"There is more than one prison. I think you carry yours wherever you go."
Heroes aren't perfect, and neither is the Rebellion.
But when two imperfect people come together to save the Galaxy, the result is hope.
And Rebellions are built on hope.
~
A...
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SURELY, THERE WAS A BETTER WAY.
Ten minutes ago a stranger walked into the trading market with a mission.
Ten minutes ago Anya Navarre would've never considered escaping her bond service by consorting with the Rebel Alliance and risking her life in the process.
There must've been a different way to buy her freedom. There had to be, right? I mean it's not everyday the Rebellion would accept an impossible mission to find one stroom trooper out of tens of thousands, her brother or not.
It was just going to have to work. There were no other options, despite her wishes to not get involved in the ongoing fight between the Empire and the Rebellion. Then again, she was going after an imperial fighter, if she was going to find him she would have to be entangled in it one way or the other. There was no safe way going about this.
The chance for a better life had come. She knew she wasn't going to get another one. And this man was that chance.
Anya had already worked out he was a Rebel in her mind; on the other side of the door a group of confidants whispering about his supposed mission to recruit informants for the Rebellion. All hypothetical of course, Anya had learned not to trust every gossip that was told in the Mos Espa market. And of all the stories she had heard over the years, this seemed the most ridiculous. The city was herded with traders, slavers, gamblers--arguably morally compromised people in the Outer Rim Territories--nonetheless, the only information they would trade is to the Empire.
But something was different about this man. Something, or perhaps, someone, had brought him to the farthest point in the galaxy, and she was sure it wasn't for some untrusty alliances with Tatooine's worst kind. The city she was bondaged to was a Black Market, and it wasn't by choice any would come here.
Anya watched as the dark-haired man maneuvered his way through the crowded street; hands in pocket, gaze scattered, jacket draped around his shoulders even in the heat. He obviously had not been here before. There was a black burlap sack tied on the side of his slacks and Anya had a pretty good guess to what was in it.
Seemingly looking for no one in particular, the foreigner took a seat at the closest bar and focused his attention on the listing placed in front of him. She watched him order something from the tender. A different man brought him the drink he ordered. His hands just barely touched the glass before they resumed their place in his pockets. After moments of stillness, his head slowly turned in her direction, and Anya's hands abruptly turned feverishly warm. The young man's eyes wandered dangerously close to her and she considered stepping away from his view but something stopped her.
His eyes swept right by her. He hadn't seen her.
Anya felt a strange relief from inside her and she refocused her gaze on the man. She was careful not to escape the sight of her watcher as she positioned herself away from the shop and made her way to the frame of the door for a better look. Now that his face was in full view, she studied his countenance intently. He looked to be in his early twenties, a few years older than herself. He had a narrow face with noticeably tight features and facial hair, and dark eyes to match his hair. He was tan for someone who hadn't been used to the tainting effects from the Sun. By now his jacket had fully been removed from his body, his shirt untucked in turn. He ran his fingers through his hair, drops of sweat glistening from his fore. His measures were but still inscrutable.
