At the beginning of the Clone Wars, Moatia Rhaden is granted padawan status, made a Commander, and shipped across the galaxy. Nothing seems to make sense, and Moatia is lost at every turn.
But at least she has her Master and her men beside her.
~ T...
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Moatia stared at the sky. They had been on this good-for-nothing planet for so long that she had memorized the constellations.
It had to have been a couple of months at this point, though the length of the days here was different from standard time so it was hard for her to tell.
The allure of Felucia's colorful and unique plants had long since worn off, and she was beginning to loathe the shades of blue and orange that covered the planet's flora.
Moatia was itching to return to the stars. Normally being in space, with the possibility of being lost to the darkness and silence of the dark void, made her uneasy.
But Moatia had come to realize one of space's winning aspects: there was no dust.
And she was currently coated in it, and had been for far too long. Showers were a luxury they could not afford with their limited water rations.
And being a disgusting level of dusty was not her only problem. Her hair was so greasy that she had been forced to pile her braid on her head in a heavy bun. One of the worst feelings in the galaxy was hair grease dripping down her face. But her hair was too long, and too heavy, to sit in an updo for a lengthy period of time, and now she was prone to headaches.
Conlan had offered to cut her hair for her, but Moatia refused. She loved the length of her hair otherwise, and her just past waist-length braid felt like a part of her identity at this point.
But the worst problem of all was that the droids were attacking every two hours like clockwork.
There was barely enough time to recover from the previous wave before the next came for them.
"Sky looking any prettier today, Commander?" Zap sat down next to Moatia, startling her out of her sulk.
"There's less clouds today. Dunno if that makes it any prettier, though." The dye was fading in Zap's hair and his black roots were beginning to show; further testament to how miserably long they had been here.
"I'm not a fan of the orange sky." Curse sat down on the other side of Moatia. She almost didn't recognize him with his curly hair. It wasn't reasonable for him to bring his hair straightener down to the planet and have time to use it every morning. "I can't tell if it's dusk or noon."
Moatia scanned their surroundings, half-paranoid a droid would tumble through the heavy plants and begin firing.
The Separatists and Republic had been quarreling here for almost the entirety of the war, and death hung thick in the air.
And it only grew thicker with each passing day. The droids outnumbered them three to one, and their relentless attacks had forced Neeka to switch her tactics from 'seize the planet' to 'survive long enough for reinforcements to come'. Though at this point the purpose of the reinforcements had somewhat changed from 'turn the tide of the battle' to 'evacuation'.
