Star Wars Rebels: A Gray Tale

"Nee... san?" she repeated, tasting the foreign syllables. Her voice was melodic, and the sound was so out of place it was almost comical. She tilted her head, her indigo eyes narrowing, not with anger, but with the quiet curiosity of someone who's just discovered a droid that speaks in riddles.

But then the second part of my sentence registered. The universal part.

Oh god. Oh no. Abort. ABORT.

But then—

Her expression melted.

The irritation vanished. The confusion softened. And for the first time since I'd woken up in this godforsaken galaxy, someone looked at me like I wasn't a nuisance, or a threat, or a problem.

She looked at me like I was adorable.

Mission. Fucking. What? This is actually working?

She let out a soft, musical laugh.

"Well, now," she said, her voice like honey. She completely forgot about the vendor and knelt, bringing herself down to my level. The scent of some kind of clean, floral soap washed over me. "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day."

Her laugh was like a handful of tiny, silver bells. It was a genuine, unforced sound that made the grimy market square feel a little brighter. She knelt, folding herself down to my level with a fluid grace that seemed common to her species.

Up close, her indigo eyes were flecked with lighter shades of violet, like a miniature nebula. My inner nerd was having a total meltdown – space eyes! – even as the part of me responsible for staying alive was internally screaming.

Okay, Phase One… worked? Target is engaged and disarmed, I guess. Cuteness is...apparently super effective? I did not expect that.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day," she said, her voice a low, melodic hum. "Especially that grumpy old gorar over there." She hooked a thumb back at the Weequay fruit vendor, who just grunted and went back to polishing a lumpy, orange fruit.

She rested a hand on her knee, her gaze curious and warm. "What's a little one like you doing out here all by yourself? Where are your parents?"

Ah. Here it comes. The level-one boss question of orphan-dom. My brain scrambled for a plausible lie, like a panicked droid trying to reroute power in a failing system. Dead parents was way too much of a downer, even for this. Lost was a temporary state that invited help, which I didn't necessarily want. I needed something that said, "I'm okay, just momentarily unsupervised," without actually being okay.

I shuffled my feet, kicking at a loose pebble on the duracrete floor. I looked down, putting on my best "shy kid" performance. Please work, please work. "They're… around," I mumbled, letting my voice trail off like I wasn't quite sure myself. "Told me to wait here." It was thin, I knew, like paper thin. But it was the kind of vague, unhelpful answer a distracted seven-year-old might actually give, right?

She tilted her head, her lekku swaying gently with the movement. I could see the gears turning in her head, the flicker of concern in her eyes. She wasn't buying it completely, not even close. But she wasn't calling bullshit either. Score one for vague kid logic? She was a kind soul, clearly. I might have hit the jackpot here, by complete accident.

And then, as if some unseen cosmic director was deliberately trying to screw with me, my stomach let out a long, pathetic, gurgling growl. It was loud. Embarrassingly loud. It echoed slightly in the small space between us.

I froze, my face flushing with a heat that had nothing to do with the planet's climate. My carefully constructed act of a shy, waiting child? Torpedoed. Sunk. By my own traitorous digestive system.

The woman's expression softened even further, a wave of pure, undiluted sympathy washing over her features. The last of her suspicion completely vanished, replaced by simple, maternal concern. Crap. She's going full mama bear. She'd found a new mission for the evening, and it was me. I might have accidentally played my hand too well.

"Oh, you poor thing," she whispered. She glanced back at the vendor. "How much for two of those fried noodles?"

The Weequay's single expression of bored annoyance shifted to one of mild interest. "Ten credits."

"Ten?" she scoffed, her negotiator's edge returning for a moment. "You just tried to sell them to me for eight!"

"Supply and demand, sweetcheeks. Now you're feeding a stray," he rasped, gesturing at me with a clawed hand.

She rolled her eyes but produced a credit chip without further argument. A moment later, two steaming, savory-smelling paper cones were passed over. She handed one to me. The warmth seeped through the paper into my cold hands, and the smell was heavenly. It was a simple thing, just some kind of fried doughy noodle with a savory sauce, but to me, it was a five-star meal. Seriously, when was the last time I ate?

"Here you go," she said softly. "Don't eat it too fast."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just stared at the food, then back up at her, my eyes wide. I let a single, fat, crocodile tear well up and roll down my dusty cheek. Shameless? Absolutely. Calculated? One hundred percent. The cherry on top of my pity-party sundae? You bet.

And...it worked. Like, seriously, it worked way better than I expected. Her heart visibly melted. Like I could practically hear the 'ding!' sound effect in my head.

"My name is Vasha, by the way," she said, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "What's yours?"

I took a huge, messy bite of the noodles, chewing with my mouth open for added effect. Okay, maybe that was a little much. "Effra," I mumbled through the mouthful, deliberately mispronouncing it. "Ezra."

