Title: Walking Ghosts
Summary: Memories are important. Especially to those that embody hope and faith. Drabble.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies; I make not a penny off of this and hold no rights to the characters of the franchise the characters belong to.
Warnings: Sad fluff, but warm, I hope.
Dedication: To both the artists Dou Hong and Jasjuliet on tumblr as well as deviantArt. Both of them exhibit work that inspired this particular one-shot.
-:-
If I had words to make a day for you,
I'd give you a morning, golden and new…
-Babe.
To pass the time away on Mogo, away from the pirates and seriously bad people that Mogo had trapped upon himself for the sake of the galaxy, Saint Walker often did things that to most people would seem common place. However, because he is who he is (a pacifist fighter, a speaker to a world, a former religious leader of his home planet), nothing is common and ordinary. Everyday things, as he realized many years ago, is a realization that no event can occur in exactly the same way twice.
Brewing tea for morning breakfast, he always found himself humming a little made up tune (sometimes good, sometimes…not so much) until the spout of his kettle blew boiling steam into the air and he had to remove it from the fire before even a drop of the liquid escaped its confines. After which, he would pour himself a few mouthfuls into his stone cup and sit in a meditative position.
His teacup was held an almost perfect distance from his abdomen in both hands, the scent weaving against him and he would think and remember old times.
(Sometimes so good he would smile so hard it hurt; sometimes so painful he would cry until Mogo grew some red Poppy flowers right at his feet. Recollecting his wife on their wedding day; his daughter coming to him after being bullied by a boy in school that, inside, he would smile over because his daughter had a possible admirer; his son perfectly writing from memory a passage from scripture.)