sixthiterationlogs | 06. Empty House

It's the sound of hammering that eventually draws Ned to the partially repaired structure, though the pounding had ceased by the time he finds it. He has been considering making some sparse improvements to the Stark family home, though he was unfortunately not given that sort of education as a future Lord in Westeros. He'd learnt about the histories of the great families of Westeros, their sigils, their mottos for a future in diplomacy. He'd learnt great military tactics and the art of warfare for a future in leading his house's army and his bannermen. He'd learnt economics, history, etiquette. He hadn't had a reason to be taught more laborious pursuits; he'd have carpenters and smiths and the like to rely upon.

As he approaches, he thinks he might inquire as to whether the large, scowling man whether he might lend a hand - either in teaching Ned some useful techniques or in assisting him in a more physical way - but at the sight of him, and the sorrow he can feel radiating off of his shoulders, he thinks better of breaching the topic.

Instead, he glances from the man to the house with some consideration.

"I remember this house when it was in a state of disrepair. Your skills speak for themselves in a shining example such as this. I look forward to seeing it when it is completed."

"It's better on the outside than the inside," Baze shrugs, looking Ned over with a kind of distracted curiosity. They haven't spoken before, though he's seen Ned around over the past few months. And obviously he doesn't know that much about repairing houses. Baze has gotten better since he's arrived at carpentry and home repair, mostly through experimentation, but he's hardly a shining example. "It may still leak, here and there. You need it?"

"It is better to have a structurally sound dwelling that will keep out the elements and keep its inhabitants safe. The interior can be dealt with afterwards," Ned agrees, letting his eyes sweep over the house from eave to earth. He tugs his fur-lined cloak a bit tighter around his body, the warmer weather leather garments he'd received as a gift too light for winter. It is not yet the sort of chill that he'd been born into or grew up with in Winterfell, but it is steadily approaching it.

At the man's question, he brings his gaze back to his face and, with a pleasant smile, shakes his head.

"No, no. But that is quite a generous offer for you to make to a stranger. I have my own dwelling, with two of my children, not far from here. I had assumed you were repairing it so that you could take it."

"I had been, but then the person I planned to stay here with disappeared," Baze says with a shrug and a glum expression. And he's not staying in a whole house by himself. Even big as he is, he'd rattle around inside and be too uncomfortable to sleep in all the quiet. On Jedha, he'd lived in the priest's barracks, and then in a crowded tenement where you could hear you neighbors on the other side of the wall-- and always with Chirrut. At least in the inn, he could tell there were other people nearby.

Disappeared. Suddenly the man's sullen demeanor comes into light. Although Ned has been blessed to have not suffered it all too often, he finds and believes that suffering it once is far too much for most, and it having been his youngest daughter only months ago had felt like his heart had been torn from his chest with a vice. He isn't sure who the absent person is in relation to the stranger, but if he had been compelled to repair a dwelling for the both of them to live in, the person must have been important enough.

"I am sorry to hear that," Ned says with some softness to his voice. "It is .. never easy, having someone leave us. Though I find it harder here than it was before, for a reason I cannot yet comprehend."

"I already lost him once," Baze admits slowly, looking down at the staff in his hands again. "He died, shot by the Empire. I didn't think I would see him again, at all." Then again, he didn't think he'd see anyone again, but this is a stranger situation than most.

Ned isn't entirely sure what "shot by the Empire" might mean, those terms far outside of his lexicon of understanding, but the rest transcends origins and cultural frames of reference. Ned knows all too well the sort of suffering and pain he must be feeling.

"Prior to my arrival here eight months ago, I'd been killed - beheaded on accusations of treason." He hasn't ever stated is in such clear, concise terms, but he imagines there's no need to shield this man from the horrors that preceded him. Ned has only censored himself when dancing around the topic with his children. "I'd never thought I'd see any of my children again, and neither did they, for me. Yet four of the six are here. My youngest daughter, however, disappeared a few months ago; it is a grief that cannot be understood by anyone who has not already felt it. I am sorry, for your loss."

