A Musebox

It's been a handful of months since Garth'zel got turned loose from carbonite--again--and has had time to figure out how to make his way in the galaxy as it now was. So far as he could tell, the major difference between the current Empire and the one he grew up in was that the amount of Sith involved could be counted on one hand. Not to mention, what happened to the Jedi. He doesn't believe the official line whatsoever. Not that there's any to find to ask what actually happened almost twenty years prior.

While there's been enough time for him to learn how to get by, it still hasn't really been long enough for him to really deal with what he's lost. He's basically just drifting from place to place, going through the motions of being normal and well-adjusted. If he pretends long enough, maybe it'll become true. Possibly. Okay, not likely, but it's worth trying. At least until things hurt less.

Garth'zel's left yet another planet behind him and disappears into hyperspace when he leans back in the pilot's chair, arms folded across his chest and eyes closed. He can decide what to do in order to keep himself occupied later. Right now, a brief catnap is probably in order.

He has no idea he's not going to get that nap.