@nightsslights | the sharpest lives are the deadliest
what is the point of having unlimited power at your fingertips, if you don’t ever utilize it?
salathiel doesn’t believe in luck. he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny, he doesn’t believe in being at the right place at the right time for unknown mystical timeline reasons, he doesn’t believe the force operates that way. it might have been a coincidence that he was nearby to the temple of eedit when it was attacked, but it was by his own merit, his own grit, his own positioning and thought processes that he had a ship worth boarding in the first place, that he’s made traveling with the jedi standard enough to keep them around, that he continually gets jobs with dealers who want to work with him more than they want to kill him.
they weren’t killed on devaron because he’d had the ship docked in an unusually loaded area. he keeps the jedi on board by playing along with their search for their communal master. he gets jobs because he knows how to be a pillar of fire in frozen space and his reputation precedes him.
but even though he doesn’t trust the force and doesn’t adhere to what’s been told to him about it, by the jedi, by books, by ancestries, by his own father, he does believe in intimidation, and he does believe they’ve been trained enough to handle themselves. the jedi are still in mythological stages to the universe at large. so when he informs haru, one of the quieter padawans on his ship, that he’ll need to accompany sal on a buyer meet in a downtown cantina bar, he’s thinking purely of those factors; the menace of the mythos.
plus… there’s something hovering in haru’s shadow, something unraveling in the core of him, behind the bones of his rib cage and the muscles of his lungs– salathiel can feel it. something that wants to be clawed and sharp and dangerous. all it needs is a little prodding to bloom.
he leads haru through the city streets of a neon planet, bright lights flashing, holograms advertising, more people flooding the streets than the drizzling rain, piles of slushy snow melting underfoot. sal sniffs and turns down an alleyway before stepping into the bar, holding the door open for his singular companion to follow through. the noise of the band in the corner is obnoxious but he steps up to the counter and orders a drink. “you want anything while we wait for the buyers, kid? are jedi allowed to drink?”