at you that you were better than the first guy I saw."
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Then, as if he'd said no such thing, "I tend to be fairly active, so good boots are a good idea. Don't want to find myself unwilling to keep going if I have to walk a long distance because of my feet hurting too much from boots in poor shape, now do I?"
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The discussion about boots is getting dropped in favor of this threat to his food, which his little hands are clutching protectively now.
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His interest is piqued just enough to answer honestly. "I know it a lot. I've always lived here. Why? An' what's it got to do with a shower?"
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"I'm not a guide." Ezra's staring up at him, caught off guard because where did he get that idea?
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"You want me to be your guide?" he asks, disbelief coloring his voice. Why would he hire a kid? Why would he hire Ezra? "I know lots of stuff, but... but I don't got a speeder or... or... Lots of people don't even want me around."
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He shrugs slightly. "It's your choice, but there's three meals a day, a safe place to sleep if you want it, and pay. Not as much as there should be, but if I give you too much, you'll just become a target to steal from."
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"Why?" Food and safety and a job and money - it all sounds too good to be true. And when things sound too good, they usually are, and the streets have taught Ezra to look for the catch. "Why are you doing this? Why me? I'm just a... a dirty street rat. There's better people than me you could ask."
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Garth'zel considers Ezra for a moment before shaking his head slightly. "I have a feeling about you, that's all."
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Is it?
"A feeling?" he asks, unable to repress his curiosity. "What kind of feeling?"
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"You get those feelings too?" Gone is his doubt and suspicion for now, swallowed up by excitement. "Like you just know stuff an' it gets you out of trouble? Or...or... stuff just goes right if you listen?" He hasn't found anyone who really understands what he's talking about. Even his parents didn't really know what he meant.
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He experimentally nudges at Ezra's mind. Not enough to do anything; just to see if he has the sensitivity to notice.
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-but that's when something nudges his attention, and he jumps, spooked, head snapping around to try to spot what it is.
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"Felt that, did you? That was me checking something. We have the ability to do more than just tell when things will happen or if we should do them." Now he gives Ezra a serious look. "It's something you should never talk about to someone you don't trust because there are plenty of bad people who would want to take advantage of what you can do."
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The comment about Garth'zel's parents gets tucked away for now. It's another thing he doesn't know how to respond to, since no one's ever admitted something like that to him before.
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"I... I don't go to school anymore," he admits. It had been boring, and what was the point, and he'd had to worry about finding food. (And maybe it was as much because his parents weren't there to take him, and that makes something hurt in his chest and throat.)
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"Of those of us who can, the amount that can be done varies. I'm very strong in it and can do lots of things. Others on the opposite end of the scale would be lucky to be able to push a piece of silverware across a table using their minds."
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He chews on his lip, trying to turn the rest of it over. It's a little much for an eight year old to understand. Still, there's one thing he thinks he can be sure about, enough to make his shoulders slump.
"I can't do that." So he must not be strong. "You can really do that with your mind?" Disappointment doesn't live too long when there's this much awe. "I wanna see!"
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