"Ezra," she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with a soft, melodic quality. She watched me devour the noodles, a fond, slightly sad smile playing on her lips. It was the look of someone who couldn't stand to see a stray loth-kitten go hungry. I was banking on that look… or at least, I thought I was. This is actually working too well.

She brought me out of the bustling market a bit, and we sat there on a pair of crates, a strange little pair. The beautiful blue Twi'lek, gracefully picking at her noodles with a small fork she produced from a pouch (seriously, who even carries a fork in this galaxy?), and the filthy human street urchin, inhaling his food like a starving animal. Which, to be fair, I sort of was.

The noodles were divine—salty, greasy, perfect. I shoved them into my face like a tooka who'd just discovered food. Sauce dribbled down my chin, but who cared? Not me. Not when every messy slurp made Vasha's eyes go all soft and mushy. Good… right? This is good, isn't it? I'm getting the upper hand, but this feels...weird.

She watched me with that look—the one grown-ups get when they think you're some poor, helpless thing. Perfect. I hunched my shoulders a little, scuffed my boots like I was nervous. Tiny movements, but they seemed to be working magic. Her smile got even sweeter. Ugh, she was so easy. But maybe… maybe a little too easy?

"So, Ezra," she said, voice all gentle like I was a bomb about to explode, "what do your parents do?"

Showtime. Well, the real showtime. This is where the big guns come out.

I stared at my noodles like they held the secrets of the universe. "They're… travelers," I mumbled, just loud enough for her to lean in. Closer, closer… I let my voice wobble, just a tiny bit. Please, please sell this. "We came here on a big ship. From really far away."

Her eyebrows did the thing. The oh-no-poor-thing thing. Yes! This is actually working?! This is insane.

"Lothal must be a big change for you, then," she said, like she was talking to a baby loth-cat.

I nodded, chewing slowly like I was too sad to swallow. (Really, I just wanted more noodles.) Then I let my eyes drift to some random kids playing in the street, like I was aching to join them. (I wasn't. They were playing some dumb game with rocks.) But she doesn't know that

asha's gaze followed mine, her expression softening even more. Ooh, the "longing for a normal childhood" angle was a goldmine. Time to dig in. This is getting really manipulative, isn't it? Like, I'm practically playing the world's smallest violin right now.

"Back home," I started, my voice small and distant, like I was recalling a half-forgotten dream, "there were always… loud people. At our door."

Her full attention snapped back to me. The crinkle of concern between her eyebrows deepened. Yes. Hooked.

"They were always yelling at Dad about credits," I continued, kicking a loose stone with the toe of my boot. God, this is such a cliché. Like straight out of a bad holodrama. "I told him to just give them what they wanted so they'd go away, but… he got really angry at me for that." I let my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. "He said I didn't understand 'business'."

Vasha's lips thinned. She was forming an opinion of my "dad," and it wasn't a good one. Perfect. This is so cheesy, I can't believe she's buying this. I'm basically writing a soap opera in real time.

"Then, one night, we had to leave. Real fast." I tried to inject a note of childish excitement into my voice, a sharp contrast to the grim reality I was painting. A little dramatic irony never hurts, right? "Mom said we were going on a business trip! I was so happy. They never took me on business trips before."

I saw her hand, holding her own noodle cone, pause halfway to her mouth. She'd completely forgotten about her food. Hook, line, and sinker. Seriously? This is way too easy. I'm basically winning an acting award for "Most Pathetic Child."

"But on the ship… they were fighting." I looked down at my hands, picking at a loose thread on my tunic. "Dad kept saying it was too risky with me around. And Mom… Mom was crying. They kept saying this weird word." I scrunched up my face in pretend confusion. Here comes the emotional gut-punch. "A-dan… a-ban-don-ing? It's a hard word."

Vasha made a small, choked sound. Her hand went to her mouth, her indigo eyes wide with horror. Damn, I'm good. I'm also feeling a little queasy about this. I'm basically weaponizing childhood trauma clichés.

"I asked Mom what it meant," I mumbled, "but she just said I didn't have to worry about it. Then… later that night… I heard her sobbing in her room when she thought I was asleep."

Okay, that was the gut punch. I could practically see her heart shattering into a million little pieces. She wasn't just feeling sorry for a lost kid anymore; she was picturing a terrified child trapped between a deadbeat father and a heartbroken mother. This is getting really dark, really fast. And she's still buying it?

Time to bring it home. The grand finale of this tragic opera.

"When we got here, Dad said we were gonna start a new life," I whispered, repeating the line from before, but this time it was soaked in tragedy. "He promised me..." I traced the shape of a door in the air again. "A house… near the plains… with a blue door."

I let my shoulders slump. "But Mom just kept hugging me really, really tight. She was still crying, even when she smiled."

This is so unbelievably sappy. I'm surprised I haven't spontaneously combusted from the sheer cheesiness of it all.