Well, he ought to know what being shot by an arrow is like. Same thing, only more deadly, since it was with a blaster. Baze leans back a little, looking back up at Ned. "I died in an explosion," he says, glad for someone else who can be frank about it. "Shortly after Chirrut did." He pauses, then offers, "I'm sorry for yours, too. I never had children. That has to be very... bad to feel, losing your child."

Baze isn't great with words, okay. But he's making the attempt.

"We are not as alone here as perhaps we've felt on occasion. There are quite a number of people here who also met their ends prior to coming through the fountain," Ned explains. And though he does find some sort of selfish solace in the thought, there is also a pang of sadness in his chest at the thought that so many have suffered in their lives, across worlds and lands.

The name "Chirrut" is very foreign to Ned, but he understands, now, that this is the person for whom this man was repairing the cabin.

"It is nothing of your doing, though your sympathies are appreciated. I have tried to remember how much of a blessing it is, to have been given a second chance at all. It is something much more easily said than put into practice, but it is how I've dealt with it." He takes a step forward, expression soft and kind. "My name is Ned Stark."

"Baze Malbus." He's more angry at being given that second chance, if that chance has to happen without Chirrut, than he is pleased, but at least right now he doesn't have the energy to really be angry. Everyone else can feel as they like, though, and he won't judge, he just nods. Then, after a pause, he asks, actually curious: "What did you do that was so treasonous? Supposedly treasonous." Since it was "accusations of" and not "actual treason".

"Baze Malbus. It is a pleasure," Ned says with a respectful nod in the man's direction. "Might you be interested in some some supper? I believe I've got a rabbit stew that should be finished back at home." He glances up at the sky, tries to use the sun as a gauge for time, before looking back to the man. "You are, of course, under no obligation. But it might be easier to answer your question if there is the promise of food to go along with it."

Baze considers that only briefly, then pushes himself to his feet. He might as well, and it would probably do him good to get away from this kriffing empty house for a little while. "Thank you. That is the best offer I have had today." Or any day for the past few, really. He leans Chirrut's staff against the doorway, then nods for Ned to lead the way.

Ned nods in reply, happy that the man has obliged the offer in as genuine a fashion as Ned could've hoped for. He silently leads them back to the Stark house, its exterior white with a grey door - the Stark family colors. He turns at the bottom of the steps to the porch to glance over his shoulder to the equally quiet man behind him, gesturing towards the door before them.

"My three children are here with me," he explains as he begins his ascent. "I am unsure of whether they will join us, but it is likely. You may have already made their acquaintances before; there is my eldest, Robb, my eldest daughter, Sansa, and my youngest daughter, Arya." His hand on the doorknob, he hesitates for a second to add, "If you have met them already, I hope they have minded their manners." He opens the door and gestures for the man to go in before him.

"I may have seen them around, but I don't think I have spoken with them," Baze admits. He hasn't been the most social of people, in general. He steps inside and looks around with some mild curiosity, and an eye for what he might be able to implement in the house he's working on. Whether or not he winds up living in it. "I should probably speak with them sometime," he adds, though he's not particularly chagrined about having been remiss.

"It isn't necessary," Ned states as he steps in after Baze, shutting the door behind him. "But I will be sure they will make themselves available to you, should you need them for something. Robb is a good hunter, and Sansa is skilled in many domestic duties; she's mended a few of my things before. In a place such as this, it's better to have allies." He unclasps the fur-lined cloak before swinging it around and draping it over his forearm. He motions for Baze to follow him as he goes into the kitchen. The small of stew cooking is wafting all about the house. "If you'll excuse me a moment," he says, gesturing with his cloak, meaning he will be leaving to put it away upstairs. The house is larger than many of the others, fitted with five bedrooms. He believes, though he's never confirmed, that Robb had chosen it with the hope they'd fill it with their family at some eventuality. With only four of them, however, it feels rather empty. "Please, help yourself. I'll be only a moment."

"I'm used to mending my own clothes. But thank you." Even a small house can feel empty without enough people in it. Baze knows that feeling. He drifts over to the stew on the fire to investigate, but he doesn't poke around for bowls and spoons yet. He can wait on Ned, for that much. He's listening to the rest of the house, for any other people in it, getting a feel for who he might have to speak with, if anyone, and what the building itself sounds and feels like. It's certainly a different feel than the tiny cabin he'd been repairing.

