A good day

Travel companions in a magical world

Also Known As...

...how long you can delay your lunch for balancing an action figure on a rounded edge.

You are HOT

Thrawn had already turned to face his attackers, a bottle of rum he’d snatched from behind the bar in his free hand. But instead of simply throwing it, he spun it around twice in his hand, pointed it at the nearest attacker, and slashed his baton across the bottle’s neck, shattering it. And as the freshly agitated liquid burst from the bottle’s confines Thrawn sprayed the stream across all three of his attackers’ faces. Their charge jerked to a confused halt amid gasps and roars as the alcohol hit unprotected eyes. Thrawn threw the now half-empty bottle toward Vader’s attackers, then waded into the midst of his own group, slamming his baton with expert precision across arms, legs, and ribs, disabling without killing. But Vader’s group had seen Thrawn’s move, and had had time to recover from the surprise attack. As the bottle came toward them the nearest Darshi knocked it away with a flick of his own baton. He turned back toward Vader— Double vision: the Darshi feinting left, then swinging his stick from the right— The attacker staggered back, twisting around from the impact as Vader slapped him hard across the side of his head with his lightsaber hilt. Not the blade. Only the hilt. If Thrawn could take on three opponents with just a stick, so could Vader.

~

Let me be clear.

This post won't try to add any cultural perspective to this extract.

[Not that my captions normally do]

But this will be particularly low.

A little bit because I'm in a 120-minutes line under the sun.

A little bit just because we need it sometimes.

So, you have been warned.

~

There is one thing that we and the dudebros share about our idea of Thrawn.

He is hot.

I mean.

He is fit, lean, elegant hot.

He is educated, polite, calm hot.

He is efficient, calculating, 62 steps ahead of you hot.

But, especially.

He is breaking a bottle with his baton, blinding his adversaries causing *Vader* to be madly envious kind of hot.

This is it.

This is the post.

Local cuisine

Black Spire hadn’t changed much since The Jedi had last been there, Vader noted as he brought the freighter in toward the landing field nestled into the forest three kilometers west of the settlement. The trading post with the attached cantina dominated the center of town, pressing up against the edge of the ruins of the ancient civilization that had once stood here. Some of the homes and businesses had been built into those ruins, though most were freestanding buildings. The petrified remains of the giant black trees that had given the outpost its name towered over everything, mysterious and brooding. The house directly behind the trading post, where the owner lived, stood out from the rest with evidence of real money. “Those are new,” Thrawn murmured. “What?” Vader asked. “Those houses,” Thrawn said, pointing at a wooded area on the eastern side of the outpost, the side opposite the landing field, about three kilometers away from the edge of town. “They were not there the last time.”

~

Reading these lines while wandering around Black Spire Outpost gives me a sense of wonder.

Nostalgic, in a way.

It's like a long time passed (30 years in-universe) since they were here, and just the memory remains.

[Including the "CHiPs" image I have in my brain]

Changing the subject (kind of?), 'Raw'n is having a blast in here trying all the food, mostly thanks to your suggestions (forever grateful).

We are totally Team BLUE milk, no question asked. We loved the Rising Moons Overnight Oat (best food so far), the Ronto wraps, the Fuzzy Tauntaun, and the Bespin Fizz.

And we still have a lot of delicacies to go!

CHiPs

Black Spire comes into sight.

Vader lifts a hand, signaling a halt. Thrawn slowed his speeder bike and stopped beside Vader’s. “Have you a plan of approach?” Vader asked. His left hand falls back from the speeder bike’s control grip to his side near his lightsaber. “We will begin with the cantina,” Thrawn said. “It may be that the bartender will remember me.” Vader’s hand moves a few centimeters closer to his lightsaber. His back stiffens slightly. “We shall see,” he said. He leans forward and again takes the control grips. His wrist twists and the bike moves forward. A surprisingly large number of residents were visible on Black Spire’s streets as Thrawn and Vader traveled at reduced speed along the twisting paths through the outpost.

~

I will never recover from the mental image of Thrawn and Vader on a speeder bike.

Never.

[As usual, 'Raw'n did the magic, and, in the picosecond I took him out from my purse, both Rey and Vi were there. Ultimately, it will end that 'Raw'n will be featured a lot in my totally unscheduled posts]

May the Spires Keep You

It was a pretty evening with a beautiful sunset, and as Vi walked the old path through the ancient forest toward a town cobbled together of cast-outs and love, she realized that this place was starting to feel like home. []

Batuu was beautiful and strange, old and new, magical and yet natural. She even loved the funny little pipa birds with their long pink beaks that trailed behind the scrappers, hoping for some kindness in the form of crumbs. []

~

Three full days in Batuu.

