Poor and Hungry | Duty to Tradition | Yesterday's Hero
*4 drinks deep*
"She shot me... She shot me right in the heart. An' I don't mean metaphorically, either. I mean she pulled on me, put me right in her sights, and pulled the trigger.

Didn't take though, my death. Heart just didn't have the good sense to quit beating. Not like I had anything to take; not much more to give, except that "free ticket" off the rotten space rock we happened to find together, all those years ago... to hide.

After the Purge, there was nothin' for it but to hide. Try an' be as quiet as possible, keep our heads low. Maybe help out here and there. Just can't quit helpin' out, can I? Help everyone but myself I suppose...

But she sure helped herself out; helped herself to a nice reward when she dragged me in to the spittin' Empire. Saved her own skin at the same time - though we both know what she was. She was the same as me. But not the same, no not the same after all. Empire probably slammed her in eternal confines, or worse.

I hate to think of what she might have become, IF they had known what she was.

I've wasted so much time out here, feelin sorry for myself. I should have listen to what the Force was trying to tell me, where it was trying to lead me, regardless of the outcome. I want to know what the Force really wants with me. So I'm letting it lead me where it will. For better, or for worse."

Pursuit > The Force

60
Justice | Cruelty

Bev hardly stands out in a crowd of humans. Average at a glance, unremarkable when met. Simple dress of a poor homesteader, with a hooded robe colored the same reddish umbar of the high-desert on the last nameless outer rim world he lived in. But there's a nebula behind kind eyes; a man of few words - until you get him worked up. Then he's hard to stop, talking or otherwise. And don't even think about asking what happened to "her" unless he's had a few stiff drinks.