Major's had another uneventful day of hunting, or, really, it's his version of attempting to hunt, given that he can't really bring himself to kill anything himself and instead brings it to the Inn where the animal can be dealt with. He's shuffling along, empty-handed, and nursing a bruised pride from having been so unsuccessful (but secretly relieved that he doesn't have to send one of Thumper's kids off to his death again) when he catches sight of a large, gruff man sitting on a porch, scowling at some kind of long stick. Maybe a shillelagh? Would anyone get that reference here?

He doesn't think much of it or the man at first, continuing on back towards he and Ravi's house, but .. there's something in the man's face that calls out to him. He isn't sure what it is, but he's fairly certain he can blame all those Social Work classes he took in college and his overly high empathy gene.

So, he stops - turns around, addresses the man without getting too close. It isn't hard to see that the guy could probably pop Major's head like a zit.

"Hey, I know we don't know each other, but you seem like you're having a crappy day. Are .. are you all right?"

Baze wouldn't pop anyone's head. Unless they were Empire, or one of their kidnappers, anyway. He looks up at Major, blinks at the question, and after a pause to consider, go with the honest answer: "No. Not really. But there is nothing you can do about that." There's no reason to fuss. It isn't as if he's the first person to lose someone, in this kriffing place.

Ah, so he's one of those guys. Major should've figured. He's about to take the hint and skedaddle when something in him keeps his feet rooted firmly in place. Hands at his waist, he considers the bungalow and the large man in oscillation a few times before shrugging one shoulder and offering up:

"Do you want some help? I've done a good amount of DIY home improvement projects in my time, but I'm no like, Property Brothers or anything. Still, if you give me an idea what you're going for, I can add some extra man power to the job."

There's another pause while Baze considers this, then he decides he might as well get more work done instead of sitting here moping. He pushes back up to his feet. "What's your name?" If he's going to recruit him to help hammer things, he might as well know who he is.

Major's features light up a bit at being brought onto the project. What can he say? He likes helping people, especially people who look like they could use a hug. Or like, a hundred years' worth of hugs. Not that Major's gonna do that without this guy's permission, or anything, but .. he just seems like a guy who's gone through a lot in his life. Major wonders if he's ever been hugged.

Christ, Major, focus.

"Major," he says, approaching with his hand extended. "You?"

"Baze Malbus," he answers. He's at least familiar with the handshake by now, so he grasps Major's hand in his. Probably envelopes it more than anything else.

Ironically, Baze used to get lots of hugs. Mostly from the guy who is dead, and now gone again, but from a few others. He's even quietly rather fond of them. He just looks forbidding, which makes it hard to imagine.

"Come help me hammer a door frame, if you feel up to it," he says once he lets the boy's hand go.

Major returns the shake with a firm one of his own, smiling brightly. With a nod, he ascends the porch stairs and gets a better look of said doorframe, running a hand along it as he inspects it. He glances over his shoulder to Baze with a curious lift of his eyebrow.

"So, when you say "hammer a doorframe," what do you mean, exactly? Are you re-doing it? Or are we .. I dunno, putting moulding up or something? Also, where's your hammer?" Look, he's trying to be helpful, but you gotta give him more detail than that, man!

"Not this door," Baze says with a faint sound of amusement. "Inside, come on." He pushes the door open with a creak, and leads the way indoors. The house itself is small, only a front room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bathroom, and not a lot of space in each of those rooms-- but that seemed like it would be easier to heat in the winter, and cool in the summer, and Baze is used to tinier apartments and, before that, the guardian barracks at the temple. "The bathroom door frame was broken. See?" In fact, it doesn't appear to have much of a frame, at all, the innards of the wall exposed on all three sides. Baze has already ripped the damaged wood off in preparation for fixing it.

