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Description

"What shall we do with the drunken spacer?
Shave his tail with a rusty razor!
No, put him in a life pod til he's sober!..."
-old sea shanty changed/bastardized with love by our very own DJ

The ex-pirate had seen children from more systems than most would ever be able to name, much less see. He'd seen children on the verge of starvation with no home, no parents, and no hope. He'd learned that a few coins, a candy bar, and a kind smile could make even the saddest little tear stained face warm with the addition of a grin. It had become his mission...his own lost cause...to make sure that whenever he saw society's Forgotten that he would do what he could to make them realize that someone did remember them, and someone cared.

The "younglings" as they were called by his captors were children. Well, he SUPPOSED they were. He saw them march behind their professors, mentors, and keepers all day. In straight little orderly lines. These children were well fed, clean, and free from the worry of where they would lay their heads at night and yet they were somehow sadder than the lost souls of the backwater systems he'd flown between most of his adolescent and young adult life. He'd offered one child a piece of candy in the halls only to be met with a look of utter confusion once the blank stare melted away. It was as though the child didn't know the purpose of a kind gesture. It depressed him more than the starvation of several systems had. In the midst of plenty, the children around him were starving in a different way.

It started out with just himself and Leeza Roimada. Once classes had ended for her for the day and once there were no more droids, starfighters, or squeaky wheels that needed his attention, they would head to the roof of one of the towers. It was the only place either felt free, and it allowed him a glimpse of his beloved stars. He would tell her of places she'd never been, and she'd tell him of the mysteries of the universe he could not see or feel. They'd both trade jokes in Mando, and, once he'd gotten well and truly comfortable with her presence, he'd sing old space shanties. She was a quick study and picked up the lyrics and melody with native genius.

Maybe a few of the children had heard her and him humming the tunes in the hallways. Maybe they simply thought he was one of "them" with his overgrown half floppy ear and crooked smile. After all, he looked nothing like most of the adults they saw on the day to day. For whatever reason, they began sneaking up the stairs of the tower and listening to the bawdy tales and tunes through a crack in the door. Both Jedi and Pirate knew they were there, but neither moved to acknowledge them, and, as it turned out, they wouldn't have to.

It only took a handful of nights for the two half sisters to crawl up beside him, tilting their heads, large ears rotating like satellite dishes on their tiny heads as he plucked the strings of his guitarra. Eventually they giggled along to each tune, and he taught them the words to the few he considered age appropriate.

Little did he know it, but DJ Halfmoon's tales of intrigue, piracy, and adventure were big hits in the minutes before class, and his gaggle of Jedi outlaws grew each night because of it. It didn't bother him. He figured that sharing what little freedom could be found atop the Temple was his duty, and it was the only time he really saw the children of the Jedi happy.

It didn't take many weeks to make a change in the Temple. Eventually, Halfmoon would not be able to walk down the halls without feeling a tiny hand pull on his tail so that a young face could offer him a grateful smile.

For my dear friend, DJ, who puts up with me more than he should.

Description

"What shall we do with the drunken spacer?
Shave his tail with a rusty razor!
No, put him in a life pod til he's sober!..."
-old sea shanty changed/bastardized with love by our very own DJ

The ex-pirate had seen children from more systems than most would ever be able to name, much less see. He'd seen children on the verge of starvation with no home, no parents, and no hope. He'd learned that a few coins, a candy bar, and a kind smile could make even the saddest little tear stained face warm with the addition of a grin. It had become his mission...his own lost cause...to make sure that whenever he saw society's Forgotten that he would do what he could to make them realize that someone did remember them, and someone cared.

The "younglings" as they were called by his captors were children. Well, he SUPPOSED they were. He saw them march behind their professors, mentors, and keepers all day. In straight little orderly lines. These children were well fed, clean, and free from the worry of where they would lay their heads at night and yet they were somehow sadder than the lost souls of the backwater systems he'd flown between most of his adolescent and young adult life. He'd offered one child a piece of candy in the halls only to be met with a look of utter confusion once the blank stare melted away. It was as though the child didn't know the purpose of a kind gesture. It depressed him more than the starvation of several systems had. In the midst of plenty, the children around him were starving in a different way.

It started out with just himself and Leeza Roimada. Once classes had ended for her for the day and once there were no more droids, starfighters, or squeaky wheels that needed his attention, they would head to the roof of one of the towers. It was the only place either felt free, and it allowed him a glimpse of his beloved stars. He would tell her of places she'd never been, and she'd tell him of the mysteries of the universe he could not see or feel. They'd both trade jokes in Mando, and, once he'd gotten well and truly comfortable with her presence, he'd sing old space shanties. She was a quick study and picked up the lyrics and melody with native genius.

Maybe a few of the children had heard her and him humming the tunes in the hallways. Maybe they simply thought he was one of "them" with his overgrown half floppy ear and crooked smile. After all, he looked nothing like most of the adults they saw on the day to day. For whatever reason, they began sneaking up the stairs of the tower and listening to the bawdy tales and tunes through a crack in the door. Both Jedi and Pirate knew they were there, but neither moved to acknowledge them, and, as it turned out, they wouldn't have to.

It only took a handful of nights for the two half sisters to crawl up beside him, tilting their heads, large ears rotating like satellite dishes on their tiny heads as he plucked the strings of his guitarra. Eventually they giggled along to each tune, and he taught them the words to the few he considered age appropriate.

Little did he know it, but DJ Halfmoon's tales of intrigue, piracy, and adventure were big hits in the minutes before class, and his gaggle of Jedi outlaws grew each night because of it. It didn't bother him. He figured that sharing what little freedom could be found atop the Temple was his duty, and it was the only time he really saw the children of the Jedi happy.

It didn't take many weeks to make a change in the Temple. Eventually, Halfmoon would not be able to walk down the halls without feeling a tiny hand pull on his tail so that a young face could offer him a grateful smile.

For my dear friend, DJ, who puts up with me more than he should.