I know.

It seems like insanity since the land is tiny.

But I can't care the least.

I'm hyper, I'm planning this for almost three years now (rescheduled 4 times), and I will try to be "in-universe" for each second I spend there.

Maybe just breaking character a couple of times, just for showing to 'Raw'n the Cantina where his alter ego engaged in colorful bar fights.

Yes, he is coming, of course. He wouldn't speak with me again if he wasn't. And he would be insanely mad if I wouldn't offer him at least one cocktail at Oga's.

If you followed our travels last year, you know that the guy is fond of nice food and drinks.

It's a little bit "his thing."

I will try my best to not break the illusion during the day, but I will post silly updates and useless pictures of my 6-inches blue companion.

I hope I won't bother you too much. I guess, though, everyone will be so busy among Celebration and Obi-Wan to not notice.

I'm unbelievably excited to meet Rey, Chewie, and, especially Vi. And, after the two years I spent cursing Mubo and his nonchalant comm calls, becoming used to Dok-Ondar weird vocalizer, and drinking at Seezelslak's (yes, I play "Tales from the Galaxy's Edge" A LOT), I feel like I come home.

May the Spires Keep You!

[Photo: ready with my Batuu "tour guide", my in-universe ID, the spira by @hyperspaceprops, and the luggage tag by @afanofshop]

My time still

How little he shared

[Kanan] had always been aggravated by how little Obi-Wan had shared. It made sense that he’d been short of time. And perhaps he hadn’t known much, yet, when he sent the warning.

But why hadn’t he sent another? If he didn’t have access to the beacon on Coruscant any longer, wouldn’t he have found another way to get a message out, later on?

Kanan knew the answer. Because there probably aren’t any Jedi left to contact. And because Kenobi’s probably dead himself.

At one time, those had been hard thoughts to have; now they only produced a tired yawn.

He couldn’t see Obi-Wan willingly hunkering down on some remote world, waiting for things to blow over. He’d have had a mission, if he were alive—an important one. He’d want people to know about it. And all the missions Kanan could imagine would have put Obi-Wan into motion all around the galaxy.

No, if Kenobi lived, Kanan would have heard something.

But Kanan knew he wouldn’t care even if the Jedi Master popped up in the seat right behind him. Caleb Dume hadn’t yet been a Jedi Knight, and Kanan Jarrus wasn’t one now. None of it affected him, need ever affect him. He’d been dealt his hand, and that was what he would play. Play, for as long he could keep from stupid stunts like the one he’d pulled on Cynda.

He just wouldn’t play here anymore.

~

I wonder what he thought when Ezra told him that Obi-Wan was consuming his days alone with his regrets on a burnt remote Outer Rim planet, apparently doing anything but hiding.

And I wonder what he thought then, when, through the Force, he saw Obi-Wan sacrificing a good part of his existence protecting one single blond lively kid, the son of the friend that he loved the most, the hope for that better future Kanan gave his life for.

[Photo: I own this beautiful pin just because @armstrongoutpost is an amazing creator and human]

A being such as this

Mitth’raw’nuruodo was still waiting, watching him silently. Doriana closed his hand around the grip of his blaster...

And paused. Mitth’raw’nuruodo, brilliant tactician. Equally brilliant strategist. A being who could take on Republic warships, nomadic pirates, and even Jedi, and win against them all.

And Doriana was actually considering killing him?

“What are you waiting for?” Kav broke impatiently into his thoughts. “You have him alone and unprotected. Shoot him!”

Doriana smiled tightly; and with that, the underlying tension that had been nagging at him ever since his task force’s destruction finally faded away. “Don’t be absurd, Vicelord,” he said. Pulling out the blaster, he leaned over and set it on an empty chair between him and Mitth’raw’nuruodo. “I would as soon shatter thousand-year-old crystal as kill a being such as this.”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo inclined his head, his eyes glittering. “So I was indeed right about you,” he said.

“Eventually,” Doriana conceded. “But then, I don’t imagine you’re wrong very often.”

“Then let this be your final mistake,” Kav bit out, slapping at his desk chair’s arm and popping open a hidden panel. In a single smooth motion he scooped out another hold-out blaster, pointed it at Mitth’raw’nuruodo, and fired.

The shot never reached him. Instead, it struck the faint haze that had suddenly appeared between them, then bounced straight back into Kav’s torso. []

“It was still something of a risk, wasn’t it?” he asked, striving to keep his voice conversational.

“Not really,” the other assured him. []

“I meant the risk you took with me,” Doriana said. “The shield wouldn’t have blocked my shot.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo agreed.