"Oh, right, not this door," Major says with a tone along the lines of, 'of course!' and follows Baze inside. He gives the spartan space a quick sweep with his gaze. It's one of the smaller cabins, smaller than the one he and Ravi share - though not by much. He's never been a guy for huge mansions or big, flashy displays of anything, but man ... Major would kill to be back in the house that he and Ravi shared in Seattle. He loved the shit out of that house.

Once near the bathroom, he gets closer to inspect the gutted wood, nodding. He traces the shape with his eyes before landing on Baze with a smile.

"This I can do, and I can do it well!"

"Oh, good." The boy's certainly got enthusiasm. He brings the toolbox over, and says, "I am tired of hammering, so I will hold, and you will hammer." Besides, Major did say he could do it well. There are some nails, though not many, and plenty of scrap wood, though none of it is exactly the right size for the door frame. Most of it is a bit too small.

Bodhi Rook is a lousy carpenter.

He usually takes well to fussy little tasks, but he's too used to metal and has no sense for the instinctive side of the art. Wood tends to suffer a bit under his hands. He's gotten to be passable at most of the tasks here, become a decent gleaner in the woods, a very competent housekeeper, a passable cook, even sort of alright at assisting on agriculture. But he's still a lousy carpenter.

He's helping anyway. Quietly. Almost completely silently, though when there's a practical reason to talk, he does, just because anything else seems more awkward.

For him it's the idea of Chirrut that's missing. An idea he's been drawn to, but what did he know about the man? Nothing like what Baze did. So he's not going to comment. And working quietly and busily gives him a way not to think about Kira or Johanna or the awful things that have happened to his friends, about the fact that he might have blown the undeserved scrap of good fortune that came his way with Jude, the spider-creep of the cracks in the defenses that keep him from losing it over being stuck here with whoever's in charge.

So he helps. One nice thing about Baze, probably the only thing the two of them have in common--Baze is always okay with quiet.

Baze does wish he could lose himself in work. But most of it has become fairly routine now, something he's comfortable with and able to do without fully focusing on it. So his mind keeps wandering to things he wishes they wouldn't. Chirrut is chief among them, remembering showing him the house, or the raincloud, or eating dinner together in their room at the inn. Johanna crops up, too, low level anger at what was done to her and worry for when she'll properly rejoin the rest of the village instead of hiding in her room.

So he's quiet, but it's a surly quiet, and he growls at Bodhi when he doesn't hold the piece of wood he's trying to hammer in place against one wall steady enough: "Get your head back on the work."

That may be half at himself, too.

In some ways Bodhi has gotten sort of reasonable about Baze. It's not really that he's come to the conclusion that the man in some way values or respects or even fails to despise him. It's just that people can get used to anything, and Bodhi's more expert at that trick than most.

But once in a while, something snaps him back to hold habits. Bodhi immediately freezes, rabbit-like, and then sets his shoulders rigidly. He nods, not feelings like speaking would be a good idea. Then he sets his grip more solidly and nods. Being good. Being useful. Please don't shoot me plays somewhere deep in his head.

That's not a reaction he'd wanted to ever see again. Baze stops to glower at him, then realizes glowering isn't exactly going to help, and steps back, setting the hammer down and running a hand over his mane in an attempt to get his own focus somewhere other than Chirrut being gone. "Stop," he says, wearily. "Just stop. I am not going to hit you. I am not going to shout at you. You are important to me in this place. I am just grouchy."

Commanding someone not to be scared in (what Bodhi perceives as) a scary voice has limited effectiveness, but the followup at least brings Bodhi up short. He pauses for a long moment, finding his metaphorical feet, the relative peace he's managed to reach with Baze over the last little while. It's all there, just easily to lose. "Well, own it, I guess," he says shyly.

It's a weary voice, Bodhi, not an angry one. But sometimes Baze is intimidating without meaning to be, too. He gives Bodhi a dry sort of look. "I do. Regularly." Being grouchy, he means, not necessarily when he cares about someone. But given he's just lost Chirrut, and Johanna is in such a delicate place, he's making an effort here. So he says, "I am sorry I threatened to kill you when we first me. I should not have." He had been angry, and it had seemed reasonable at the time, but he hadn't known who Bodhi actually was back then, and what he did.

