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T W O. dead credits. word count: 3865
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YOU ADJUSTED yourself between two large crates that were cold to the touch, avoiding the smaller boxes that sat in front of your feet. Your clothes were dripping into a small puddle beneath you, your skin sore and seemingly bloodless, ghostly pale from the hours you spent in the cold. All you heard was the low, slightly worrying rumbling of the engine, the screeching of metallic boxes as they scraped against each other, and the off-note whistling of the pilot in the cockpit.
Worst of all, it was completely dark in the back of the cabin, all except for a faint, flickering light that hung overhead. Said flickering was beginning to give you a headache. You squeezed your eyes closed and pulled your knees close to your body, trying to obtain any warmth that lingered under your dripping clothes.
Sadly, all you felt was a wet squish as the padding of your jacket flattened against your chest. You sighed and opened your eyes.
The crates in front of you were slightly rusted with some cleaner, clearer spots in between, showing your reflection like a mirror. Your (H/C) hair now stringy and crunched, your skin now faded and covered in goosebumps, your lips now a paled purple from the cold . . . all soaked with melted ice. The bags under your eyes showed you hadn't slept well in several days and your muscles ached from the trek a few hours before. You didn't want anything more than a nice, warm bath and a soft bed to sleep in. It felt like you could sleep for days, regardless of whatever time went by. . . .
"Tatooine's comin' up," said the pilot over the speakers, his voice contorted and staticy, words cutting over one another with each syllable. "Get ready. And hey - what about my shawl?"
You said nothing, instead pressing your fingers to your temples, groaning, and reaching for your helmet.
"Sooo . . . I take it I ain't gettin' it back any time soon?" he asked. You heard him scoff. "Typical."
You adjusted your wet hair and slipped the Ubese helmet on, fixing it over your eyes and setting up. Your cloak - which you had grown rather fond of, as it kept you somewhat warmer - practically peeled away from the crate behind you. You took a moment before leaning forward and hauling yourself to your feet, carefully maneuvering between crates of various sizes to reach the loading bay door. Your fingers traveled up, feeling for some sort of grip until you finally found a type of handle to hold on to.
The ship jolted to a shaking, creaking stop, a strange growl escaping it as it landed on the ground. Your damp glove tightened around the handle as the door came to life, air puffing from the cracks as it slowly lowered.
You flinched instinctively as a bright light flooded your senses. Though it stung your eyes, the sunlight was soft and warm on the skin, and your free hand pulled your cloak slightly to the side so it could dry your clothes. Past the sunlight - you observed, after a second when your eyes finally adjusted - resided a town in the distance.