~

I should be damned for quoting Kinman Doriana before "my" Jorj in this account.

But maybe it is indeed because I love Car'das so deeply that I cannot drop a random quote on a generic Thursday for giving him the justice he deserves.

And Thrawn described here by the heart-shaped-eyed Kinman is far too perfect not to share.

So, I did.

[Photo: he should be in a Chiss uniform for this quote, so forgive me if I share this stunning pin instead by @kjones_crafts and the beautiful tumbler by @ghazar_glass]

Careless (it is FINE, come on)

Awake

Che’ri adjusts her grip on the questis and art sheets tucked under her arm as she stares at the door to Thrawn’s office. The Springhawk is quiet at this time of night, and all she can hear is the gentle hum of the ship’s systems. She can tell the captain is still awake – the door is rimmed with the soft light from inside the room – but will he be upset with her for interrupting whatever he’s doing? For a moment, she hesitates, almost reconsidering her decision, but then she makes up her mind, takes a deep breath, and pokes the button for the door chime. Almost immediately, the door slides open, and she can see Thrawn seated at his desk near the center of the room, surrounded by pieces of art both physical and projected. His eyes flick toward her, and he tilts his head almost imperceptibly, by way of greeting. If he is surprised to see Che’ri standing in the hall at this hour, he doesn’t show it.

“Do you need something?” he asks, moving his chair a little to see her better past his desk. The gentle tone of his voice surprises her, and gives her the courage to step into the room.

“I can’t sleep,” Che’ri says, tapping her fistful of graph markers against her leg. “I’m not tired yet. And it’s so lonely lying there in the dark. I just wanted to talk to someone.”

[From "a fleeting flower, once painted, blooms forever" by lilac-vode on AO3.

The whole fanfiction is a short adorable treasure: run to read its sweet conclusion]

~

My chronic circadian rhythm sleep disorder is part of who I am. I do not even "suffer" from it anymore.

It is me. I drift.

Simply, "I’m not tired" when I am supposed to be.

Then, suddenly, life calls, and I end up not sleeping more than four hours. If anything.

Friends make jokes about it.

Lovers try —and fail to become used to it.

I see an immeasurable number of dawns.

Spending most of my nights completely alone.

So, my heart melted reading this little gem.

Ch'eri. Her curious insomniac brain spinning.

And Thrawn (canonically a short sleeper syndrome dude) there.

Gentle.

Accepting.

Ready to talk about strokes and stars.

Are you awake?

[Photo: delightful art print by Jemichi, part of the "Of Mitths and Legends" 2021 fanzine]

Silly and happy and silly

Corrupted

Please, not AGAIN

Wayfinder

Villain (noun)

villain noun | vil·​lain | \ ˈvi-lən \

Merriam-Webster Dictionary

- a character in a story or play who opposes the hero.

- a deliberate scoundrel or criminal.

Collins Dictionary

- a wicked or unprincipled character in a novel, play, etc. who opposes the protagonist or hero.

- a character in a play, novel, or the like, who constitutes an important evil agency in the plot.

- someone who deliberately harms other people or breaks the law in order to get what he or she wants.

Cambridge Dictionary

- a character in a book, play, movie, etc. who harms other people.

- a bad person who harms other people or breaks the law.

After spending the last 16 months incessantly ranting about why Thrawn is -unquestionably- "not a villain", I find it appropriate on this #Revengeofthe5th (or #Revengeofthe6th) day to discuss what a "villain" actually is.

And it is more tricky than one might expect.

Most definitions agree on "a character in a story who opposes the hero", which is, frankly, not surprising. It is remarkable, however, how the Merriam-Webster does not include any moral connotation in this contention, substantially using it as a synonym for "antagonist."

And since, in most instances, the heroes are perceived or, in effect, are undeniably the "good guys", logically, the adversary must be a "bad" one. Consequently, the Collins adds "wicked or unprincipled" to the plain literary definition by the Merriam-Webster, which instead adds the behavioral angle just in the common acceptation of the word.

The Cambridge pushes the ethical aspect further, adding the active action of "harming other people", but without including a clear mention of the hostility with a hero. Arguably, there are many stories in which the characters "harm other people" without any wicked intention at all.

On an evil scale, I would place Maul (villain, victim, mentally unstable, self-obsessed) toward the villain side, while Asajj (antagonist, victim, cynical, approval seeker), and Thrawn (literary canon hero, Rebels antagonist, efficient, logical, totally selfless) on the antagonist/hero side.

[Photo: one of my favorite pins, art by @lucenorthstar, pin by @ritarussiandoll_pins]

May the 4th (once again)

I do not care

Hyperfixation