I took a shaky breath, letting it all build to the climax. "Then he brought me here. To the market. He told me to wait right here, that they'd be right back." I looked up, my eyes wide and pleading. "Mom kept looking back at me… but Dad just pulled her away. He didn't even wave."

I let a single, perfect tear escape and trace a path through the grime on my cheek. Oscar-worthy performance, right here. If Oscars existed in this galaxy.

"That was… two days ago."

The silence that followed was heavier than a Hutt. The sounds of the market—the haggling, the droids, the music—all faded into a distant hum. It was just me and her, locked in this bubble of my perfectly crafted tragedy. The air felt thick with unspoken emotion. I held my breath, waiting for the fallout. This could either be a complete win, or a spectacular backfire.

Vasha didn't say a word. She just set her noodles down, her beautiful face a mask of dawning horror. My story had hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. Like a noxious gas. I had her. Now, to land the final, devastating blow.

"I tried to wait where he told me," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the market din. I let my gaze drop to the grimy floor, and made my shoulders tremble just slightly. The key was to look like I was trying to hold it together, but failing. That's the money shot.

I took a shaky, hiccuping breath. Okay, Alex. Final act. Make it count. This is getting hard. The guilt is starting to weigh on me, for real.

"But then… then I saw you."

I forced myself to look up, meeting her wide, indigo eyes. I let my own fill with unshed tears, creating a shimmering, pathetic-looking sheen. Forget the "fallen star" line. That was kid's stuff. This needed to be sharper. More real.

"You looked…" I let my voice trail off, stumbling over the words as if I couldn't quite articulate the thought. "You looked… like someone who wouldn't hurt me."

There it was. Not a compliment. A plea. I wasn't just saying she was nice; I was putting the responsibility of my safety in her hands. Who could turn their back on that? This is so messed up.

"And I just… I had to come and say hi," I finished, my voice shrinking down to a tiny, pleading squeak. "I hope Dad won't be angry that I moved."

This is so over-the-top dramatic. I'm cringing so hard on the inside right now.

I bit my lip, hard. A small, almost imperceptible gesture of a child terrified of being in trouble. Was that too much? I can't even tell anymore.

Then I let my eyes widen, the carefully constructed dam of my composure finally breaking. Fear, raw and real-looking, flooded my expression. "He won't be angry, right?" My voice cracked, a perfect, pathetic little sound. "He'll still find me?"

Boom. Mic drop. The effect was instantaneous and brutal.

Her face just… broke. All the street-smarts, all the tired cynicism she wore like armor, it all crumbled away, revealing the raw, aching compassion underneath. She was looking at the fake, tragic story I'd built, and her heart was shattering for it. This is working too well. I feel like a terrible person.

And in that moment, a hot, ugly feeling coiled in my gut. Guilt. Real, honest-to-Force guilt. This woman was a good person. A genuinely good person in a galaxy full of gangsters and fascists. And I was playing her like a cheap fiddle, tugging on her heartstrings for a free meal and a roof over my head. For a second, I felt like the lowest scum in the galaxy. This is not how I wanted this to go.

But the cold, desperate survivor in me shoved that feeling down. Hard. There'll be time for guilt later. Maybe. Right now, I need to survive.

Vasha didn't offer a hug. She launched herself forward, engulfing me in an embrace so fierce it squeezed the air from my tiny lungs. Her arms were strong and warm around my shoulders, her cheek pressing against the top of my greasy hair as she rocked me slightly. It was the safest I'd felt since I'd woken up in this universe. Huh. Maybe safer than I've felt in any universe.

"Oh, sweetie," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, trembling against my ear. "No. Of course he won't be angry. It's going to be okay."

I buried my face in the fabric of her tunic, inhaling the scent of clean soap and her overwhelming kindness. The warmth of her pity chased away the ever-present cold in my bones. And the guilt. Mostly. Like, a solid 80%.

A tiny, hidden smile touched my lips. It's a win, right? I survived. I played the game, and I won. But… did I?

Survival first, Alex, I told myself, the words a silent mantra against her shoulder. You can feel bad about it later. If you even deserve to.

But this time, the mantra felt… hollow.

___

Oh boy, this was long chapter. 3 thousand words dammit...I had used Force Manipulation when writing the draft but it felt out of ass for him to be able to use such abilities without any training etc, so I had to rewrite using pure PTSD bonding and pity party, and that made it longer and longer.

Hope it felt natural.

Thanks for the review Hayase_Ayasaki and ExaizT. 

Keep them incoming. I had thought to pass 15K words with tomorrow updates, but then I felt fuck it, today or tommorrow, its the same thing.

Currently its around 10.2k and this and next chapter combined would be around 5k words. I deserve some stones for that, don't I? hmm hmm

Vote with your stones and bring glory to the Force!

Next Chap would come in around one and a half hours, as I am bit tired after editing the chapter and I also needed to correct some things in that one too.