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bakerstreet2016-02-29 10:45 pm
cornichaun) wrote in bakerstreet2016-02-29 10:45 pm
The Desert Caravan Meme
The sky is unimaginably large. Infinity as a pale, blinding blue, never a cloud. Your eyes always sting from the sand and from the bright, painful light.
This is the desert. It is the desert that lives in poetry: the shifting, formless sea of white and gold and red, in slow, sinking dune-waves. This is the desert of scorched cliffs and ancient stone; it is the desert of vast, eternal wind, bringing the bite of grit to bare skin. Sun’s heat untempered by mercy and parched land flickering with false hope of oasis.
This is the desert of legend: the desert that hides prophets tucked in endless emptiness, where djinnis whisper on the winds and magic wells from the sands themselves. This is the land that can trap you and drain you, of memory, of past, of weakness; the land that secrets treasure away in caves and holds salvation in hidden water. This is the land that bakes you and cures you, lets the soft clay of your soul shape into something new.
The desert is a place forever between, broken with paths, sliced and scarred for the sake of trade. But the desert is a place itself, too, home for the nomads, the caravanserai, the dotted strips of live eked out of the dry. Home to the snakes and the birds and the twisted, thorny scrub, the camels and the horses.
It will seduce you with the rapture of quiet, the beauty of an emptiness that is never truly empty. But it will deceive you, too: a mountain days away that seems close enough to touch; a camp close enough to hear, but hidden in a fold of the dunes. If you lose your way, you could die of thirst an arms length from salvation. Dunes shift; paths bend. If you do not know the desert, it will kill you.
Who are you?
A traveler, trusting in the grace of a guide to bring your caravan safe to the other side;
A guide, walking by stars and distant hills through the land you know by heart;
One belonging to a caravanserai, an enclave of the desert, by precious water, gleaning a living from the harsh land and the travelers passing through;
A bandit, preying on the slow, plodding merchants;
A nomad, with the desert in your blood, watching the intruders pass through;
A hermit, solitary and empty, grown accustomed to the silence;
Or a creature of magic: a djinni, a sorcerer, a witch, a prophet?
What has happened?
An ordinary, exhausting day of travel, your mouth dry as dust?
Have you lost your way, straying, along and baking in the sun —
A raid by bandits, to take money, goods — people?
War, over territory? Over water?
Strangers arriving in the caravanserai?
Happening upon a celebration, of life, water, harvest?
A rainstorm, for the first time in years? A sandstorm, deadly, and far more common?
Or something else?
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He shuffled out the door then away from her little hut, scrambling awkwardly up a dune and over before he got himself out of his trousers to pee. As soon as he was done, he kicked sand over the spot then headed back to Rey's home. He paused, though, on the top of the sand dune and found his head turning - he looked towards the sun, already over the horizon. Rain would come with the dawn. They had two more days, after today.
Ben slipped back down the dune and inside, pulling the wrappings off from around his face. He settled down in front of the little stove, pulling his knife from his pocket. He sliced the peppers first, then re-settled some of the fabric around his face to cut the onion and started those on the heat, before adding the potatoes. As soon as it was all nicely soft, he added a protein packet - so important, since there was little he could grow for some things - and stirred.
He looked over at Rey with a smile then dished out the food, settling down to start eating.
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She sipped her water thoughtfully and looked at the food he'd unearthed from his pack, particularly the little packet of spices; such a thing had hardly been available to scavengers, who bartered their goods for measly freeze-dried portions of rations, but she had seen it traded in Niima and she wondered how it tasted. She would find out soon enough — within a few moments Ben was back, unwinding the wraps covering his face once more, and Rey felt the tension ease from her shoulders in response to the sight of it.
He busied himself with food preparation, bustling about the small cooking area and chopping, heating and stirring; already the scent of the fresh food was beginning to waft throughout her small dwelling, and Rey inhaled vigorously. Rations smelled nothing like this when hydrated and heated; this was fragrant, aromatic, and she felt herself salivating already.
When it was done he dished out a generous portion for her onto her plate, and they both dove into the food. It was bursting with flavor and texture, and she wolfed it down so quickly her eyes teared up from the residual heat of the stove. Rey caught him glancing over at her as she ate, and after a long few seconds — spent watching the fascinating way his mouth, lips, tongue and teeth moved with the process of eating — she nodded gratefully at him, speaking over a mouth stuffed with onions and peppers and spiced potatoes. "...'S delifshus," she mumbled inelegantly, careful not to let any food slip out of her mouth as she grinned at him. Her manners left something to be desired, certainly, but her gratitude was heartfelt.
She licked her plate spotlessly clean — something done this time out of appreciation for the food and not residual hunger — and rose to her feet, gathering her supplies. "I'll need to head out soon to forage for the day. I have to get an early start, to ensure I can get it back to Niima before dusk." She cocked her head as she assembled her gear, wrapping her head in a headscarf somewhat similar to his. "...You're welcome to stay here, sleep a bit more, or just explore nearby. Or, you can come along with me, if you like."
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She watched then as he wrote out a message to her; he winced as he did, most likely because of his stiff fingers, and she felt a momentary surge of compassion. Whomever had scarred him so badly had done quite a thorough job of it, on the one hand at least.
His message gave her pause before she nodded. Scavenging through old Imperial star destroyers wasn't for everyone. Rey slung a pack over her shoulder, giving him a last nod as he made ready to leave. "I can take you to the southern gate of the outpost on my speeder if you like, before I head off to start my work for the day. I'm going out that way, anyway."
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Still, despite the fact that she'd been unused to physical closeness for so very long prior to meeting him, she found the way he held onto her — trusting, as it was, that she'd keep him upright and not let him pitch forward or backward on the high-speed craft — somewhat endearing. She found she was somewhat disappointed when they'd arrived.
She dropped him off at the southern entrance to the outpost, nodding to him as he clambered off of the speeder. "I'll be back for you in several hours, before dusk, certainly." And then with a wave from him she was off.
The day's work was spent on the carcass of the Executor, the Dreadnought that was said to have been the flagship of Darth Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith. Rey had scavenged it a few times before and was already familiar enough with it to know what to focus in on, what to hunt for inside the behemoth starship. She made quick work of the innards of control panels and switchboards, yanking and wrenching parts out of place to put into her knapsack and take back to Plutt.
By the time the sun began to sink in the sky she was already back at Niima washing her wares, her hands swathed in arm-high rubber gloves as she scrubbed the metal parts with a caustic solution meant to rid it of rust and dirt, so focused on hurrying through her work so that she could meet up with her friend once more that she paid little attention to her immediate surroundings.