And maybe apologizing might make Bodhi realize he's not out to get him at a more visceral level, that he doesn't hold any kind of grudge.

"It was... probably fair," Bodhi says, uncomfortable but at least able to admit to it with help from time and distance. He was all terror and righteous indignation at the time, not seeing much difference between Baze and Saw's followers, but, well, look how his approach to Saw turned out. Clearly assuming people would trust him just because he happened to be trustworthy was a bad idea. "I'm sorry I was in an Imperial uniform. Shouldn't have done that. So." He doesn't have to watch certain things so closely with Baze.

Baze snorts at that. "Because you had so many chances to change your clothes after defecting. Come on, we need some tea." And a break from working, apparently. It isn't Jedhan tea, like Bodhi's set, but just tea he's gotten from the inn's supplies, but it does well enough. It's not Taurine. Ugh.

He'll even set about making it, if Bodhi doesn't stop him, whether outright or with pained expressions for his inadequacy.

"I meant--Before defecting, I mean, shouldn't have... in the first place..." Baze does not want to hear his confessional. They both know he made the easy choice a long time ago, and backpedaling at the last minute doesn't help.

If nothing else, Baze has earned himself an uncritical tea companion. He's not going to stick his neck out after that. Though he'd rather drink no tea than bad tea.

Baze's tea is not bad. It's just not tea-house quality for snobs who actually like Taurine. He starts fixing some of the local stuff. "Maybe you should have defected sooner, or known from the start what the Empire was like before you signed on. But you did not. Many people did not. It's how regimes like that one begin, too many people turning their heads. You were not alone in it."

Bodhi stops and looks at him incredulously. Baze may not want to hear his confessional, but he'll be damned if he accepts credit he's not due. "I'm Jedhan," he says flatly. "I grew up under occupation." He knew. He had no better choice--there were no other jobs, admission to the Academy was the best opportunity he was going to get, his mother needed the money, he wanted to fly, he wanted to be away. But for all that's true, it's not an excuse.

Baze pauses while the water heats up, eyes Bodhi, then admits, "I keep forgetting you're so young. You wouldn't remember NiJedha before the occupation, would you." He shakes his head. "You still aren't the only one who didn't do anything. There are a lot of people who work for the Empire. They never changed their minds. You did. That's better than nothing."

Bodhi's gaze is fixed in the middle distance, half unaware of Baze for a moment. He thinks about Jedha all the time, more than he did when he was flying, certainly, but he curtails those thoughts so carefully. They always stop dead before he gets stuck. That's harder around someone with the same memories. "I was six. Almost. I remember... I'm not sure how much I remember, how much, um, I just heard, from my parents, or people in the neighborhood, how much I... might have imagined..."

"That is very young," Baze says gravely. He's not surprised there's not a lot of memories there, or early ones anyway. "And the occupation wasn't as bad, for people who didn't live in the temples, when it started. Some of what you remember from then might have even seemed normal. It got to where it was, for everyone else, over time." He lost his home and livelihood early on, in the Empire's greed for kyber and need to squash sources of hope, but he knows he and the other Guardians and Priests were particularly unlucky compared to other residents.

Bodhi doesn't want to contradict Baze, certainly. He lived through it. The scouring of the temples was a horror people whispered about... Well, as long as there was still a NiJedha. But he can't quite agree. "The active occupation, no," he says. An attempt at diplomacy. No one was ordered out of their home at the end of a blaster for repairing heating coils the way they were for teaching passers by about the Force. "They called it... It was the Holy City for a reason, though. Every place that depended on pilgrims was closed, um, within the year."

"There is that," Baze agrees wearily. He turns to the now-boiling pot to pour for them. "I do not know how much of that was intentional on the part of the Empire. But it happened anyway. It could have come back, eventually." If the city were still there. Such an immense loss of life. It still bothers him-- he had some few friends, still, in the city, and even if he hadn't known them, there were other good people. Even mediocre people, plenty of them, none of whom deserved that unexpected, terrible death. "I never did learn where pilgrims went, instead. They had to find someplace."

06. Empty House

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AWWW CHIRRUT

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